It’s dark and dreary outside – another lazy Sunday come and nearly gone. The weather’s been flawless over the last few days. Yesterday felt like a certain day in Norwich last May spent lazing in bed and wandering through the Plantation Gardens; reveling on the edge of Summer. Relaxing has gotten easier, as has spontaneity. Settling into a mundane routine has freed up even more energy for fun. The past few weeks brought the Royal New Zealand Ballet’s ‘Coppelia’, Eleanor Catton’s candid discussion on inspiration, bad (good) ideas, and how winning the Man Booker alters the questions asked by interviewers – from asking about the book to asking about previous interviews and being held to remarks made months earlier – and a trip to Port Chalmers to imbibe pints of Velvet Worm and one or two whiskeys, Kane Strang, Opposite Sex, and Shocking Pinks performing all the while.
The week fills up quickly with reading – Greedily devouring Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche’s oeuvre; The Newlywedsby Nell Freudenberger; Cloud Atlas and The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet by David Mitchell; Gentlemen Prefer Blondes by Anita Loos; So Much For That by Lionel Shriver. Knitting also occupies a small corner of the day, but mostly reading, every moment I’m not at work. I deliberately choose authors from different backgrounds, although I’m sorely lacking in anything written before the turn of the 21st century. Must work on this.