More about books...

Writhing less comfortably through the last nights in my own bed I've read 'The Spy Game' by Georgina Harding which is every bit as 'elegant' and 'beautifully written' as the endorsing critical quotes say of it (which I generally ignore until after I've sampled the wares when I can snort with derision and wonder how much they were paid or what a good job has been made of editing out the rest of the quote.) It was, amazingly, just as gripping as promised too, though almost nothing happens. It took finding a W.H.Smith somewhere in London to happen across it, a fact which brings me nicely to acknowledge, long after it should have been acknowledged, a comment someone wrote on a blog entry long ago about the dearth of Phil Rickman backlists in book stores. I've never seen Phil's books in airport lounges, Tesco or train stations. If someone hadn't told me about him I might never have known. His titles hardly ever appeared in the boxes that came through the door of the bookshop which is an indication of how little they sell I imagine. They deserve much more exposure because they are well written, with rounded believable characters I can care about and, and for those who like the subject of the paranormal, some actual thought has been put into them. I only bought the Shakespeare thing because it was part of the poor choice at a railway station kiosk where the second book was half price. This will boost the sales of what should by rights slide silently into the slush pile and sink, never to be seen again.

Conspiracy theory alert. We are being manipulated. AAAaargh!

It was so good to hear one of the Booker prize readers, who I have always felt sorry for in recent years, complaining about the doom&gloom misery in most of the books she has to plough through. Almost every book, she claims, begins with a rape and that is the fun bit, it's downhill all the way thereafter. It reminds me why I stick to crime novels - at least they aren't pretending to be Literature and there's often a laugh or two along the way. (Though that reminds me of another grumble - the other book I read in my away time by Quentin Jardine. I so wish someone would teach that man how to write dialogue that isn't wooden and totally unbelievable. Presumably he is one of the happy band well-publicised at stands in airports and train stations, which again was where I found him and bought him in desperation for entertaiment I have already almost forgtten.)

There's anough misery in the world without getting more of it splurged over us by -usually - women out for a cheap pull. No matter how cathartic Greek tragedy may be these dreary wallowers just don't match up.

Travelling horizontal is definitely the best way. I slept very peacefully on the way down to London and on the way back too. Better train on the homeward run and better complimentary 'comfort pack.' Sadly there is no sleeper between Paddington and Hayle so I read 'The Shakespeare Curse' by J.L.Carrell on the way there. The less said about that the better except that the writing style is slightly more supportable than the Da Vinci Code. Then 'The Sunday Philosophy Club' by Alexander McCall Smith on the homeward run, which I enjoyed much more than the African series, probably because I find it easier to envisage Edinburgh than Africa. I like his style; unobtrusive but classy.

Whilst in the family home I was accomodated on the best bed as the puppies were in the spare room and the owners felt it only right they should sleep alongside these squeeky morsels. The Best Bed has a wonderful memory foam mattress, so good that I almost stayed for ever.(No good for those who want to get rid of mother-in-laws in other words!) My back felt really good all week. Memo to self - start saving. At present I sleep on an old mattress on the floor. There is a bed available, I just prefer the floor, but would be coaxed off if I had such a sublime sleeping place offered. I stayed awake ach evening just long enough to get through Sarah Waters 'The Little Stranger' by skipping huge bits of it. Felt it was much too long and she should learn from the masters, James and Poe, that spinning a story out doesn't make it more spooky once the troublesome spirit is perceived, just irritating.

One day you too can be as big as me but your trousers will still fall down.

Theo models for GAP.

Still seven?

Poor mum - imagine having seven children when you weren't prepared for even one. She kept rushing into the kitchen wih its nice cool tiles and flinging her poor tummy flat. The pups don't always latch onto the right spots and evidently suck really hard so she's covered with love bites!

All seven will make non-allergenic pets. Dad is a minature poodle of good breeding (although the breeding papers are lost...) and mum is half poodle half crested something-or-the-other so slightly bigger. Both parents are very laid-back characters and love the cat. I fear the huge rabbits may eat the puppies once they get into the yard, but so far so good.

Home again.

Home for two weeks in fact but only just getting my ducks in a row here. It was really good to go away. I needed the perspective holidays give and it was so nice to be with the Cornish branch. Didn't see much of Cornwall predictably, but lots of animals. Seven puppies entered the world more or less as I arrived. Photos soon.