Have finished reading 'Anansi Boys' by Neil Gaiman, which Fish gave me last year. Another excellent, compelling and quirky work from my current inspirational favourite writer. Left work late, intending to have an early night, but instead cosied up in a warm little spot by the radiator in the lounge on a blue beanbag, surrounded by parading cats, to skip through the last couple of chapters.
Am going to move on somewhere different now, 'Brideshead Revisited' by Evelyn Waugh ('Don't mention the Waugh!'). Part intrigued, part sad, that 'Anansi Boys' is now over. It is always the same when you finish a book ... or realise that your jeans really are so broken that you need some more, but you swear that the new ones will never be as comfortable ... though you move on all the same, and it generally turns out ok.
I swear the pizza we ate tonight tasted just a little of compost heaps. Charlie thinks I am mad.