Better

I cancelled my trip to London to see a rarely-performed Purcell opera and spend the night at night at my daughter's flat, and blow me if I didn't feel better today. Lousy timing, flu bug! In all fairness I probably wouldn't have been fit for the journey, what with all that walking between tube lines and the stress of being in the metropolis. I did a bit of gardening - mostly raking up old debris and dragging more wood to the putative bonfire. Between 2 and 4pm I slept in the summerhouse, out like the proverbial light, legs dangling over the end of the short sofa, arm thrown across eyes to keep the merciless sun off my face. When I woke up I knew I was better, and so I took a little walk down the lane instead of the London train. God, it felt so good to be out and about again, though I didn't go far. Wrapping myself up in cotton wool has paid off, and I've got better relatively quickly. But how I would love to have heard that music, seen the production.

I've got three books on the go at the moment, and they're a a right mixed bag. Elizabeth Is Missing was an unqualified success, a young writer mastering a difficult subject - dementia - with flair and sensitivity. The Narrow Road to the Deep North can go and bury itself in quicksand for all I care - what a load of overblown pretentious rubbish! It deprived the deserving Ali Smith of the Booker prize thanks to the muscular taste of A C Grayling's casting vote - shame! I tried to get into it but it's just not worth it. How To Be Both is much more rewarding, though why she can't just tell the story is beyond me. And Stet by Diana Athill which I bought last year and have rediscovered is a gem. I'm also reading Five Children on the Western Front written by Kate Saunders in the style of The Railway Children's E Nesbitt had she thought to write it, and it's, well, it's a children's book. Whatever possessed me? The Costa judges raved about it but, yes, it IS a children's book.

There's one potential prize left, Nora Webster by Colm Toibin. I hated the much lauded Brooklyn, but sure who can resist an Irish book, especially one set in the 60s? Not me. And so I'm following the trials and tribulations of the
eponymous Nora. I'm anticipating the poor woman in the stranglehold of the church, repressive parents, pregnancy and trip to London for abortion, and the over-riding narrow-minded pedantry of the yokels. I love a good book.