A pitiful excuse...
I have an excuse for not writing sooner. A rather unspectacular excuse that is completely lacking in poetry and imaginative insight, but an excuse nevertheless.
I am in the midst of moving house. It's a painful exercise that would try the patience of most self-proclaimed "sane" individuals. As such, I, who has no degree of patience to speak of, am picking fights with all and sundry. I absolutely went off at the lady from the bookstore on the other end of the phone the other day - I simply wanted to know if they had a particular book in store, to which she asked my name, phone number and address. Why? So that she could call me back to tell me whether they had it in stock or not... failing that, she would send me a letter. I asked why she couldn't just check the online catalogue then and there. She umm-ed and she aahh-ed, and then asked me for my name, phone number and address again. I completely
flew off my canary pole (as Aunty M would say) and verbally abused the woman. Not 10 seconds later, I got my answer. Problem solved.
Needless to say, I'm in a tetchy mood at the moment.
