I bellowed at the postman when he buzzed as I had already been woken by plumbers for another flat. The peril of being the first flat, you get buzzed for everything. People don't realise that you live in a different time zone and mornings are atrocious. The postman is lovely so I opened my door to say sorry for yelling and he had a package for me, Lesley of Peregrinations has very kindly sent me Jean-Dominique Bauby's Le scaphandre et le papillon. This is what is great about the internet, often overwhelming and too noisy, these wee connections that are forged. I am sending Lesley my book in return. I started reading La Salle de Bain by Jean-Philippe Toussaint a couple of weeks ago, it had been on my shelves for five years. It is lovely and slim - I think there are more short novels in France than here - but I still need my French dictionary, which is really too heavy, but if you misunderstand one word/idiom the whole sentence is twisted, and my anal self will not allow this. Le Scaphandre is lovely and slim too and I look forward to reading.