The Children's Book - A.S. Byatt

It's not that often that I really, really enjoy a book. I read six to eight books a month, and probably genuinely sink into six a year. Last years favourites were:
- The Millenium Trilogy
- The Book of Negroes by Lawrence Hill
- Child 44
- The Post-Birthday World

The Children's Book was one of those tales that engaged me from the off. Things have been stressful and busy lately, and the ease of story in the beginning sucked me in, and quickly won my committment. A good thing since it matured into a more serious read. It was a remarkably simple start, with a pursuit through catacombs under a museum, which echoed the mind-numbers I read to relax (hello Charlaine Harris). Deceptive though. The book quickly evolves into an exceptionally well-written, researched, engaging piece of literature with multiple plot lines and a larger than usual cast of brilliantly developed characters.

The story follows the lives of several families - the Wellwoods (two of these!), the Cains, the Fludds, the Warren siblings and some peripheral characters. There were so many themes in the book, brilliantly juxtaposed. English country earthiness (there were sections that made me think of DH Lawrence, they were so pastoral. I haven't thought about DH Lawrence in years!) and urban conventions, youth and adulthood, genius and insanity, expectation and promise, feminism and activism, class divides as opposed to wealth divides, ambition and apathy... Not to mention multiple storylines, plays within plays, languages and countries. It was a hugely ambitious book; baffling, when I think about it.

At the start of the book, the cast of characters are firmly divided into children and adults. The book ends with the children as adults without ever seeming to gloss over time. Byatt uses a summary of the period as a device to take the reader across the years effortlessly, and it works remarkably. The children have distinct personalites, with traits presented rather than narrated. The result being that one feels like they have a relationship with that character, almost as though you have gotten to know them. The adults are somewhat more obvious, and the portrayal of their flaws (multiple) is matter of fact rather than swayed by judgement implicit in the tone of the writing. The adults simply are.

Tone is key in this book. There are moments of happy, carefree, familial scenes, as well as tragic scenes. I actually did feel close to tears at the end, which was unfortunate since I was on the tube at seven am - people would have thought I was having a breakdown. The worst thing about the book was the synopsis, which made it sound mundane and bland. I hope it doesn't put anyone off, this was one of the better books I've read recently, and it will no doubt feature in my Christmas gift baskets (no doubt my grandmother will be all aquiver).

Life's Mysteries

Tonight over dinner my thoughts strayed to those things that had been confounding me for some time. Not the randomness that is the prestige associated with air flown lobsters - after all, they are alive. What's the difference between being air flown or pedaloed? No, the thing that I'm most confused by (as between 2009 and 2010) is why Pride & Prejudice has become the mainstream book of choice.

For example - in Twilight, Bella is constantly referencing the book. Then in the Vampire Diaries the overly skinny girl who is a miniature Katie Holmes (and equally memorable on screen) borrows a copy of it from Stefan. This morning, I watched Bride & Prejudice, which made me think of Bridget Jones' Diary. Only natural, I suppose, since they are the same story. Then I stumbled across a celebrity project where Keira Knightley promotes reading in a picture brandishing a copy. It also gets quoted/misquoted in films from Wild Child to Be Kind Rewind. One of my favourite authors, Jasper Fforde, referenced it as well, in First Among Sequels.

I think it's time I added it to my reading list. Maybe I'm missing out.

Swedish

I wrote this a week ago but forgot to post it. Should I be concerned by my scattiness?
***

Over the weekend I took a break from 3 Cups of Tea and read the final book in Steig Larsonn's Millenium trilogy, Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest. Like We Need To Talk About Kevin, I'd resisted reading Girl With a Dragon Tattoo for several months. I'd thought Kevin was about child abuse, and this time I'd thought Tattoo was about a semi slutty Chinese girl. I realise that to assume is to make an ass of u and me, or in this case, just me, but I've met a handful of people who'd had the same impression. Thinking about it, the books came out when stories of child abuse/slutty girls of Far Eastern origin were a dime a dozen. Thankfully, I am relatively amenable to Far Eastern sluts, so determined to read Tattoo much more quickly than I had Kevin.

