Have just finished Michael Asher’s Firebird, one of the books I got from Walkerville Library. It was an excellent story… right up to about a fifth to go. Then it got stupid. It was almost like he had this great story going and couldn’t really figure out a way to end up, and so added in this stupid bit (aliens; rarely a good idea outside of good scifi, and only then when it’s obvious they will feature) in order to bring it a not-very-dramatic conclusion.
Sigh. And I decided to finish reading that rather than jump straight into Fforde’s fourth, Something Rotten. My restraint is incredible… I’m writing this rather than starting it, even now!
Oh no. It isn’t me. On the grounds that I would like to stay married, I shall forebear from mentioning any names… but a Certain Person had a dream the other night about Ajax.
In the dream, Ajax bit him on the hand.