New term, new job, new books.
I officially left my old job on Friday, which involved a cake, a surprise party, a basket of gifts and £250 whip round! It was also the first time in my life I was given a foil helium balloon, so the first time I had to secure one within a car safety to stop it blocking my view on the way home. Although, as I’m still a council worker my new boss asked me to do some shadowing before I officially start, so it’s been a while since I’ve had a proper day off. I’ve barely had time to have a good go through my new term of OU materials (with cover designs by Ikea, it appears). I always like to get a head start with studying as I’ll be sure to lose it when illness and other sabotaging incidents strike over the winter.
I desperately need a new phone, mine is so slow a burglar could have got sunburn in a non-extradition country in the time it takes the screen to wake up so I could call the police. Some of the money is boringly going to a car repair, but I do want something nice to keep as a souvenir of my time in that job, so I have ordered a Penguin Classics cloth bound version of one of my favourite stories ever, A Christmas Carol, which I am happy to read all year round, and am in no way suggesting people start thinking about Christmas right now. If I could work my way, every supermarket that puts selection boxes on their shelves before Halloween should be chucked in a canal with their own trolleys, and buried with clubcard through their hearts.
And to go with it, I am going to get a print I’ve always wanted and have it framed, one of John Leech’s original illustrations.
I’ve also treated myself to a book I’ve wanted for a while, the sensational, thrilling, hopefully page-turning account (but mainly theories, if we’re honest) about the death of Christopher Marlowe. It’s called The Reckoning and has the word Murder in the title, for Pete’s sake, it has to be awesome.
Cycling to work on my commuting bike has been, erm, interesting. I’m discovering all kinds of ingenious ways to pack my bag, new swearwords for a strong headwind, and also how to fit my hair into my helmet so when I take it off my curls aren’t flattened and molded into the shape of a young Donny Osmond.