A long weekend in Tighnabruaich (I'm not even sure where that is myself, except it's a very long drive into very much the middle of Scottish nowhere) to visit my dad and his second wife, in the company of my half-brother Rory and his girlfriend. My father now lives in a converted police station, of all places; the living room has a curious raised platform where, apparently, the cells once were - the lower part of the room being where the local constable once (the date above the doorway is 1894) kept his office. Everyone in my family but me seems to enjoy being in places where really nothing ever happens at all, whereas I feel unstimulated unless I am in the most urban circumstances.
On returning home, a random whim produced this result in Amazon UK - I think a small Mexican Wave is in order. You can't get much more official than that, can you? Although I do note that Amazon lists the publication date for Angel Stations as somewhat earlier than the August I'd been told. In the meantime, I have the front and back cover blurbs to look over.