I don’t quite understand what that means. Does it mean no reading takes place the rest of the year? Over at the New York Times, it declared 7 June as the beginning of the official summer reading season. If that’s what the Grand Old lady has said, then I’m sure it must be true.
There are currently two books on my bedside table. The Tin Drum (Vintage Classics) and Meta-Luxury: Brands and the Culture of Excellence. With three kids and holding down several jobs, I’m not left with much spare time for reading to be honest. I can’t remember the last time I had my nose in a book, uninterrupted, for more than an hour. Nowadays I’d be lucky if I manage to squeeze in 15 minutes.
Child 1, who’s eight, is reading Roddy Doyle’s The Rover Adventures: The Giggler Treatment, Rover Saves Christmas, The Meanwhile Adventures. He’s also planning to re-read Fantastic Mr Fox. Child 2 is obsessed with I Can Fly. I’ve read it so many times that I’m thoroughly sick of it. She’s not. So I guess I’ll be reading it several more times. I don’t remember what 3 year olds like to read, but they certainly expect lots of repetitions.
I might have to opt for some drastic action: swap in a few Julia Donaldson books and pray Child 2 doesn’t notice.