A few months ago a friend and I were bemoaning the fact that we never seemed to read very much any more. That when we did read, our book choices were a little off and our general reading habit was more than a little un-inspired. So we set up a Book Club.
“I was glad my father was an eye-smiler. It meant he never gave me a fake smile because it’s impossible to make your eyes twinkle if you aren’t feeling twinkly yourself.”
Danny The Champion of The World – Roald Dahl
I read a lot of books when I was a child, indeed it is a constant disappointment to me that I don’t read more now that I am an adult with far more capability to understand the nuances in a finely crafted novel. However, as a child I ate books. Well not really. I never actually swallowed a book (or even a tiny corner of page) despite preferring to read than to eat. The Borrowers, Little House on the Prairie, Teddy Robinson, Malory Towers (oh, how I longed to become a boarder and have a midnight dorm feast), The Secret Garden, Goodnight Mister Tom (the first book to move me to tears), Pippi Longstocking, Ballet Shoes, The Famous Five… and on the list goes…