Girl With a Dragon Tattoo introduced the characters of Lisbeth Salander and Mikael Blomkvist. There were a handful of characters who featured through the series, but it was these two who were central. One of the most interesting aspects of the series was the insight it gave into Swedish culture and society, and the two protagonists were ideal outlets for this. Lisbeth Salander, operating outside of conventions, was a good counterpoint to Blomquist's vehicle for the communication of sociological ideals and the compromise position that most citizens take. In the first book, Blomquist investigates a missing persons cold case, unveilling a serial killer in the interim. Lisbeth assists him through this, and together they solve the mystery. In the second book, colleagues of Blomquist's are murdered and he investigates. This time Lisbeth is connected to the case, which unfolds in a mass of intrigue interwound with the Swedish Social system. The twists can be as complex as those in Wild Things. It ends on a climax.

This final book is just as gripping as its predesessors, which is saying something. It is a definitive ending, in so far as much of Lisbeth's mystique is stripped away, so it is difficult to imagine a post-humus extension of the tale on the author's behalf. In this day of tacked on sequels or prequels, I find this almost a novelty and think it lends to the mystique of the book. As an ardent paranoid, I can't quite believe that Steig Larrsenn's death was mere tragedy, why would I? Perhaps the Millenium stories cut too close to the bone, bwahahaha... Who knows?

In any case, I think the trilogy is worth reading amd recommend it to everyone, even if only because the Scandanavian syntax is fairly attractive, and Swedish society is quite different to that non-Scandinavians are used to.

PS, why is everything a trilogy these days? I realise there is a Christian metaphor at work and all, but still, kudos to Christopher Paolini for turning his trilogy into a quadrant (if that's what it's called).

Saga

I have been most remiss about updating this blog, which is strange since there has been so much to mention. The Hubs and I went to see Inherit The Wind at the Old Vic,the next morning we were up at five or so to drive to Champagne with Kami and AGL, since we've been back it's been Thanksgiving, which means a disproportionate level of weight gain. All that and the 'taches are gone. Much as I love Movember as a concept, the results are so often horrendous. Having said that, I don't remember seeing as many questionable mostaches on the tube this year (although looking around me now, I do see a few freshly shaved faces). Perhaps there has been less take up? Movember would be a great thing for celebrities to endorse. Brad Pitt is already pretty much there, but wouldn't it be fun if Jay Z, Zac Efron, Lady Gaga (allegedly could be able to) and Robert Pattinson were to gun for growth?

Speaking of R-Patz, I also managed to see New Moon (I refuse to refer to it by the ostentatious official title). Twice. The first time was with AGL and her latest crazy-fun friends (as opposed to crazy like a killer), RiRi and Kelly. There was squealing, breaths of "mmm" and some exclamations of outrage, I'll admit it. We were the least sober people in the theatre, having persuaded the staff at the Apollo to bring the ice bucket in for us. We were also, admittedly, the most likely to have acted that way sober. I've heard such mixed reviews on New Moon, which surprises me. The book was so exceptionally annoying that I can't imagine that expectations of the storyline were high (the next two books were vastly superior). In fact, I actually thought the film was much better than the book. Kristin Stewart sort of acted, Taylor Lautner was good, Charlie and the rest of the cast got semi decent airtime. Don't get me wrong though, there is plenty annoying about it. Kristin Stewart's random breathing is still confunding, she appears to have lost fifty pounds and wears a moonstone on her index finger which is really distracting. Robert Pattinson still doesn't do it for me, which is fine and my problem, but he especially didn't do it for me because I am convinced he was styled ugly. Value your merchandise-buying fanbase makeup people! I know he's going through some self inflicted suffering and therefore has crazy bags under his eyes, must be the ninety sleepless years he had catching up with him. Plus why didn't anyone give him a protein shake? Did they mean for him to look like Christian Bale in the Machinist when he got his shirt off? After an hour of the werewolf hotness?

