K has finally gone mental. She's taken to sitting in her office and crying over whether Jamie is ever going to meet his daughter. I actually had to remind her that "He's not real!"

It's so fantastic to see a book that I love affect someone in such a tangible way. Normally, when you lend a book to someone, they read it and hand it back. "Did you like it?" you ask.

"Yeah, it was good."

What was your favourite part?"

"Oh, you know, all of it. I liked the sex. Can I borrow the next one?"

Giving the book to a colleague means that every morning (and after lunch, since K and Lal close the door to their office and read their respective books for an hour each day), I get a knock on the door, an ass on my settee, and an "Oh, my God! That Capt. Randall is one SICK MOTHERFUCKER!!"

It's truly delightful.

Thirty-five days until the next book.

I am listening to: A lot more Led Zeppelin than I thought. I used to love Zeppelin in my late teens (along with the Doors, Pink Floyd and all that hippie-funky rock stuff), but haven't listened to them since I abandoned my tapes in the early '90s. (Okay, mid-'90s; whatever.) I acquired a couple greatest hits albums the other week, and am finding them playing on my iPod all the time. I'm also listening to that Mediaeval Baebes CD, Mirabilis, plenty—though I expected that. I love those babes. And, finally, a colleague at work has Sufjan Stevens on her iTunes. Very, very cool.
 
I am watching: Not much. Just the nightly episodes of Amazing Race and some Daily Show (Jon's interview of Steve Carell was fab). Oh! And the marathons of Arrested Development and the American Office. (That Jim is way cute.) And Little Britain on Showcase and BBC Canada. But that's it, I swear!