Other stories

We've got a new flat. All of our frantic searches have ended peaceably. Okay, so we didn't search for very long. But no one can call our searches non-frantic. So we got this place. The house itself is nothing special and just about meets our basic requirements. It's a three bedroom hdb with appliances and air conditioning and decent furnishing. But bloggy, the location, the location. There you have it. It's in one of the hdb blocks across raffles hotel. We're on the 20th floor looking out over the esplanade-city hall area. The wind is wow. The whole thing is wunnerful.
Me likes.

One reservation though, bloggy. I love this area. The clean glass and greenery of the library are one of my favourite places in the world. I am going to cheapen it by living there. Hmm. Sad.

I want a good book. I was so incredibly jealous of A this last week. He's been reading Lord of Light. Do you remember what it was like to read it for the first time? I love Zelazny. He's not dead. Noone could be when they wrote like him. Gunslinging poetry. Am I going to find a book that does that for me again? Or am I just grown blase. I'm reading too carefully. Or, if I think pessimistically, I've read most of the good stuff and those which remain are camouflaged under the ordinary and bad. There's a lot wrong with that view though, for
a)Sometimes I want to read something ordinary
b)Sometime I want to read something bad
c)I haven't read enough to exhaust the set of books (I use the word set mathematically.


Most likely whats happened is that I've been confined to my pool for far too long and I've fouled it by staying too long here. I am both bored and exhausted by my current tastes. Time to move on. Only, bloggy, you can't force the moving on. So I'm going to gently urge myself to try the other authors I've avoided because I don't feel highbrow enough at the moment.