on a binge
About four to five months ago, I got myself the complete Discworld series by Terry Pratchett. The idea: fill in the blanks that I hadn't read before, re-read the ones that I had forgotten and generally edify myself of the Pratchett phenomenon. Around about book 11 or so (out of thirty), I found myself losing steam somewhat. Now, in book 14 (or is it 15 ?) I am suffering from a bout of full fledged Pratchett nausea. The man's not any less funny or pithy, but at the back of your mind, there lurks the thought ... "Someone is making you read this; it's not completely voluntary". Even if that someone is your own self.
Where Terry Pratchett is concerned, I've become a comfort addict. And this is symptomatic of the turmoil, the indecision that seems to have invaded the rest of my life as well. Do I go on ? Do I cash in my accumulated career chips ? The problem is that the visit back home seemed to raise more questions than they answered. And each of the options on offer seem to be equally attractive, albeit for different reasons.
And now for something completely different, I've placed the perennial British pub favourite, pork scratchings, in context. Eewww. How can something so disgusting sounding taste so good, dammit ?