I love a good book. Or a good ‘bookish download’ as is now the case as they arrive in my kindle 1.6 seconds after buying them from Amazon. As long as you turn the wifi on. Of course. What? You think I’m stupid?? Cos you can’t download on the tube. Don’t work. Trust me. Or trust a more stupid person.

And I just read a great book. By the master of all good book-writing people. Stephen King. Or ‘God’ as we call him. Though maybe ‘The Devil’ is more appropriate given his earlier offerings. Its called Mr Mercedes but I won’t tell you why or it will spoil… well it will spoil page 3. Maybe. But its not horror and its not vampires and its not telekinetic schoolgirls, rabid dogs, psychopathic book fans, killer cars, devils wrapped in clown costumes or even prisoner accountants escaping from prison (yes, He wrote Shawshank, but people can’t make the connection between that and Pet Semetary. Unaccountably). Mr Mercedes is a crime thriller. And it is thrilling and, er, criminal. Bad people. Good guys. Even a bit of luuurve. Just a bit. Not like 50 shades of grey, (like my beard), because if Mr King had written that it would have been a good book. Because he does write exceedingly good books. All of them. Mr Mercedes is not ‘brilliant’, just pretty damned fantastic. Which is as bad as his books get.

And then it finished. The way books do when you really don’t want them to. So I started a book by Robert Galbraith. Who? You know; Robert Galbraith. Tall blond bird. Looks great in a (very) dark room. Pays as much tax as she possibly can, then gets all holier than thou about it. Wrote all those Harry Potter books; Robert Galbraith.

Oh, JK Rowling? No, Robert Galbraith. Says so on the ‘cover’ (the cover on my kindle is black leather; whatever book I’m reading). For some reason, Ms Rowling has written 2 detective novels (so far, ya never know with ‘her’) under this nom de plume. She was fed up being a West Country billionaire that everyone expects to be riding round on a broomstick, so she morphed into a Scottish geezer called Bobby, probably has a beard, unruly shaggy hair, a kilt (no underwear) and a Celtic scarf. He beats his wife, drinks like a fish and goes to church every sunday. Sometimes all at the same time. Banned from driving for 3 years. Hasn’t told the social security about his new job in case it affects his benefits.

And its a good book, because JK Galbraith knows how to pen a tale. Well written. And yet… ‘Harry Potter and the Dog that did Calculus’ it ain’t. Those books all moved with a pace. Ne’er a dull moment. This book has many dullish moments. In fact its almost one big dull moment interspersed with a few good bits. Maybe being liberated from writing books for kids and their limited attention spans, she has no empathy with adults suffering the same condition. Four pages describing a hallway in a Mayfair house is just about 3 and a half pages too much. I’m 55% through this tome and it kind’a feels like it, yet I’m not inclined to abandon it. Mainly because I never abandon books. Only wives, children and relatives who don’t buy me presents. And pets. Though I’m not sure cooking them is actual ‘abandonment’ according to the law.

Ok, to work, to the tube, to read in a tunnel.

Happy Tuesday

Doreen (well why not?)
xxxx