![]() ![]() So good freaking thing I finally came to my senses and did. ![]() That whole time I was trudging through Savage Detectives, all the weeks I spent reading (admittedly good) short story collections but yearning for something more substantial, this lovely slim volume was waiting calmly, pristine-ly, quietly glowing, for me to pick her up. What is it about 'new' that somehow means better, or even good? Freaking nothing.Īnd that, patient friends, is my excuse for letting the fantastic Signed, Mata Hari – a crisp, glossy, hard-spined, over-priced proof copy, no less – languish on my shelves for months and months before being read. Which, when you think about it for even a minute, is just so stupid. Even though I have a little library filled with hundreds and hundreds of pretty paperbacks, more than half of which I've not read, the ones that are so new they haven't even been properly shelved yet are the ones I always grab. I wear the new (thrift-stored) skirt as soon as I have a sufficiently nice opportunity, I start using the new (freecycled) hair gel before I have quite finished the old one, the new (salvaged) bowl seems so much nicer than the other ones in the cupboard. ![]() See, even though I'm a communist-leaning hippie, I, like any good little consumer, have a bit of a newness fetish. ![]()
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