Books

 Goodness, I nearly didn't make it this week! Fifty-two books in the next year, and I just about read six short stories over seven days. This does not bode well! And to think that I deliberately started with P. G. Wodehouse because I associate him with the delicious practice of book-devouring.

 Growing up in Belfast in the seventies and eighties meant that the only place I was allowed to go to by myself, one of only two places I ever went that lay beyond the line in the tarmac at the end of our cul-de-sac, was the library. They had a whole collection of P. G. Wodehouse's Blandings books. So when I discovered this large print PGW at my parents' a few weeks ago I grabbed and ran.

I needn't have bothered. Give me pigs and castles anytime. I don't like Jeeves. I don't like him at all. One down, fifty-one to go...

 Now this is a book to savour. This was my main read over the summer. A rich, thick compendium of all the Irish magic you've ever heard and then some more. It is the story of storytellers, and it is the stories of storytellers. It is the legends of the famous and a legend of a few. I loved it. Read it now!

The rest of the summer I read Mary Berry's story. A jolly hockey sticks romp through life with parties, frocks and Agas. And a recipe at the end of every chapter. Lovely, darling. Nice behind the scenes peeks into GBBO too.

I did also read my Agatha Christie for this month's Book Club. I read the first Miss Marple which I liked very much. Then I read one of the Poirot books- the one about the dog and his bouncing ball. I think I'll have to put Hercule in the north-facing Blue Room with Jeeves in attendance. Miss Marple can sit by the fire with Mary, and Frank Delaney shall serve them coffee and delight.

I'll be in the study with a crowbar, thinking murderous thoughts about homeworks, swimming kit and music lessons.