I woke up today in what can only be described as a Foul Mood.
In the grand scheme of things I probably don’t have a right to be. The absence of The Lady is almost certainly a contributing factor; as is general exhaustion and self-pitying work hangover. But I am supposed to be a Big Boy Now, so I should be able to handle at least one and even both of these things.
No, there’s more at play here.
And it has to do with my neighbours.
About 2 weeks ago, my father undertook a book-sourcing expedition for me. He endeavoured to find Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea in Icelandic, after I’d failed to do so in the summer. I need this book for school. My father, being a minor miracle worker and also connected into the deep, dark and mostly dusty underworld of Icelandic second hand bookshops, actually found it. Then, with the aid of my mother, he wrapped it up and sent it off.
And as far as I can tell, the postal service arrived at my house and handed it over to one of my neighbours.
And that’s as far as it went, because no package has been seen in the House of Snorri.
I’d write something pithy about this but I’ll have to stop right now and go take a walk to the gym. I’m too angry.
Seriously, though! I can just about deal with someone stealing the delicious food that my mother sent to me – but a book in Icelandic? For [expletive deleted]‘s sake!