Осторожно, лингвист! [А на вашем трупе, молодой человек, они бы еще и попрыгали...]
Вспоминаю детство, когда чтобы одеться, запихивал одежду под одеяло.
Разница только в том, что это была зима и -20-25.

Дома все так же нет отопления (в коридоре батарея чуть теплее, чем моя - но она скорее от плиты нагрелась).
А сегодня отключили горячую воду. То, что течет из крана, моим пальцам уже напоминает комнатную температуру - но заслуга в этом никак не водопровода.
Как вчера сказала бухгалтер - сейчас отапливается уже 92% города, ты видимо попала в эти 8%.
Murphy is a bitch. So is statistics.
И да, статистика - наука больших чисел. В отдельно взятом доме - 50 на 50, дадут либо нет ><'

Зато сегодня проснулся.
Ключ - телефон на другом конце комнаты. И сразу же включить Кертиса, он для меня аудиоэквивалент чая с кофе: вроде гадость, но работает, а потом как-то привыкаешь и прикольно.

Зато доперечитал Feet of Clay, и это прекрасно. Можно тут просто полежат пара моих любимых цитат?

'King?' Nobby coughed, and then they had to slap him on the back until he got his breath again. 'King?' he wheezed. 'And have Mr Vimes cut me head off?'
'All the brandy you can drink, my lord,' said a wheedling voice.
"S no good if you ain't got a throat for it to go down!'
'What're you talking about?'
'Mr Vimes'd go spare! He'd go spared
'Good heavens, man—'
'My lord,' someone corrected.
'My lord, I mean - when you're king you can tell that wretched Sir Samuel what to do. You'll be, as you would call it, "the boss". You could—'
'Tell ole Stoneface what to do?' said Nobby.
That's right!'
'I'd be a king and tell ole Stoneface what to do?' said Nobby.
Nobby stared into the smoky gloom.
'He'd go spare!
'Listen, you silly little man—'
'My lord—'
'You silly little lord, you'd be able to have him executed if you wished!'
'I couldn't do that!'
'Why not?'
'He'd go spare!'
'The man calls himself an officer of the law, and whose law does he listen to, eh? Where does his law come from?'
'I don't know!' groaned Nobby. 'He says it comes up through his boots!' He looked around. The shadows in the smoke seemed to be closing in.
'I can't be king! Ole Vimes'd go spare!'
'Will you stop saying that!'
Nobby pulled at his collar.
"S a bit hot and smoky in here,' he mumbled. 'Which way's the window?'
'Over there—'
The chair rocked. Nobby hit the glass helmet-first, landed on top of a waiting carriage, bounced off and ran into the night, trying to escape destiny in general and axes in particular.

'Was that a "yes, sir" or a "no, sir", Sir Samuel?'
'It was just a "sir", sir.'

'Oh, of course I cut off enough to make a stub and let the wick burn for a moment. I couldn't let our gallant policeman know I'd worked it out for myself, could I? Not when he was making such an effort and having so much fun being . . . well, being Vimes. I'm not completely heartless, you know.'
'But, my lord, you could have sorted it out diplomatically! Instead he went around upsetting things and making a lot of people very angry and afraid—'
'Yes. Dear me. Tsk, tsk.'
'Ah,' said Drumknott.
'Quite so,' said the Patrician.

@темы: будни, книги, кохабитация