This is crazy. I know a writer ought to read widely so as to improve one’s own craft but when you find yourself part-way through four books – never mind the others lurking – then something isn’t quite right. Here’s a list of my present reading:

  • The Irish RM (Somerville & Ross) – A truly excellent collection of stories written at the start of the 20c, but losing its sparkle at 2/3 of the way through.
  • Is It Really Too Much To Ask? (Jeremy Clarkson) – A collection of his bumptious Sunday Times articles, best read in the bathroom. Just started.
  • Keep Away From Those Ferraris (Pat Fitzpatrick) – A contemporary action novel set in Dublin. Just started.
  • A N Other – One I promised to review but I am trying to gather the strength to pick it up again.

Next on the list

  • The Light Never Lies (Francis Guenette) – Fellow blogger/writer’s second book which is sure to be excellent and which I’ll definitely review; I’m trying not to read other reviews in the meantime.
  • The Wily O’Reilly (Patrick Taylor) – Excitingly I’ve been sent a copy for review by the author’s New York publishers!
  • Flood (Richard Doyle) – Recommended by my brother who is rarely wrong, an apocalyptic story which questions why so much of the UK’s resources are concentrated in a small and vulnerable area.

What happened to those far off days when we used to slouch around complaining we had nothing to do? Now don’t we all wish we had a gadget that would produce more time on demand?