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The temptation to leave the post as just that was very high. Nonetheless, this blog is less of a statement and more of a discourse.

Today marks the release of the latest chapbooks from Nightjar Press, who I’ve blogged briefly about in the past. Saturday saw me popping a cheque in the post for a very reasonable six pounds fifty pence. I am currently waiting on the arrival of the books themselves.

It’s a feeling I quite enjoy. I have opted for the books to be delivered to my school, which means I will at some point, I will find them unannounced in my pigeon hole. This reminds me of when I used to live in halls, and my good friend Byrnsweord (read his blog) would check our post in the forgotten hours of the morning. It was a blissfully cathartic experience, which often provided counterpoint to a cold evening outside because of a fire alarm.

It is because of this same anticipation, perhaps, that I rarely drink instant coffee these days. Perhaps it could be considered elitist, but the fact is that I would often rather expend more effort in crafting a more complex drink. Perhaps it’s the chef in me.*

Nightjar’s chapbooks (and indeed the movement) were considered elitist by some of the comments on this Guardian blog article. I’m not sure if I agree or not, nor if I feel it is a bad thing either way. Perhaps my anticipation to receive such objets d’art (signed and numbered) means I am unable to fairly judge.

Either way, I can’t wait. But I’m enjoying that just as much.

*His name is Raoul, and he is from Brasil and wears dress shirts with too many buttons undone.


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