Haven't thought of the reason yet, but for the past few days I've had a niggling yearning to re-read John Masefield's The Box of Delights. I wonder if it's not because of that funny local priest business we have had lately (see A Man in a Dress post a few days ago) which possibly put me in mind of that villain Abner. Anyway, it's been on my mind. I want to read about the Punch and Judy man Cole (who in turn makes me think of Hoban's Riddley Walker) and the box that makes you go swift or small. Magic.
Incidentally, since I worked as a medical secretary for a disgusting old consultant physician in a private hospital I have been unable to think of the word "box" without also thinking of unwelcome gynaecological connotations. A female patient was being treated by said doctor for a liver complaint but she also needed to be referred to a specialist for her specifically female malady. He asked me to type, "I have asked Mr Foster to look at her box." I transcribed the letter, but ommitting the final word for niceness.
Which makes me remember my stupidity when working for an orthopaedic surgeon who had dictated, "I examined his hip knee ankle colon these were healthy full stop." It was the absence of commas and strange phrasing that threw me, plus having worked for a gastro-enterologist only the week before.