No Country For Old Men

So much for writing weekly entries. What with passing a significant birthday, the accompanying hangover, a paper, a novel and an article to deliver, forty short stories to mark – all by next Monday – and an impending trip to New York (on Tuesday), this is going to be a rushed entry. I’ve heard the Vampire Weekend album, out next week, and it’s wonderful – barely half an hour long and all the better for it. My not seeing them in New York a week tomorrow looks like being compensated by my meeting up with one of my favourite crime writers. More on this and whatever else I get up to at the AWP conference when I return in a couple of weeks’ time.

The title of this post is, I hope, ironic rather than despairing. I plan to see the movie of that name tonight. And middle age sure beats the alternative. Saturday night’s party was great and I’m very lucky in my friends, who danced a lot and gave me loads of great books, CDs and other groovy gifts, along with some wonderful art made with me in mind – a painting, a poem and a T-shirt – which I’ll treasure. And there was no lasting damage, unless you count the fuzzy stayed-up-too-late hangover that I haven’t quite dispelled yet. It’s like having jetlag in advance.

Now, back to those short stories…

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