Brackets bad
Feb. 5th, 2012 03:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceI have a fairly constant dislike of brackets in fiction ("fairly constant" because I have used them once myself, and recently, for some bitter ironic point that I cannot now remember but it seemed to me to suit the tone of the piece, and also perhaps play up the game that no one ever acknowledges in first-person fiction, that sliding relationship between the narrator and the reader). Just sayin'.
In other news, I went down to Durham yesterday and spent a happy evening, a sleepsome night and a cheerful morning with friends. Going down, though, and coming back? Brackets. Not matching, but brackets none the less. Hence, bad.
Going down was walking half an hour to the train station through what I will once again call frozen rain. It was horrid: ice in the face and ice underfoot. Ugh.
Coming back, I reached Durham station at 11.15 and was still there at 1.00pm. First there was a queue of idiots at the ticket machines, who managed to take just exactly long enough to allow me to miss the train that came in at twenty past. And then there was a forty-minute wait till the next train - and by then the football crowd had started to arrive, and the train was overchoked and couldn't take us all. And the next train was running twenty minutes late, so that was another forty minute wait, and... Yeah. Like that. I may have uttered foul and opprobrious epithets not quite under my breath, and been almost polite-ish.
But I drank coffee and read in my Kindle and it was kind of okay really, except that even an eventual mere ten-minute journey is all kinds of no fun at all when it's standing-room only among chanting football fans.
Anyway. Am home now, and more or less resigned to doing more or less nothing with the day. I shall put some books into some boxes, and make believe that that's enough.
In other news, I went down to Durham yesterday and spent a happy evening, a sleepsome night and a cheerful morning with friends. Going down, though, and coming back? Brackets. Not matching, but brackets none the less. Hence, bad.
Going down was walking half an hour to the train station through what I will once again call frozen rain. It was horrid: ice in the face and ice underfoot. Ugh.
Coming back, I reached Durham station at 11.15 and was still there at 1.00pm. First there was a queue of idiots at the ticket machines, who managed to take just exactly long enough to allow me to miss the train that came in at twenty past. And then there was a forty-minute wait till the next train - and by then the football crowd had started to arrive, and the train was overchoked and couldn't take us all. And the next train was running twenty minutes late, so that was another forty minute wait, and... Yeah. Like that. I may have uttered foul and opprobrious epithets not quite under my breath, and been almost polite-ish.
But I drank coffee and read in my Kindle and it was kind of okay really, except that even an eventual mere ten-minute journey is all kinds of no fun at all when it's standing-room only among chanting football fans.
Anyway. Am home now, and more or less resigned to doing more or less nothing with the day. I shall put some books into some boxes, and make believe that that's enough.