In Which Your Humble Blogger likes some books a lot more than expected, or about as much as expected, depending on which set of expectations are taken.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is a total crank.
In Which Your Humble Blogger doesn't make any Shaboygen jokes, but regrets the omission.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is could also write a whole note about the tragic waste of Liz Shaw, but it would just be a global replace for Martha Jones (or Yaz).
In Which Your Humble Blogger would also enjoy your recommendations, Gentle Reader, if you have ’em.
In Which Your Humble Blogger's Tohu Bohu has also become something Gentle Readers used to enjoy probably more than once.
In Which Your Humble Blogger likes a thing, which is probably less entertaining for other people than when YHB dislikes the thing.
In Which Your Humble Blogger does not even attempt a Top Five, but come on, Brain of Morbius is criminally underrated.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is glad they’re happy, and happy they’re glad, and how many of you got that reference, hunh?
In Which Your Humble Blogger was sorely tempted to spend my time writing a note explaining that David Brooks was very wrong indeed, but you know, that is a thing the internet may not actually need another of.
