I really must apologise for slacking. I’d expected to do more writing, but was overcome by lack of time. And now my excuse is having people to sort out.
Son is off to Edinburgh, and has so far only been equipped with laptop, laundry basket and a toast-a-bag. The essentials, in other words. Duvets and plates and things are still to be found.
Daughter needs less sorting, but Year 10 still feels like a biggish step. Tech coursework to be printed and school ties to be chopped in half. (I know. It’s mad.)
Even the bookwitch is getting an education, albeit a short one. And not a minute too soon, I hear you saying. I’m shortly off to an Arvon course, at one of those places mentioned in Adele Geras’ Made in Heaven, with all the goings-on… It’s internet free, which will prove interesting from a blogging point of view.
I have just finished reading My Fathers’ Daughter by Hannah Pool, who is one of the course tutors. Despite not having been adopted from Eritrea, I found Hannah’s book very easy to identify with, and it’s a real page turner. I just wanted to read on and on.
How do you name your pets? I’d meant to write about pigs, but I was inundated with Rottweilers last weekend. I rarely socialise with dogs at all, and then I met two Rottweilers all in one go. One on Saturday and one on Sunday.
Saturday’s Rottweiler was the more literary of the two, being named for an Astrid Lindgren character, Ronja. Sunday’s Rottweiler was a plain Jack. His vet owner had previously shown more literary tastes when naming her pigs Romeo and Julia.
Last summer Daughter and I met some other literary pigs. Another Ronja, who was mourning her recently departed friend Pippi, and the boys Bill and Bull. They are the Crabbe and Goyle style friends of the bully Måns in Gösta Knutsson’s Pelle Svanslös, aka Peter No-Tail. Tried looking for books in English about Pelle, and could only find the video cartoons, but they are very good.
The previously mentioned cats that eat people’s breakfast have thoroughly sensible cat names like Carrot and a fairly untranslatable pun name.
Swedes are good at some things and not at others. Very much like most nationalities, except the good and the not so good varies. Fancy looking new public buildings are among the better things.
Probably, anyway. I didn’t feel Halmstad needed a new library. The old one where I went as a child was good enough for me and had a great fifties feel to it. Though most likely it was too small, as they said.
Now there is a new elegant building, which reaches out into the river, with lots of windows. Masses of space. Everything is glass and pale wood and lime green. (What they’ll do when lime green goes out of fashion is anybody’s guess.)
There are plenty of public computers, that don’t always work. There’s a café with a terrace to the park on the side. They have lockers (lime green) and toilets. There’s a reading area with a diverse selection of daily papers.
Staff are less plentiful, as they are reasonably paid and, hence, expensive. But those who are there dress well, so are also nice to look at.
Checking books in and out is for the customers to do. Being not terribly good with anything new and technical, I often come to grief with these things. At least it happens in nice surroundings.
I can never work out if all these new beautiful buildings are worth it, considering the money that could have been spent on other things.
I was very sad to learn that Siobhan Dowd died a few days ago. She was so kind and friendly, and seemed quite happy to enter into email correspondence with an admiring book blogger. I heard some weeks ago that Siobhan’s cancer had got worse, but hoped with all my heart that she would hang on for longer. Much longer.
There are some links about Siobhan on Dina Rabinovitch’s blog, and also on Declan Burke’s blog (right), if you want to read more.
There is even a comment from Siobhan on this blog, back in June. And do read her books.
Son, Daughter and I have just spent two days with School Friend and her family. It’s lovely to visit them, even though I wish Husband of SF hadn’t taught their cats that the last bit of breakfast is for them. The last of my breakfast is definitely for me.
SF’s oldest daughter E keeps surprising me. Having often felt the odd one out with my interest in books and writing, I can’t quite get over the fact that E is another one. She has just finished her librarian studies at university. Before that E did a year’s writing course and she just presented me with an anthology of stories from her school. And she has a past working for a bookshop. My watering hole, in fact.
It’s quite nice to find I’m not alone. And I didn’t really mean anything bad with that comment about the cats. Charming habit, when you think of it. Thank you for having us.
Is it OK for adult female readers to fancy fictional men in (their) children’s books?
After a wet and muddy walk on holiday some years ago I found myself with another couple of mothers, discussing Remus Lupin. I’d secretly found him very attractive in the Prisoner of Azkaban, but then I know I’m weird. Now I was comparing notes with others. And soon after I heard J K Rowling admitting in an interview that she rather liked him too.
If liking a werewolf is bad; is a bear better? An armoured bear. I really like Iorek Byrnison from His Dark Materials. It’s probably not that he’s all that good looking; more that he has integrity and feels safe. And in the audio book he has an attractive voice.
Can anyone suggest other candidates for oldies to like?