I've been ill in bed for two days now, and I must admit, they are probably the best two days I've enjoyed consecutively since I went to Barcelona with my sister last year. That particular trip followed several bad days leading on from my birthday which I'd rather not talk about. Yes I know it was me that brought it up in the first place, but still, in case you were thinking of mentioning it, I'm just saying, I'd rather you didn't.
It probably seems a bit odd that I should be enjoying what ought to be a mind-numbing, self-pitying period of illness-induced confinement to my bed, but in actual fact it's been rather nice. Ok, here it is, the reason why I'm particularly perky despite my malady - it's all because of Nora Ephron. Revisiting the 'birthday' which should not be mentioned, for said 'birthday', I was the ungrateful recipient of a big fat hardback, The Most of Nora Ephron. The last time I read a book this big was probably during the heady days of o-levels when I had time and patience to lose myself in my joy of reading. There was little revision that summer, as I recall, but many happy days spent in the back garden, sprawled on a blanket on the grass, reading anything OTHER than the books I was supposed to be reading, which as far as I was concerned were a little too dull for my extravagant tastes. I think that once I'd finished all the Mills and Boon paperbacks in Barkingside library I ventured onto hardbacks covering such diverse subjects as ; analyzing your dreams, how to become a journalist and how to be an illustrator as well as quite a few Daphne du Maurier's who I fell in love with after I saw the film, The Frenchman's Creek. Heady days!
These days the only hardbacks I manage to peruse are usually penned by such literary names as Delia or Nigella. It's life, I suppose. Who has time to read these days? Exactly. Which is why it's been such a joy, such a nostalgic visit to my misspent youth, just to lay in bed and read a whole book. And not just any old book, but a Nora Ephron book - I love Nora Ephron. And even better, I get sympathy and food brought to me at regular intervals. It's just like being sixteen again, but even better! No exams at the end of it ...
It probably seems a bit odd that I should be enjoying what ought to be a mind-numbing, self-pitying period of illness-induced confinement to my bed, but in actual fact it's been rather nice. Ok, here it is, the reason why I'm particularly perky despite my malady - it's all because of Nora Ephron. Revisiting the 'birthday' which should not be mentioned, for said 'birthday', I was the ungrateful recipient of a big fat hardback, The Most of Nora Ephron. The last time I read a book this big was probably during the heady days of o-levels when I had time and patience to lose myself in my joy of reading. There was little revision that summer, as I recall, but many happy days spent in the back garden, sprawled on a blanket on the grass, reading anything OTHER than the books I was supposed to be reading, which as far as I was concerned were a little too dull for my extravagant tastes. I think that once I'd finished all the Mills and Boon paperbacks in Barkingside library I ventured onto hardbacks covering such diverse subjects as ; analyzing your dreams, how to become a journalist and how to be an illustrator as well as quite a few Daphne du Maurier's who I fell in love with after I saw the film, The Frenchman's Creek. Heady days!
These days the only hardbacks I manage to peruse are usually penned by such literary names as Delia or Nigella. It's life, I suppose. Who has time to read these days? Exactly. Which is why it's been such a joy, such a nostalgic visit to my misspent youth, just to lay in bed and read a whole book. And not just any old book, but a Nora Ephron book - I love Nora Ephron. And even better, I get sympathy and food brought to me at regular intervals. It's just like being sixteen again, but even better! No exams at the end of it ...
