I have some questions for you today.
Firstly, why am I even contemplating buying more books when, since Christmas, I have started reading no less than SIX novels and only just today finished one of them? Currently on the go I have ( in no particular order of preference):
1) Nightingale Wood by Stella Gibbons (very entertaining in a dry, 1950s kind of way)
2) Me Before You by Jojo Moyes (never read anything by her before, probably won't bother again)
3) The Red House by Mark Haddon (oddly transfixing but only when in the mood to be oddly transfixed)
4) Rachel's Holiday by Marian Keyes (disappointingly predictable and glad I didn't spend money on it but got it as free e-book)
5) Why Be Happy When You Can Be Normal? by Jeanette Winterson (jury out at the mo)
...and finished today...
6) Behind the Scenes at the Museum by Kate Atkinson, which was really good once I had sorted out the generations of family members amongst whom the plot skips like a crazy bug.
Actually, I have started and completed one entire novel since Christmas, which is The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce which was absolutely delightful in an inspiring, funny and thought-provoking way,and I therefore urge you to read it if you can.
I think my random reading is becoming out of control from some reason that is beyond me. I have always had two books on the go at any one time, occasionally three, because I think you have to read to suit your mood, but six???
Two under the bed, two in my writing room, one in the living room, one in the kitchen. Crazy. I am banning myself from starting any more books until I am down to my last two. Actually, I might delete the Marian Keyes. Save me the effort of struggling to the end and trying to overcome my instant dislike of the heroine of the piece.
Question number two - why is it that dead pig can be known as ham, pork, bacon or gammon, dead cow can be known as beef or steak and dead sheep can be known as mutton or lamb whilst dead birds are known as just chicken, duck or goose? Is it that birds are too small, too insignificant to be known by a selection of post-mortem nomenclatures?
Thirdly, why are cats the most aesthetically perfect creatures on the planet? And I include in this cats of all form - tiger, lion, panther, leopard etc.
Fourthly, how does one convince a pair of excitable hens that the bony-like structure they have discovered in their back garden archaeological dig (inspired by the discovery of Richard III under a car park in Leicestershire) is not actually the finger of William the Conqueror but, in fact, a knobbly twig from the willow arch? They are insisting they are going to dig until they find the remains of someone famous or a huge pot of gold. I have warned them not to get their hopes up too high, but I don't really want to discourage them from their new-found hobby because a) it keeps them out of mischief and b)their digging has actually improved the appearance of the garden.
Fifthly, why is it so difficult to make that first cut into a new piece of fabric? I have in mind to make a fabric collage inspired by a particularly magnificent cockerel (named Lady Grey, but that's a whole other story) belonging to Vera and Lester in France. I have acquired a selection of silk fabric in glorious shades of greys and reds to match his feathers, I have fiddled about making mock up feathers, I have decided upon chiffon for his bum feathers (he is a fluffy bottomed Buff Orpington type) and set aside embroidery cottons with which to sew his comb and feet, but I cannot yet quite bring myself to set about the fabric with the scissors.
...why is Pandora sitting on the arm of the sofa, right now, right this minute, staring at me like that?