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desperanceWe got a book today, m'wife and I, in the mail. It was addressed to "Mr & Mrs Brenchley", which always stirs the marrow of my guts, if you'll excuse the expression.
So when Karen came home, we opened it.
We have - as you know, if you've been following along - been married almost a year now. Almost.
We have, as it happens, both been dedicatees before, but individually.
This book is dedicated "To Chaz and Karen. Happy anniversary."
For fuck's sake, how unspeakably cool is that?
Simon Morden, we owe you one. Several. All of it. Whatever.
(The book is The Curve of the Earth by the aforementioned Simon Morden, being the latest entry in the Petrovich saga, and we couldn't be more thrilled if we were linked up to Tesla coils and everything.)
So when Karen came home, we opened it.
We have - as you know, if you've been following along - been married almost a year now. Almost.
We have, as it happens, both been dedicatees before, but individually.
This book is dedicated "To Chaz and Karen. Happy anniversary."
For fuck's sake, how unspeakably cool is that?
Simon Morden, we owe you one. Several. All of it. Whatever.
(The book is The Curve of the Earth by the aforementioned Simon Morden, being the latest entry in the Petrovich saga, and we couldn't be more thrilled if we were linked up to Tesla coils and everything.)