So now I've eated and LJed and fed shadowdaddy his Connie Willis cracknovel (The Doomsday Book) and I don't really want to do a thing, though I will take a nap soon. I might hit the Primark in Hammersmith and see if I can find an outfit for the party tonight, but only after I've 1) hung up the laundry and 2) walked up the river, because that will be nice.
I'm not doing too well blogging my Penguin classic. Fortunately Mozart's Journey to Prague is quite short. Half of it is poetry and I'm finding the translations intolerably bad, so I'll just consider it "done" when I've finished with the story bit. Rather a lot of it seems to be absorbed with Mozart's inability to be responsible, financially or otherwise, though, once again, there seems to be a dinner party happening. I love this idea of people going to parties and sitting around playing the piano (or whatever) and singing to each other - what's happened to this tradition?