Oh, and Alice's vision was cloying. I know we burst into peals of laughter, but I'm not sure that was the intention of the scene. In anticipation of the next two (well, it's bound to be three) movies, I am mad that they recast Victoria for Eclipse. Not to mention the tackiest CGI since Ghostbusters. Still, what does it matter when you're bigger than Heroin?

Round Hole for a Square Peg

This is taking me forever to write on and get through, perhaps because I'm re-reading the Tamuli and managed to squeeze in Bringing Home the Birkin, a book club book swap.

Topic 3 was Motivation. I did write something on this, but can't find it. I'm sadly not motivated enough to re-write it (or to re-read it so I know what I'd say), so it's being skipped out on.

The fourth topic in :59 is Creativity. I wonder how the author decided how to order these. Happiness - Persuasion - Motivation - Creativity - Attraction - Stress - Relationships - Decision Making - Parenting - Personality strike me as a strange order of presentation. Then again, who am I to judge given that I like to start days with curries, meals with desserts and once had gazpacho in lieu of petit fours. The Creativity chapter didn't do much for me, possibly because I did badly at the lateral thinking riddles (eg. Add one non-diagonal line to the following to solve the equation: I0 I0 II equals I0.50).

The chapter began with the argument against brainstorming, which was essentially a variant of the diffusion of responsibility argument. Instead, allowing your subconscious more leeway was recommended. Short of napping at your desk and scribbling ideas everytime a ringing phone wakes you, there aren't many ways to frequently allow your dreams to speak to you, though narcoleptics must have this down pat. The socially acceptable alternative was to picture a generic stereotype whose characteristics were desirable. For example, a professor if you need to be academic, punks if you needed to be creative and anarchic (are punks creative? I'd argue that it's another form of conformity), etc. The next step is to write a few lines about their traits. Apparently, simply thinking about these traits are enough to drive your subconscious to emulate them. If the hubs behaves well I intend to try this out based on the generic traits of women building careers in the oldest industry in the world.

Another socially workable practice is having a splash of green around, but not red. I have a chilli plant at my desk, does this mean I'm unreliably creative? There was also suggestions of using broken-pattern posters. I remember seeing loads of these when I was younger. An example would be of repeated black block arrows pointing down, with one random green arrow pointing up. I associate this with dentists and doctors' waiting rooms, not quite the most stimulatng surroundings. All in all, it wasn't one I felt particularly strongly about.

I'm now at Decision Making with nothing in between urging me to write other than a vague sense that ideas are being recycled. This was a lousy idea.

Go On, Make Me

Chapter 2 of :59 is focussed on Persuasion. It begins with an explanation of how creating an expectation of reward turns a task into a chore and demotivates rather than the former. I struggle with this somewhat in that while I think reward is often linked to a sense of entitlement (or, if you prefer, the pre-crunch Banker/Wanker effect) that can backfire when the reward isn't attained, I also think that reward is highly motivational. A few weeks ago, before The Winter's Tale, a group of my friends and I were having dinner and this very subject came up. The group that night featured three people who worked in banks, one hedge fund employee, one IT consultant, one marketeer and an unknown. Someone said that, in their view, no one worked in Finance for love, they did it for money. Three of the people disagreed but two others agreed wholeheartedly. The three who liked their jobs had a couple of things in common. First off, we all felt like we earned enough. As Goldilocks may put it, not too much, not too little, but just right. We wanted to earn more, and were motivated to work towards that. In contrast, others I know often feel they earn either too much, and are therefore trapped, or (more frequently) too little, and so it's not worth doing.

