It's the holidays. A break from the routine of work and more work. Time to go shopping, cook more, go away for a bit, sleep longer - afternoon naps a speciality - and read. Currently, I'm reading Jeremy Hardy's book about trying to trace his roots. To the disappointment of his mother, he's not famous enough for 'Who Do You Think You Are', so he wrote a book instead, which is funny.
I have just finished reading a book about the Pre-Raphaelites, which makes it two non-fiction books in a row. That's good because, apart from work related reading, it's nearly always fiction I find myself reading for pleasure but now I'm stuck with reading 'Fifty Shades of Grey' - an insane book group choice - I may have been put off fiction for some time to come. How tedious to read of perfect, pounding, earth shatteringly orgasmic sex with characters as near to cardboard as those little cut out and dress up figures I used to play with when I was a little girl. I have now reached the stage where the book kicks in to the BDSM stuff, which I'm finding doesn't lie very comfortably with me. I really don't like the idea of control or submission to that degree. Each to his own, of course, but I'd rather sit in the sun and be entertained by Jeremy Hardy describing his experiences at the National Archive than have to bother reading about Anastasia and Christian Grey.
Tomorrow I'm thinking of going to Wigan to do some shopping. I think I'll take Jeremy with me. At least I don't need a Kindle to read him in public.
My Family and Other Strangers