Wednesday night

Back home, but with little to say for myself.
At the wedding I went to in Scotland, all the women knew a sort of line dance called The Slosh. I asked one of the men how it was that they all knew these individually simple, but (taken as a routine) moderately complicated steps. He said: "It's a thing women know." We left it at that.
I got sent Charles Stross's Halting State, which I think is out in America, but is not published here until next year. God knows what the Americans will make of it. It's very Scottish (though know he isn't, not really). I think it's very good fun.
I am accepting bids for anyone needing summarised or sent up (in the manner of Jorge Luis Borges, Lee Child, Jay McInerney or Robert M Pirsig), if only to give me an excuse to read something other than the thousands of review copies clogging my in-tray. Perhaps it ought to be William Gibson, once I've read the new one. But all offers considered.
Bear in mind I have other bogs and stuff, not to mention a day job writing, and it's the summer holidays. If it's quiet here, I may just be sitting in the garden. And?