The second thing we had in common was that we had a sense of autonomy and control. We were comfortable doing our day jobs, and taking on new challenges as we saw fit. I suppose variety, or the ability to vary, really is the spice of life. For some of my friends, the journalists, consultants, lawyers, etc this tends to be lacking and they resent the manner in which they are either hostage to their jobs, or to organisational heirarchies. In the post-redundancy world, something I hear a lot about is how teams are being prevented from taking on new tasks. Even if everyone in that team is bored out of their minds and working on autopilot, and there is work to be done.

Finally, I think, is the equivalent of the nature vs nurture scenario. The people I know who love their jobs tend to be those who put a positive spin on things anyway. They are self-motivators and reward is merely a justification. In this case, the ends justify the means. Reward is probably less effective here as a result.

There were other points - the persuasive power of bad news before good. Sitting in the middle is the position of persuation. Favours make the world go round. Making a fool of yourself makes people want to help you (score!). Diffusion of responsibility as a principle. I'm a little worried that I'll end up writing a book, so I'd best stop here.

Can't Help Myself

I'm not really one for self help books. Beyond a minor obsession with books on ettiquette and body language when I was younger, and business or management texts more recently, I've never really read with a view to making myself or my life better. For some reason though, I thought I'd give it a shot, and so I bought :59 by Professor Richard Wiseman.

The contents page bodes well, with things that resonate of the conversations I frequently have with the Hubs: "how the real route to happiness involves a pencil, keeping the perfect diary, small acts of kindness and develeoping the gratitude attitude" is part of the first chapter. Is this why I'm happy? Did I stumble across the answer? Stay tuned folks, 'cos I'm planning to work through the chapters here, one post at a time...

CHAPTER 1 - HAPPINESS

The chapter begins with an argument against thought suppression. The book is focussed on scientifically proven conclusions (by which the field seems to refer to the findings of experiments comparing various groups' responses to stimuli. I've always struggled with terming this scientific proof since the control groups never seem to factor in sociological factors, but I digress). The conclusion is: the more you try not to think about something, the more obsessed you become. I think this is a conclusion that any teenage girl would have come to after waiting for a cute guy to call.

The first recommendation then, towards finding happiness, is to keep a diary. I actually instinctively agree with this. When I'm down in the dumps, I articulate it frequently. Feeling annoyed or irritated, I find, is most easily addressed in this fashion. After all, I'm really looking for vindication or comfort. Occasionally I might be torn between difficult decisions or trying to reconcile myself towards making one, in which case I'm looking for reassurance. The thing I don't think I do, is talk out something that is genuinely upsetting me with a view to fixing it or coming to terms with it.

The theory behind keeping a diary is that it makes a person focus, whereas pouring your heart out could just be an outpouring of inane babble. Given that whenever I pour my heart out I tend to be drunk and repetitive, or hormonally driven toward psychosis, I can see the logic in that. The value of the structure that writing compels is enhanced by a focus on gratitude and affection. I suppose this is the same as recommending that people write down things that make them feel good. It made me wonder about how many depressed love poets there were out there.

The next piece of analysis, and one that I felt I could particularly relate to, was around the concept of materiality and buying happiness. Apparently a fortune has been spent not just keeping Balmain afloat in the quest for happiness, but also on the research to evidence whether buying a luxury car or bag will make you happy. Given that there're no billboards in Times Square propounding the B.Bag as the scientifically proven key to to a happy ending, I think the findings are relatively predictable. Something that the studies did find, though, was that experiences and conscious effort to try new things were linked to happiness. I've always believed this, hence my favouring activities over tokens, but it was strange to see it in writing since I've only ever known a handful of people who seem to agree. Most people think it strange when I suggest things like chocolate making classes or circus school instead of earrings.

