Eldest Cousin gave me a bag of books back in June. Or rather, she tried to. I was already on my knees with a suitcase full of books, so at first I looked through the proffered books and picked one. Then I switched on my very small brain, and said that since Son and the Resident IT Consultant were actually going to drive past a couple of weeks later, they could pick up the whole bag. And with that I put the lonely book back.
I think the books came from some neighbour or other of Eldest Cousin. The neighbour was either American or had lived in America, and the books are all in English, which was deemed suitable for me.
It’s an interesting collection of books, really. Not bad. Not good, but not bad. And the one I almost volunteered to carry myself is a reference book on the Birds of North America. Now, the birds we get here are the birds of Sweden, but their American cousins looked quite nice. Birds do. Generally. (Except when they are pigeons in my other garden eating my fruit. Then all I can think of is pigeon pie, despite being veggie.)
Have now had the Resident IT Consultant look them over to see if we should prune some. I suspect the silly man thought we might as well prune them all, including the foreign birds.
Pah, they’re not that bad.
But I confess to some doubts re the weekend crash course in learning to play tennis. I don’t think it’s possible.
And somehow we seem to have two crime novels in Swedish here, and I don’t know where they came from.