Reading? Me?

I left Philip Caveney’s characters having lunch – an odd sort of lunch – in Harvey Nicks in Edinburgh. They are nice characters. No, they are not, really, but they are interesting characters and the book is an easy and fun read. Really. Because those are the kind of books Philip writes.

But history repeats itself. I should have known. I am down to Not Reading. After roughly 25 years, I am succumbing to stress and doing the Not Reading. I don’t recommend it. Everyone feels better for reading. Especially me. So why am I not doing it?

The last time it was due to toddlers in the house. Motherhood stress and all that.

Now, well. I never had the urge to bake sourdough bread. I did that 35 years ago and have no need to do it again. The house is in a worse state than it was last February. And the reading; well, first it changed, slowed down a little and moved sideways into more crime, more adult crime.

But here I am in Harvey Nicks, ‘drinking’ too much and lunching with the devil.

I manage magazines all right. And most of the two and a half newspapers that come my way every week. I mean, I read the headlines. It’s quite enough.

Somehow I need to get myself out of Harvey Nicks. Surely there is an elevator or something?

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