Right. I finished both Idoru and Miranda Hart’s first literary romp, Is It Just Me? this week. This may sound like I am a powerhouse of reading, but the truth is that I burned through at least half of Miranda’s book over a couple of days during the Christmas season. It had been bought for me and I didn’t have Gibson’s to hand to finish first before starting it. That’s right, I have been polyamorous with my books. Polyliterate, if you will.
It was a good book, but has been something of a bad influence. There are now just too many new ways to wreak havoc now. I am quite competent at being insane by myself without help, ideas, a role model or instructions to go about being insane in public. Soon the mental hospitals of the world will be filled with Mirandites, mistakenly picked up by people in white coats for galloping in art galleries and hiding in the stationery cupboard.
So! What’s a girl to read next? I’m a bit sci-fied out right now, if I’m honest. I’m also somewhat serioused out after Miranda’s incredibly dark exploration of the psyche. Looking at my predominantly sci-fi and/or serious collection, I have decided to opt for May Contain Nuts by John O’Farrell. It’s a funny look at extremely over the top middle class parenting, and it’s already made me giggle to myself one chapter in. Teach me the ways of comedic timing, John!
Meanwhile, next week I am starting my internship and going to a meeting of journalists for a local paper. This makes May Contain Nuts my very first commuting book. Oh yes. How professional of me. Just have to hammer out that accursed Christmas story before my articles take up all of my attention.
Good news, though. I have concocted the characters on the other side of the door to my carol singers…