Oh yes, it’s Friday at long last folks. Well, seeing as I’m currently between work and study that makes no difference to me (aside from the obvious expense of simply existing in this city), but for you my dedicated audience I’m sure Friday is what you live for come 5.
I’ve literally just finished reading Stephen Fry’s The Fry Chronicles on time to make the above pun in the title. That’s no mean feat let me tell you.
To put it mildly I didn’t enjoy the book very much. Now, I must retroactively preface, or maybe postface is a better (if nonsensical) word, this by saying Fry is not among the TV personalities I am fond of. I do find him to be kind of a pompous git, however this book came up for bookclub and I can’t leave a book unfinished. And Fry did live up to this accolade in the book. Between the achingly long passages about how he did little work and put in less effort in his studies and still succeeded and his bemoaning just how hard it was to be him, the book became a monotonous cry of “Poor little rich [boy] what does [he] know about misery” a la Rose in Cameron’s Titanic.
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