Hmm, well. It was pointed out to me that blogging about work, especially when said work can be identified provided you read American Rhapsody with enough care, wasn't necessarily the smartest thing to do.

But nobody reads me, I thought. I get a few dozens of hits a day, mostly on the French pages, and none of them from anywhere near here. And I haven't been that harshly critical. And I'm only here until September anyway.

Still. I have written things I would have kept to myself had I been writing under my own name, and I'm clearly not that far from doing that anyway, so I taken a few posts (or parts of posts) down.

Nevertheless, I'll have you know that I have no idea where the reams of paper are kept. The printers seem to always be magically refilled whenever necessary without requiring any external intervention.

And if I have the courage, I'll write about re-reading Jane Austen sometime soon. Don't expect anything deep, though: it's been done too many times by more gifted than me.