All things come with a price attached. This is the price of drinking tequila at a colleague’s leaving party last night:
Not very pretty, eh? I’m no oil-painting to start with, and a hangover does nothing to improve my charm. It’s been a long tedious day at work, and right now I feel that death might be quite a pleasant option.
But no! I can’t lay down and expire yet, not when there’s Friday Photo Blogging to be done! I couldn’t deprive you all of your weekly insight into my fascinating life – that would be just too cruel …
My life has, in fact, been even less fascinating than usual this week (stop laughing at the back). The mystery back-damage meant I spent two and a half days sat on my arse on my sofa. That’s the sort of thing that sounds like heaven when you’re stuck at work feeling dog rough, but the funny thing about sitting down all the time is that it’s nowhere near as enjoyable when you can’t actually do anything else. The silver lining was that I managed to get a whole mass of reading done.
First off I demolished the manuscript for The Execution Channel. Now, there’s a book that’s not only going to surprise Ken MacLeod‘s usual readership, but also probably cause a fair bit of controversy in the genre scene (and possibly further afield). I can’t review it here because it’s an Interzone job (which is okay, because you all subscribe to Interzone already, right?); however, I can announce that Mr. MacLeod has kindly agreed to do an interview with me within the next few weeks – I’ll want to re-read before I send the questions off, it’s an intricate story. I’ll keep you posted, of course.
I also chomped my way through Karl Schroeder‘s Sun of Suns, which didn’t disappoint in any way (apart from being arguably too short). So there’ll be a review of that forthcoming – and an interview as well! Yup, yours truly has been hustling sf notables for their time and thoughts, and some of them have been generous enough to supply them. The Schroeder interview and review should go live early next week, so watch this space.
Wednesday night saw me at the Wedgewood Rooms for the Seth Lakeman gig, which was rather excellent – given the extra fillip of it being the first time I left the house since Sunday, I was almost certain to have a good time, but it was a fine show nonetheless. British folk music with a catchy pop edge – not my usual thing at all, but I like to break the mold every once in a while, don’tcha know.
And of course last night saw me out drinking with my work-mates, leading inevitably to the unappealing visage that adorns the top of this post. Which brings us neatly to the end of another FPB – you know what I’ve been up to, I’ve offloaded my thrill-a-minute lifestyle, and everyone’s happy. Well, almost – I’ll be happy once I’ve had a bath and gone to bed to sleep this hangover off.
I’m so tired and wrung-out that I’m considering postponing The Friday Curry to Saturday this week. Only exceptional levels of malaise could provoke such a profound alteration of the natural order and schedule of things … bah, enough of this typing malarkey. I need my balti fix. Have a good weekend, people, and remember that fermented cactus juice always sounds like a much better idea than it actually is.