Thursday is the day devoted to my canal/identity book, largely due to the very limited opening hours of the historical research library in Morlaix, evocatively named Bibliothèque Les Amours Jaunes (after work by our local poet mordant Tristan Corbière). I love this place, even though it's nothing like as extensive as the Bibliothèque Bretonne at Landevennec Abbey where I have spent many productive days among the monks, apple orchards and weird periodicals, totally happy in my little cell - for it's a real library where you are not allowed to see the books, only to ask, wait and hope. But at Morlaix the library is upstairs in the Hotel de Ville, a vast room with extraordinarily low velvet-covered chairs. My chin just about rests on the table and I have to type blind, hands practically raised above my head, but I like the other researchers, genealogists almost to a man, and the two librarians. My attachment to institutions has grown and flourished since it became an optional relationship with no pricks to kick against.
Today I worked again on the Rohans and the driving force of family identity that sacrificed the Breton cause to self-interest and the dubious merits of Charles VIII. How truly terrifying to have your destiny shaped at birth - it's almost, but not quite, enough to make one sorry for various royal families.
Good day altogether and I just happened to see the sexiest man in the world in passing as well, so if only Trinidad & T had managed to hold England off for those last few minutes I'd be off to bed extremely happy. As it is, I'll have to settle for very.