Four hours. Four long hours. Four long hours in a waiting room, no less. All at the dusty end of a Bank Holiday.
Add in the twisting warp in the time-space continuum that only banal form filling and playing Snake on a Nokia can create and it could so easily have transmogrified into more.
Pretty hard on the soul, eh?
But LO! What light breaketh through the ‘Meh Green’ and conformity-inducing gloom? Why, t’is the first of Ben Aaronovitch’s Rivers of London. My wander through the back streets of Aaronovitch’s London drowned out the clicketty-clacketty echoes of the receptionist typing in endless names and numbers, all sound and fury.
I’m late to this party, but what a party it is. You like rollicking London fiction? Or Miéville-style science fiction without the grand intellectual cartwheels? Read it fast and in one sitting. Run, don’t walk.