Michael 2

Michael arrived earlier at the airport than I had thought and he was waiting by the exterior roundabout, dressed as an English country-gentleman, in eccentric tweed jacket and cap. He came, Mage like, baring strange gifts; chocolate Easter eggs for the children, a film for Krissie, a ceremonial silver jubilee plate for me and best of all Saturday’s Guardian that lies thumbed turned and being read on the kitchen table.

This morning as he dozed I found some snippets to read him after he wakes.

From an article about a book detailing the history of the Starbucks Company comes the sentence;
“Fans of coffee-flavoured hot milk will find herein the story of how Starbucks spread across the world like some kind of wood- panelled alt-muzak virus.”

A review of Shaloum Auslander’s memoir includes the statement;
“In some ways I wish Auslander hadn’t written this blasphemous, gratuitous, often silly, petulant, trivial and pathetic little book, which blames everyone and everything for its own inadequacies and idiocies – because I wish I had written it myself.”