Ahh Christmas I love it. I love the cold weather, the huge jumpers and ridiculous scarves, the fact that it’s acceptable to drink hot chocolate all day long, the snow, the music and the endless streams of tinsel.
And of course the presents.
For the last few years my letter to Santa has mostly been a list of books I want and I sent off my yearly wish list just last week to the relevant authority. And then disaster struck.
Yesterday I finished reading Tess of the D’Urbervilles, (if ever there has been a more put upon woman in the history of literature I have yet to hear of her; poor, poor Tess) and on arriving home to pick up my next book I realised…….
THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT ON MY SHELF!!
“It’s ok,” I said to myself, “Tomorrow’s Saturday and (because the stupid Northern line isn’t running again) you have to go into Wimbledon so you can visit all the charity shops and pick something up.” Calmed I went to bed and had sweet dreams of the new books about to fall into my hands.
So this morning I sprang out of bed at the break of day… Alright I clawed my way out from beneath the blankets an hour after my alarm went off and eventually hauled myself up into a position where I could throw some clothes on and emerge glaring at the sun and giving off waves of “Don’t talk to me or I might eat you” (I’m not a morning person)… And headed for the shops.
It was when I was standing in Oxfam with an armful of books that I realised: I couldn’t remember what I’d asked for. Last year I requested Before I Go To Sleep by SJ Watson which a lovely relative dutifully bought, wrapped and shipped up to Preston for me to open. Which I did. About a week after buying my own copy. That was an accident but I had the awkward feeling that if I did it two years running, questions may be asked.
So I stood there paralysed with indecision until ultimately I came to the realisation that the book in my hands was almost definitely not on the list I sent off. But Mum, if you’re reading this, don’t buy me Lisey’s Story, I’ve got that one covered 😉