Compare this to this article in the Guardian, where the answers to the quest for happiness are:
- being positive
- being brave
- meditation (odd one out? I suppose it is based on the idea that a Tibetan monk is the Happiest Man in the World)
- being kind to yourself
- "using" your pessimism
- finding a calling (I think I'll do this tomorrow, will take 5 minutes, surely!)
- act happy

Unfortunately, I don't know if I'll be able to tell if the book has helped. I agree with all of it so far, but that's because it's telling me I'm doing the right things. I like thinking that. In fact, thinking that has made me happy. Also, as a fellow commuter said to the Hubs and I yesterday when I was telling him about the chapter (apparently loudly), we don't need it, we are repulsively happy (her words, not mine). Perhaps I'll extend this particular experiment to children and trial it on my sister or the junior trader on the desk...
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Kafka On The Shore

The most recent book club read was Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami. I've always been a fairly neutral Murakami reader, perhaps because I've only really read the short stories and Norwegian Wood. I'm also a fan of magical realism genre, so the short stories didn't worry me too much.

Amongst the most avid readers I know, there's a fairly even split between loving and hating. I suppose the most recent view was Syntaxfree's comment on her post "Canon Falls" where she mentions that one of the books she didn't get through was Murakami. I managed to get through it and came away with mixed emotion. When I tried to puzzle this out, I realised that the book reminded me of something... Ganguro!



I realise I may have managed to alienate every Murakami fan out there, but there is substance behind this claim. First of all, more than anything, Murakami is very, very Japanese. I was thrilled by references to Lawson, the Nakano prefecture and other familiarities. Next up is how overtly sexualised the tale is, without being sexy. I kept wondering how precise Japanese was, whether the translator was being wholly accurate when choosing to use "cock" instead of "penis". It looks totally different under google translate, though I suspect that isn't using the vernacular for cock (I also note that the characters for penis are the chinese ones, which means the word is fancy).

The third thing that Murakami has in common with Ganguro is utter randomness. Although the analogies worked, and I could see the morality/amorality he was driving at, some of the examples were somewhat extreme. Case in point, the massacre of a dozen cats (well, less, but conceptually). If he was more inclined toward GBH than catburglary he'd probably have used the bayoneting of children (see the WWII reference that I have no way of knowing is true or false? Am I reaching?) instead, but that probably wouldn't spur much debate since everyone is supposed to love children, but some people are allergic to cats.

The final example for today would be idology. Subsets of ganguro allegedly dress like the hag in Japanese folklore (who clearly would have had dayglo clothing, suck on that Kanye), who I'm guessing is popular in Japanese culture. Also popular in Japanese culture are Johnnie Walker and Col. Sanders, who both feature in the tale.

What say you? Does my Murakami-esque analogy work?

Stellar Sequel

I like to think I have a certain amount of self awareness. One of the things I'm aware of is that I am one hell of a judgemental bitch.

Case in point, We Need To Talk About Kevin.. This book was clearly a phenomenon. Everyone was reading it, and I saw it everywhere - supermarket shelves, back seats of cars, stashed in pushchairs... I just randomly decided, from looking at the cover, that this was a story about child abuse (I think there was something else with a similar cover out at the time, that had that theme), and decided not to read it. Years go by before I find a list of award winning books that I haven't yet read, and realise that it's being nominated by panels I respect. I finally get around to reading a synopsis on Amazon (before I swapped allegiance to Waterstones) and realise that this is actually a book that I would probably enjoy. Enjoy it I did. More than that, I loved it. Just goes to show, what they say is true.

A second example of what I would have missed out on had I stuck to my badly-sighted guns, was Girl With a Dragon Tattoo. In my head, this was going to be something akin to an autobiography of Donna Martin, post a wild girls night with Brenda. Anyhow, it transpires that I was wrong, and the book was a brilliant thriller that was the first book in a long time that I couldn't put down. I wonder to this day if the meeting rooms and biscuits I ordered to help me find the time to read it will ever come back to haunt me. I couldn't wait for the sequel, and finally got to it on Saturday, which I finished at 1 am on Sunday, which is a clue to how I felt about that.




