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perhaps the office store would be useful
Sep. 24th, 2011 02:30 amA busy and useful day, but I had a queasy headache in the afternoon, and came home to have an early evening nap that, well, pretty much ate the evening. Which is annoying.
Ah well. Weekend now. Just two episodes of Doctor Who left this season: let's hope it can live up to what everyone hopes for.
Need to do some furniture shopping: some sort of small wheeled shelved trolley would be useful for stacking beadboxes on. I'm tired of having to lift off a dozen boxes to get at one at the bottom of the pile.
---
And so, had you been in the pleasant town of Cheltenham on the mellow September evening following, you might have seen three persons walking abreast in Fitzherbert Avenue, taking the air in the cool of dusk. On the inside was a fair-haired girl. Next to her walked a preoccupied young man who was holding a note pad in one hand and trying to write shorthand with the other.
On the outside marched a magnificent figure in flannels and a high-crowned hat of loose-woven straw. The curious voice of this figure carried and reverberated under the elms.
"One day towards the close of my fifteenth year, chancing to be in the auditorium at St. Just's, I can recall climbing up to the scene-shifters' platform over the stage. This chanced to be at a time when the Rev. Doctor Septimus Worcester was delivering a lecture on Palestine to the boys, otherwise assembled.
"I also recall that over the proscenium-arch, facing the auditorum, were two small and invisible doors like the doors of a cupboard. As Dr. Worcester spoke of Palestine, some impulse -- I know not what -- prompted me to fling these doors open and, popping out my head, cry, 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo!' before instantly closing the doors again.
"Nor could this fail to remind me of the occasion when I contrived to get an uncle of mine, George Byron Merrivale, chucked into the local clink for poaching. I will now tell my readers how I did this."
Peace and drowsy airs lay on the world. The voice passed and faded away up the road.
-- Seeing Is Believing, Carter Dickson
Ah well. Weekend now. Just two episodes of Doctor Who left this season: let's hope it can live up to what everyone hopes for.
Need to do some furniture shopping: some sort of small wheeled shelved trolley would be useful for stacking beadboxes on. I'm tired of having to lift off a dozen boxes to get at one at the bottom of the pile.
---
And so, had you been in the pleasant town of Cheltenham on the mellow September evening following, you might have seen three persons walking abreast in Fitzherbert Avenue, taking the air in the cool of dusk. On the inside was a fair-haired girl. Next to her walked a preoccupied young man who was holding a note pad in one hand and trying to write shorthand with the other.
On the outside marched a magnificent figure in flannels and a high-crowned hat of loose-woven straw. The curious voice of this figure carried and reverberated under the elms.
"One day towards the close of my fifteenth year, chancing to be in the auditorium at St. Just's, I can recall climbing up to the scene-shifters' platform over the stage. This chanced to be at a time when the Rev. Doctor Septimus Worcester was delivering a lecture on Palestine to the boys, otherwise assembled.
"I also recall that over the proscenium-arch, facing the auditorum, were two small and invisible doors like the doors of a cupboard. As Dr. Worcester spoke of Palestine, some impulse -- I know not what -- prompted me to fling these doors open and, popping out my head, cry, 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo!' before instantly closing the doors again.
"Nor could this fail to remind me of the occasion when I contrived to get an uncle of mine, George Byron Merrivale, chucked into the local clink for poaching. I will now tell my readers how I did this."
Peace and drowsy airs lay on the world. The voice passed and faded away up the road.
-- Seeing Is Believing, Carter Dickson
