I can't complain if I'm no longer a "Special Reader". Though it's annoying to check your account at home; see NOTHING to indicate that your status has changed; drive to the library; and find you can neither get IN past the barrier without help, nor borrow on the self-issue machine. Oh, fie! Sometimes it's good to use a different library, so one doesn't forget what it's like to be a reader rather than a librarian. But that means all those lovely Iolo Morganwg books remain on the shelves rather than coming home with me, and that means I'm prevented from spending time with my new imaginary friend.
It has been a very library day. I spent a couple of peaceful hours examining Welsh song books in Glasgow's Mitchell Library. These will be mentioned in my IAML talk in Cardiff. I've ordered photocopies of some paratextual material, so I can pore over it at my leisure. Back to "my own" library, consuming chips en-route, but forgetting to have a lunch-break. (D'oh, as Homer Simpson would say.)
So that's why I was knackered by the end of the day. That was before I had my abortive Uni library trip; and since then, I've typed up my Mitchell Libray notes.
What about The Book?, you might ask. Well, it's pending. I've spent hours on research, but none on the manuscript today. Tomorrow's another day.