I'm finally sorting out the music CDs.

A friend dropped over the visit yesterday evening. Before I so much as asked if she had a mouth, I conscripted her to help me carry the last basement bookcase up to the library-cum-music room, thus completing the row of Ikea Billy bookcases on the east wall. I have six shelf inserts that permit a six-shelf 60-cm Billy to accommodate 7.2 shelf-metres of CDs. When the six double shelves for CDs are full, that's my limit.

Edmund's younger brother has already relieved me of a significant quantity -- most notably everything by Bob Dylan, John Prine and Johnny Cash -- so the task is not as daunting as it was two years ago, but it's no bagatelle. When the sheep and goats have been separated, I'll box up the goats for the music booth at the next parish rummage sale, which has been known to feature tactical shoving.

With the last bookcase in place, last night's visit was great. We sat on the porch and killed a bottle of wine while we watched the neighbours walk their dogs.

Speaking of wildlife, I got clobbered the other day by Dive-Bomber Dave, a terrifically territorial red-wing blackbird who lives in a tree overhanging the path beside the Avon River. He nailed me a good one, probably with both feet as well as his pointy little beak, and I have three minor lacerations on my pate and bloodstains down the back of my shirt to remember him by. Brave little blighter!