Skip to main content

Bookworm

 At school, I remember being called a ‘bookworm.’ It didn’t bother me - in fact, I saw it as a badge of honour. I love reading, always have and always will. I read every day. I am bemused by adults who declare, with pride, that they haven’t read a book since they left school. I mean, what’s that all about, eh? What do they DO with their spare time? 

Today, the books I ordered online on Wednesday arrived in the post. Lovely, lovely books. Just looking at them and holding them makes me smile…

One fiction, three non-fiction. I’ve just finished ‘Enbury Heath’ which is another to tick off my Stella Gibbons’ list. I’ve read fifteen of her novels so far, so just over half way through her oeuvre. I’m still reading books on an introduction to classical music appreciation and printmakers who use chickens and geese as their inspirations. That’s a bit niche, that one. I started reading the second Norman Doidge one about the plasticity of the human brain, but it was a bit heavy going straight after the first one, so I’ve parked that for the moment. 

Now I have these beauties to chose from! 

Today, I had a letter writing morning, which was a pleasant way to spend a couple of hours. I also tinkered around with some story ideas because I have the urge to start a substantial writing project, now that I’ve recovered from the hoo-ha of the Much Malarkey Manor Christmas Story. 

I gave Edith Rabbit lots of green broccoli leaves from the veg beds, which she enjoyed enormously. 

I trapped my right index finger in the wood burner stove (don’t ask) and it hurt enough to bring tears to my eyes. Bambino was sympathetic, though, which was nice, so I gave him the leftover raw egg I had when I made some cheese scones to go on top of the veggie stew I made for dinner. He likes raw egg. He is a disgusting cat. 

And did you know that apparently the 1970s/80s children’s TV programme ‘Grange Hill’ is going to be made into a film? I shall only be excited if Todd Carty appears in a blonde wig and a frock to play the role of Mrs McClusky. 


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Frosted Dawn Enigma

The decorators are in at the moment. Stairs and landing. Given my previous history of 'Hoo Ha Occurring on Stairs ' - reference the Trapped Under the Sofa Incident and the Foot Wedged Between Bookcase and Stair Rise Debacle - I thought it wise to pay for professionals to decorate the stairs and landing rather than get myself in a mix with ladder and plank combinations and achieve the Magic Three of staircase accidents. The decorators are a father and son combo who go by the  names of Craig and David. This automatically causes me entertainment. 'Came in on a Monday, prepped, filled and undercoated, back on Thursday, first top coating, by Friday finishing touches...' Okay, not as frisky or well-scanned as the original song, but you get where I'm coming from. Anyway, before they started the job Craig asked what colour I wanted for the walls. 'Same colour as the downstairs walls, please,' said I. 'Dulux Frosted Dawn.' And then white for ...
2 comments
Read more

Day 1 - Decisions Are Made Beyond the Author's Control.

‘Well,’ I say, looking at the expectant faces gathered around the huge table in the Great Dining Hall of Much Malarkey Manor, ‘I didn’t think it was going to happen this year, but it is!’ There is a sharp intake of breath as everyone wonders of what I speak. I’ve been muttering about all sorts recently, and I’m not talking liquorice here either.   ‘The Much Malarkey Manor Annual and Traditional Christmas Story!’ I say, and wait for the expulsed air of relief to settle before I continue. ‘I thought we had done it all. I thought we had covered every Christmas story there was. I’ve been wracking my brains for a full two months now, trying to come up with something we haven’t done before and then it hit me! We haven’t done a version of one of the Great Christmas Films of Yore!’ ‘Your what?’ says Mrs Slocombe, who is more interested in the selection of pastries I have brought to this breakfast meeting, because that is what one does, isn’t it? Eat pastries at breakfast...
8 comments
Read more

Sun Puddles

A few weeks ago, I met up with a dear friend for a meditation and healing afternoon, both of us being light workers on the spirit pathway. It did me good to re-engage in a bit of focused energy channelling (because I have let my practice slip somewhat) and during the afternoon the words ‘sun puddles’ popped into my head.  Now, I know this wasn’t my human brain thinking these words because I have never heard the phrase before; when I arrived home, I looked it up and said to myself, ‘Aaah, you mean sun spots!’ This is a sun puddle... ...there! That thing that Flora is lying on. No, not the sofa - the warm patch of sunshine on the sofa. Here are Flora and Bambino sharing a sun puddle... This proves that no matter how much they scrap with each other and try to denude each other of fur all over my rugs, they secretly share a mutual and fond admiration. I think. And here is Bambino on a sun puddle that has come to rest on my legs... It’s his casual, ‘I’m so cool’ pose. Metaphorically coo...
3 comments
Read more