Every time I begin to write a post I get in such a tangle I give up. So much happening, so much new. New home, new friends, new jobs. I don't know which to write about, and I never have much time, thus the long silence.
But here's something:
I'm now working in the local book shop for a few hours on a Sunday, which is lovely. On my first day a man came in looking for books on Africa and was delighted to find one about the region he grew up in that featured the story of a man he'd known as a child. We had a very cheerful chat about that. The next week another man found a book about the house he got married in, more delight. Last Sunday a lady from Wales talked for a good half hour about her favourite authors, and went away with an armload of books.
Friends pop in and chat, kids tell me their favourite stories, all number of people recommend titles or authors. And pretty much everyone who comes in finds something to take home and snuggle up with. As I get to know the stock it becomes easier to direct customers to their area of interest, and this in itself generates conversation. But, best of all, in quiet moments I can take a book off the shelves and read. Last Sunday I read a bit from a textbook on Socio Linguistics. If it's still there next week I'll read some more.
This weekend I won't be in the shop as I'm taking Dave to Kent to meet my family. It's my brother's 50th birthday today so a Gasper (my maiden name and possibly the reason I got married so young) celebratory fling has begun (work etc commitments mean we can't go until Friday). No doubt this will involve a lot of food and a lot of chat, not particularly garrulous as individuals we become so when together. I'm slightly trepidatious: I know they'll love him, but how will he feel in a house full of people who've known each other inside out for most of their lives? Will he see me from a new and horrifying perspective?