Catching flies

I headed off to the British Library to begin researching for my next essay. I learnt the meaning of words like wirkungsgeschichte and rezeptionsasthetik which I now intend to throw into everyday conversation.

While I was in the library, I became aware of a bit of a kerfuffle at the information desk. A terribly posh elderly woman was demanding various things in a very loud voice, and disturbing the whole of the vast reading room. Eventually she sat down, presumably waiting for her books, and promptly fell asleep with her mouth hanging open. That was about 1pm, and she was still there in the same position when I left at 4.30pm. Perhaps she had died there.

I scurried around Birkbeck library, scooping up books with all the gusto of a contestant on Supermarket Sweep and then made my way to the lecture on Interdisciplinarity - oh dear! This time it was me who was catching flies. A cure for insomnia has finally been located in Bloomsbury. Dull as ditch water. Nothing that a few pints of the barman's finest over at the SU couldn't put right, including a lively debate on Mahler. It all happens dunnit?