Books, Books.

Had a gorgeous day. Yesterday I bought a shameful book on a whim in a chazza shop. Julian Clary's autobiog, A Young Man's Passage. I started it last night, fell asleep reading it and continued reading it at 6am when I woke. It is deliciously bitchy yet so incredibly touching. So many autobiographies skim the surface of truth - this was was painful it was so honest - and you can never trust the biogs written by others (even worse than this, the life stories as imagined by novelists. I once read one of these about Plath and Hughes that made me actually do a small scream of horror, so bad was it).

Had to take Wibs to work at 12, Bonny expressed a wish to visit her gran, and the sun today was intense. Drove to Halton and had an hour in the pub with a friend - or rather outside the pub. Talking about books over a Batemans in a sunny garden - this IS the life. Took the mutt too, she's a happy Hats. Drove home listening to The White Lies which my friend had copied for me - so thoughtful. Liked it well enough, but it needs more listens. Another cd which needs listening to, I've had for three or four years now - Kate Bush's Ariel. I cant get enough of it right now, it's perfect for driving in sun, its perfect for feeling happy to, its perfect for feeling sad to. Yum.

Got home, picked the young ones up, went and bought three more books, and then finished Julian. Tried not to race to the end, couldn't help it. Loved it, recommend it.