I dunno. I'm not generally the squeamish type, but "a doctor recommended nasal aspirator that removes mucus from your child's nose" is not something I've noticed a lack of in my life. Via.

And then there's this:

listening to certain people with strategic pretensions is like listening to so...

For about fifty years, I have been labouring under a personal grooming misunderstanding. It has always been my belief that one needs some sort of lubricant to get a decent shave; soap of some form, for the most part, although I did dabble with a shave oil for a month or two. A couple of days ago, for reasons,¹ I decided to shave with just water.

Revelation.

A friend happened to meet Edmund de Waal at this year's Venice Biennale, and in telling us about the encounter he was so persuasive about this book, which had made him seek out de Waal, that I resolved to read it. I'm so glad I did. It had been sitting on the shelf here forever, and while I had been aware of it, I thought it was about netsuke. It is, and so much more.

I began this monthly report on the first of the month, full of good intentions and excuses. That it took another five days is proof the excuses are real.

"Excuse" always seems to carry such a freight of negativity. They're not reasons for failing to accomplish what you set out to do. They just excuse you, and that's just beating yourself up. Myself. So, no more excuses. Reasons!

Onwards.

From time to time a key on my clickety-clack keyboard gets stuck and refuses to register. Usually, I just prise off the keycap, fiddle about with an unbent paperclip or something and hope for the best, but the last time it happened it was one of the letters I need for my password and it was a royal pain. Plus, I've been saying for weeks, if not months, that the keyboard deserved a jolly good seeing to. (I've had it just over nine years now; it's the least I could do.)