I finished the novel. Enjoyed it cover to cover, including the happy-ever-after ending. Apparently the author didn't think much of it himself - and even laboured six or seven years over writing it, changing the plot several times. Glad to know I'm not alone in find writing tough going at times. My mother went out and bought the same novel so we can discuss it via e-mail. Now isn't that nice...
Today I also borrowed a book, non-fiction, for my course from a nearby library, one I've not used before. The library is housed in what appears to be a historic building, with vaulted ceiling and large stone pillars. The libary is downstairs, below street level and has a suitably quiet, academic air - more what you'd expect to find at the main university than at this fashion school offshoot, in fact.
There was an American student ahead of me at the counter. She was asking the assistant if he'd seen anyone acting suspiciously. Her purse had gone missing from her bag. The assistant, a grey-haired man who I'd spoken to on the phone, looked very surprised and concerned. No, he'd seen no-one. The only stranger he'd noticed walking in there was me, he said. The girl - she'd be around twenty at least - said she'd left her handbag next to her seat for 'only ten minutes' while she went upstairs to talk to a teacher. 'Only ten minutes,' I thought, 'what planet is this girl living on?' I wouldn't leave my bag for 10 seconds unattended, anywhere in Amsterdam or the rest of the Netherlands, for that matter. Even when you have an old bike here - as just about everyone does - you have to buy a chain and lock that costs you nearly as much as the bike itself and make sure you use it every single time without fail. Such is life in Amsterdam.
One unhappy student is in for a tough weekend.
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