Once again, I find myself hoist by a petard with my name on it, in the midst of another year for the fucking history books at only two months in.
Read MoreThere’s a hard-won comfort in the novel, which I certainly needed as I was reading it.
Read MoreIn the immortal words of a Tweet that lives rent-free in my brain, “Ah, September. The first of the final four months. The big boys,” et cetera.
Read MoreIt’s worth noting here that for the last couple of weeks I’ve lacked the capacity to do much but sit and read.
Read MoreWe’re still going monthly, lads
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