The Girl Who Played With Fire had a lot to live up to, following the pleasure I'd taken from its predecessor. Who would have thought that it would actually have surpassed it! I had an inkling about how the story would play out, since I'd read the synopsis to The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets' Nest (if you've read these, wouldn't wasp nest be better? Perhaps it was lost in translation). Still, there were more twists and turns and links and hints than in Wild Things . The first book was essentially about a somewhat idealistic journalist and a largely amoral woman-child trying to solve a decades-old mystery. The characters were developed and rounded, and the mystery was intriguing, with enough clues in the right places to make the ending acceptble, without being necessarily solveable. The second built on the woman-child and her history. There was a strange introduction, which I think sets the readers off in the wrong direction, but the tale manages to offer enough of a story for that to be overlooked. It takes place two years after the first book ends and brings back several characters from the first book who had initially seemed to be mere distractions. In the sequel there were more secondary characters, which is leaving me very excited about the final book in the trilogy. The story in the sequel is, again, complex and near-impossible to solve, although everything does fit together. I do wonder if this is because I know so little about Sweden and the way its society works. The theme of vengeance against misogyny continues through both books, and it reminds me of Sweden's reputation for being the most gender-equal society in the West.

All in all, I think everyone should read these and tell me what they think!

Mango Party

I've just realised that I'm beginning to form opinions of authors in my mind, based on where they originate. The below is pure generalisation and I don't particularly mean it.

Magical Realism: South American origins (Allende, Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
Vampires: Americans but drifting to the Nordic writers
Road Trips: Americans
Opportunistic Economic Sociobabble: Ben Mezrich
The Stupidity of Society, in a whimsical fashion: Indian writers
Lead character as sociopaths: Nordic writers

In any case, I just finished A Case Full of Exploding Mangoes, by Mohammed Hanif.



The book was fine, whimsical, as mentioned. The books I've read by authors from the Indian/Pakistani region of late seem to lean towards being a mix of Memoirs of a Geisha, with it's fact/fiction style, and the mystical realism of Isabel Allende. It wasn't a waste of time but it certainly didn't change my life. The latest book, on the other hand, is a struggle to put down (damn work).

Is there anything better than shopping?

I've just indulged on a fairly large scale and am excited. Arriving in the next fortnight will be:

Past Imperfect - Julian Fellowes

Mortal Instruments Trilogy - Cassandra Clare
because I read her when she wrote Harry Potter FanFic

The Bell Jar (on sale) - Sylvia Plath

A Most Wanted Man - John le Carre

When a Crocodile Eats the Sun - Peter Godwin

To arrive whenever the omnibus is published (apprently November, so it'll be a surprise!):
Trueblood Omnibus - Charlaine Harris

59 Seconds - Richard Wiseman

Mystery Man - Colin Bateman

I can't wait! Look at all that indulgence

Red Riding 1974 - David Peace

Not for me. The story was good enough, I suppose, but there was nothing in it for me. The writing style irritated me. Suspect this is a boys book.

A Murder of Quality - John le Carre

John le Carre is one of those authors whose novels I see lying around and often contemplate reading, without every picking one up to read.

Until now.

A Murder of Quality was a good, fun read. It's centred around the murder of a schoolmaster's wife in a public school in Dorset. For those reading this who aren't English, there are some very posh schools in that part of the world. The portrayal of life in the school is cynical, but not necessarily in contradiction with what I've been told by friends who attended what was likely to be the inspiration. It was fairly straightforward to establish who the murderer was, but there were plenty of twists and unexpected surprises in the tale to keep one in its thrall.

This is a great book to read on a commute, especially if you have any interest in the public school system, and I'm sure there'll be more le Carre to follow.

An Equal Music - Vikram Seth

Thanks to the glory that is book club, An Equal Music came my way. Over time book club has evolved into a Medusa of sorts. It's turned into a girls night in cum book swap cum drink fest cum sorority cum prenatal class cum slumber party (in my head I can hear Ineffable saying "that's a lot of cum"...). The book swap is a reasonably new advent but has so far come up with winners for me - Sari hooked me onto Gabriel Nix and Tiff put me onto An Equal Music.

