Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Chapter One: I Am Born.
Something I find frustrating and have often commented on is the fact I will never get to read all the books I'll ever want to read. Yes I could make a list and plough through them, but then there are all the wonderful new books coming out that I want to read and quite frankly there just aren't enough hours in the day. Sometimes I just want to listen to music, or read a magazine. Sometimes I fancy staring out the window and sometimes I want to write. Granted the latter is usually a list of things I should be doing.
Last night I decided to address this and took myself off to bed at 9.00pm to read my current book. It helped there was fuck all on tv I must admit. Anyway I went to bed with Tracy Chevalier's Falling Angels. A book that started marvellously - set in 1901, the heroine awoke after having been to a wife swap party. I mean what more can you want, period drama and sex? And so I read and it was bliss. Even in spite of the chap upstairs listening to 70's rock and hammering, I lay there for hours reading and by the time I'd decided to go to sleep I looked around and realised in the course of 'reading' my book I'd obtained from the bookshelf three others to accompany it. Thus it was I found myself surrounded by Eats, Shoots & Leaves (not that you'd know I'm reading it judging by my punctuation); a book called Literary London and reading poetry - Keats in particular - aloud at midnight.
(and just to prove a point in spite of the title I have never read David Copperfield)
*orders on Amazon*
Last night I decided to address this and took myself off to bed at 9.00pm to read my current book. It helped there was fuck all on tv I must admit. Anyway I went to bed with Tracy Chevalier's Falling Angels. A book that started marvellously - set in 1901, the heroine awoke after having been to a wife swap party. I mean what more can you want, period drama and sex? And so I read and it was bliss. Even in spite of the chap upstairs listening to 70's rock and hammering, I lay there for hours reading and by the time I'd decided to go to sleep I looked around and realised in the course of 'reading' my book I'd obtained from the bookshelf three others to accompany it. Thus it was I found myself surrounded by Eats, Shoots & Leaves (not that you'd know I'm reading it judging by my punctuation); a book called Literary London and reading poetry - Keats in particular - aloud at midnight.
(and just to prove a point in spite of the title I have never read David Copperfield)
*orders on Amazon*
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