Victorianitas

My phone line gets activated in nine days, not that I'm counting or anything, and I am left scrabbling for brief moments of internet access at work in between marking student assignments (the joy, the bliss, the occasional showers of apostrophes). My new home is an 1890s top-floor flat, complete with ridiculously high ceilings, gently undulating floorboards, tree shadows that creep across the windows at night, and a thing with feathers that perches in my chimney and scared the living hell out of me when it made its presence known a few days ago. I love it, love it, love it. And this is handy, since after carrying all my books up 61 steps to get them into the place, I am never moving house again.