18 april 2010, elinor, naked

I'm reading "juliet, naked", spurred on by a book club an enterprising soulster has started at work. Not too long ago I would have wretched at such a notion, but I used to devour fiction, and it's now been all but squeezed out of regularity, so I'm delighted to have it boxed back. I'm a third in, and its rather paul auster-esque - probably my best ficticious discovery of the last decade, brought to me by my other half (the book of illusions is my favourite). Bori, meanwhile, is knee-deep in her photography studies, and working on a piece about elinor carucci. The book (so far) hinges around someone sending an email to someone famous, and what transpires. Remarkably, last night, she wrote to elinor, and this morning she had to be virtually peeled off the ceiling with excitement when she got a reply. And what about those liberal democrats...