Spring is in the air and lovers appear like mushrooms on the wooden pallets we have rotting in the back yard of the shop.
Clearly there is something about bookshops that brings out the romantic side of some people. Maybe it is the quiet , maybe it is the long winding avenues of books, whatever, everywhere you look this week there have been couples playing peek a boo round the shelves. Frankly it is all quite sickening.
Worse than this Malcolm seems to have been smitten too with the love bug, already given to alternating between poetic languor against book shelves and
macho posturing in the window he has now added singing/caterwauling and coming in to the shop really late to his talents. We have no idea who his paramour is but frankly I hope the situation resolves itself shortly, the anticipation is unnerving us all.
To more practical matters, I am reading a series by Patricia Briggs featuring Mercedes Thompson, a mechanic and coyote shaped skin walker. I have a love-hate relationship to the bit-chick-lit genre. I love the idea but so many of them end up going all Anne Rice/Laurel K Hamilton on me. My ideal of character development goes beyond the character acquiring more and weirder sexual partners. But so far Patricia Briggs is OK by me.
Minion 2 is reading The Seven Basic Plots by Christopher Booker
Malcolm, for reasons explained above, is dozing in the poetry section and Sam is reading The Green Dogs of Sorrow by Marshall France, which he says is magnificent but flawed.
I meanwhile, am off to do something about those rotting pallets.
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