The temperature is grey these days, I mean really worthy of November, I get bored easily after a day looking for jobs and just looking at the window puts you off going out. So I try to enjoy
myself as much as I can. Not much is needed to be happy, really, if you think about it and have a bit of good will. It is achieved by mixing pleasure and comfort, both things that can be easily found. When the weather is miserable, like today, I just need and a good book (here on this picture Little Wilson and Big God
, although I am not reading it at the moment) and to wrap myself in the blanket I bought at Marks&Spencer
in Liverpool, which is not only one of the most comfortable blankets I ever had, but also has a sentimental value to me. As I doubt you can see it very well on the picture at your left, I think you can find it here
(but as far as I remember I had to pay more for it). The content of the book matters (there is nothing more frustrating than reading a bad novel and feeling forced to go through it because you started it), but the circumstances of reading are almost as important. Some people enjoy reading in a café, I prefer to be at home and feel warm, dry and hear the weather roaring from outside.
Thanks for the stop-by.
I concur, reading at home, warm and comfortable allows one to silently merge with the story.
Reading in public has never worked for me at all.
I haven't read Burgess in some time, perhaps now is a good time - it's cold, gray and damp outside.
Hey, thanks for dropping by yourself. I do read in public sometimes, but I find it much more difficult to appreciate the text.
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