Work was better today but there was a fair amount of follow-up to do to get Friday's mistakes completely cleared up. Despite spending half an hour after work decompressing by idly flipping around online catching up on diaries I still felt squashed like a bug when I got home. I worked off my remaining stress by reading in bed for an hour, then getting up and having several simultaneous conversations on ICQ. Jackie was on, and I finally got my recipe for Now We're Cooking to her. I exchanged updates with MOO pals FarSide and Numbat, then got into a discussion of Georgette Heyer and contemporary Regency author Carla Kelly with Diane. Without quite meaning to, I've lured another victim into the world of Regencies.

Regency romances are one of my long time addictions. I have about 300 of the things, most of them culled from used bookstores. Some of them are as good as any writing you'll find anywhere. Some of them are very bad indeed. Once upon a time I thought I'd like to write a Regency romance. I know a ridiculous amount about that period, from the effect of the American Revolution on the textile industry to postal privileges of the nobility. I got about 15,000 words into it before realizing that it was utterly predictable and distressingly unoriginal. Abandoning it, I went back to reading books actually written during George IV's lifetime (1762-1830). I'm a big fan of Jane Austen, Maria Edgworth, and Fanny Burney.

Unexpectedly, I am not a fan of Patrick O'Brian books. I've only read Master and Commander, but that was enough. I count this as my loss because a lot of my friends love Aubrey and Maturin. On the other hand, some of my favorite people cannot for the life of them see the charm in authors I adore like Terry Pratchett, so there is no predicting taste.

I missed tonight's astronomical high point. The occulting of Aldebaran was supposed to take place at 11:34. When John and I went out at 11:30 it was already hidden by the dark side of the waxing moon. I'm disappointed. I wanted to see the star appear to go out like a snuffed candle. I wish I could see the solar eclipse this summer in Cornwall or Picardy but alas, travel agents do not take the busy summer months off, and anyway, August in Europe is hot and uncomfortable. John may arrange to go. The eclipse occurs on his birthday.

As for me, I go now to dream of dancing at Almack's with Julian Kestrel. I'm pretty certain Diane will give me the cut direct for stealing her man, but I saw him first.

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