Somehow I have managed to carve out five days at the end of this week when I have to answer to no one but myself. From Thursday through to Monday I can, if I so desire, close the door, build up the fire and simply sit and read. The anticipation is almost as blissful as I hope the experience will be.
In truth I probably won’t just read. I expect I shall vary my activities by doing things like frequenting bookshops or taking a trip to the library. And I shall probably vary the places in which I read as well, by visiting numerous tea shops and buying large pots of tea and plates of sticky cakes to accompany whatever happens to be the book of the moment.
And that, of course, is the other source of anticipatory delight. What am I going to read? I have three recent publications sitting on the shelf just crying out for my attention. I shall start with Helen Dunmore’s Exposure and then toss a coin to see which is to come next, David Mitchell’s Slade House or the new Julian Barnes, The Noise of Time. I’ve also got Graham Swift’s most recent offering, Mothering Sunday on reserve, but it may not turn up from the library in time. Oh well, I shall need something tasty to condole me for having to turn some of my attention back to the real world. And, just in case all that should be too literary for me, I have a couple of new crime novels from NetGalley on my e-reader to relax with. Those for the evenings, perhaps, when my brain is not functioning quite as well as it was during the daytime hours.
If I feel so inclined then I might stop by here and make a few notes along the way, but otherwise see you the other side of the weekend.