Classical music isn't something I've ever really been able to relate to, largely because I didn't give it a chance. A month or so ago I went to a relatively inspiring talk by Benjamin Zander and came away full of good intentions and purpose. This lasted into my forth or fifth cocktail, possibly even slightly into the morning after, at which point I was inspired to do nothing but eat hash browns and hope for death. Now that intention and purpose has been revived and I plan to order something. I just don't know what. Yet. I am actually tempted to get An Equal Music in audio since that may include the music, but I suspect I would be too distracted by the language, because the language was excellent.

I don't particularly want to offer reviews of the books I read as such, just to revel in my enjoyment (or derision) of them. This was a great read - I had to book a meeting room to finish a chapter, it left me so wanting. It inspired me and motivated me. I'm not sure that I would recommend it to everyone, since there was plenty in it that could bore. I would, however, recommend it to anyone who thinks about sound and how it forces emotion, and to anyone who loves language.

Something striking about the book. At the very end there is an author's note where Vikram Seth says that he loves music more than speech. That, I think, is what shaped this story.

I Blame 3 for 2

Last night was date night where the Hubs and I forced ourselves out of the office to see Waiting For Godot at the Theatre Royal Haymarket (harder than people may think). I have always loved this play and was thrilled when I realised it was going to be put on. Even more so when I heard that Ian McKellan (who may well have one of the most expressive faces, ever) and Patrick Stewart (who may well have one of the best voices for the stage, ever) were to play Estragon and Vladimir. I did realise that I would probably have at least five moments where I would think "Magneto!" or "Professor!", but that was unavoidable. I'm sure Beckett wouldn't mind too much.

I'm not enough of a theatre goer to offer much of critique. All I can say is that it was two hours of dialogue and my mind didn't wander once. When I saw Kevin Spacey in Moon for the Misbegotten, he was such a strong presence on the stage that all but one of the remaining cast were shadowed (Eve Best held her own and then some). The skill that I thought was the most striking last night was how balanced the cast was. Simon Callow, playing Pozzo, commanded the stage as Pozzo should in his scenes, and Ronald Pickup took people aback with his solo. There was a definite sense at Godot that people were there to see who the better actor was. Several people asked me what I thought on that front at the end of the play, and I have to say - I didn't. McKellen and Stewart had a wonderful natural comraderie and it really lent itself to this play. It must be slightly less difficult to act as though you have 50 years of friendship between you when you actually do (or close, they were definitely on stage together in the 70s). The play is mammoth and everyone in it was so good that it seemed like it wasn't extraordinary. It was only later when I thought about how it could have been bettered or what could have been done more effectively and realised that there was nothing, that I realised how good the production actually was.

After the play the Hubs and I headed for a late dinner at St Alban. I will go back and go back again. We'd had great intentions of hitting up the £20 post theatre menu, but I was absolutely side-tracked by the Mixed Grill of Fish for Two, which was accompanied by my all-time favourite green to go with fish - samphire. The diet also got shelved in favour of a lush Rioja Blanco. Hubs was pretty much instantly converted by the world's best bread selection, delivered to the table with the menus.















Having had a lengthy conversation with the Hubs about my favourite plays of all time, I decided to buy myself a copy of Godot so that I could tap into the pleasure at will. My attempt to purchase a copy of Godot ended up with these:

Samuel Beckett - Waiting for Godot
William Shakespeare - King Lear
Henrik Ibsen - Four Major Plays (bought for A Doll's House and Hedda Gabler)

I also succumbed to these:
Mohammed Hanif - A Case of Exploding Mangoes
Bret Easton Ellis - The Informers
John le Carre - A Murder of Quality
Lawrence Hill - The Book of Negroes
Stephen Fry - in America
Steve Toltz - A Fraction of the Whole

I will be living on words because I can no longer afford food. Maybe I'll lose some weight.