(no subject)

[nny]

It's not the tweed, see. Not entirely. It's everything tweed implies. It's... steadiness, and durability/reliability. And books, dust, tea. Thick yellowing paper. Brogues and heavy rattling bicycles, apples in bicycle baskets, bells. Not chivalry, necessarily, but politeness even to the people you dislike - eloquent insults that take a good while to register, and may never at all. Dust that isn't young and active, but old and tired; the dust of years. The comforting smell of old books in company with other old books, and the silk of aged wood shelves, and slightly hushed voices. Classic FM, and radio four, and Stephen Fry on Just a Minute. Shelving books on a hot day with shirt sleeves rolled. Home made lemonade.

I accept that I will never be 'cool'.

*grins*