Little Things

Blimey, my last post before the one this week was 4 months ago. It feels like an age since everything turned into grot and ashes, but at the same time I can’t believe that it’s been so long.

My head is like an empty room with a fly buzzing around in it desperately trying to find a way out. I wrote a bee originally, but I think a fly is more accurate. Bees are fuzzy and bumbling and cute, and that in no way is an accurate description of my mind. You can imagine flies for yourself.

Anyway. I’m not able to concentrate, and I have An Accomplished Woman by Jude Morgan which is well-written and funny and interesting, but I can only do a few pages at at time. My concentration is shot. I turned to Whispers in the Dark by Jonathan Aycliffe, who is my new love – it’s shorter and easier to read, and it’s gripping me because it’s fast-paced. I’d usually be enjoying Morgan’s delicate build-up of character and plot, but right now I need easy reading and it’s a pleasure to discover easy reading does not = trash (I don’t normally do “easy”). In addition to this I’ve discovered Aycliffe and his taut, gothic ghost stories. This is the second of his I’ve read and I’ve just put the rest of the titles on my wishlist. As I did so suggestions of other authors popped up – on the site of which we dare not speak – and I felt like that bloke who discovered a new planet. There are hundreds of stories I haven’t read yet; stories which are all my ravaged brain can deal with.

When I popped into town this afternoon it was predictably dreary. Colourless, cold, and miserable. People doing battle with umbrellas. I walked past a coffee shop which had put up several shelves and filled them with second-hand books, next to a leather-look armchair, to make a customer imagine he was in an old library. Despite the fact that on the other side of the bookshelf sat House of Fraser, I wanted to curl up in that sticky chair and while away the afternoon with a hot chocolate and Jonathan Aycliffe. Reading is such a simple sweet pleasure, yet it feels like such decadence. I’m glad I’m remembering how to do it.

Enjoy Mr Aycliffe, and whoever else pops up.

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