I’m having lunch break now. You don’t have to know that, but I’m telling anyway. The wi-fi connection here at British Library is to die for. At least there’s something in this huge building that’s to die for. Okay, the collection of books is probably another reason to kill for –a hella lot, bordering on nauseating. However, the Library of Congress, I think, got more books. Not by much, since both practically own one of every informative prints, slides, etc under the bloody sun. Oh well. That’s me being jealous. How can you not? Two words: illuminated text. Well, there’s some at the Brit Muse. Still…Oh well. Overpriced coffee in fine bone china, eating salmon sandwich made by the Queen’s own sandwich purveyor (note to self: bring own grub, much more sane). Am surrounded by thick column marbles and tapping toes on polished marble floors. Understated snobbery, or plain elegance? I don’t know. Still too rich for me. And everybody milling about with the glorious posh accent of theirs. Even the French spoke English with much sophistication.
I am, as a matter of fact, the ugly duckling that won’t grow into a big beautiful swan. Around these people? What their expensive tweed and diamond monocle chains…. Posh geek, as opposed to Geek Chic that my ex-flatmate Diane pulls off so gracefully.
Oh well, am not bitter, or jealous for that matter. Feeling very inadequate for one. Am still living off (semi-imaginary) research grants; eating microwaveables that, according to new FSA verdict, may cause cancer; and generally not having enough sleep (although not as severe as Ellen MacArthur’s. Well, not alot is as severe or more, and I’m not talking about lawyers and accountants).
Okay! I give in. Am bitter. And before I drown myself in coffee residue, I will go back to work. Eh, reading. And writing. And practicing the art of eh… eating the humble pie.
