This has post has been kicking around, for, well awhile. But, I was doing some Christmas baking, and my mum came for coffee, and now it’s late and my teeth really hurt and I don’t have a post for today. So, consider this a burst of summer memories, in a wintry moment, would you?
Slate has Obama’s summer reading list up. Now, it seems to me, but asking to see someone’s reading list, especially a summer one, is like asking: boxers or briefs.
It’s a fundamentally personal question that gets given all sorts of meanings that aren’t necessarily true, and more than that, no one is going to answer really honestly anyway.
I’m not sure that it matters, but I haven’t watched television in at least 6 months. (I think the last show was a Discovery production about King Tut. Egyptology is a secret love of mine). The last television series I watched was the West Wing, which went off the air in 2006 (Oh, how I miss thee Toby).
Ahh, by my bed. Yes, well. If you really want to know what a book lover reads, check out beside their bed. Next to the loo. In their home study. Those books are in helter skelter piles. Some books stay in the pile for a long time. You can see what books I’ve been trying to read for a year (Late Nights on Air, by Elizabeth Hayes) and more. I’ve been buying book series. Much the same way that people buy television series, but possibly more pulpy. There you’ll find Elizabeth Peter’s – both her Amelia Peabody and her Vicky Bliss books. You’ll find the Aunt Dimity books, and an Ian Rankin Novel. I’ve got The Girl who Played with Fire by Stieg Larsson (and I’m not sure what the heck happened here – I sat up until 1:30 am reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo).
Sometimes a book is just a book.