Holiday Reading

"What you need," they say to me, "is a nice light novel to read on the beach."

That's what people have said to me over the years. A Jilly Cooper, perhaps, or a Catherine Cookson - suitably frivolous holiday reading.

Oh no, not for me. If I'm going to read something light and frothy, I'll do it when I'm in the middle of a load of work and feeling stressed out. But, let's face it, I never would read Jilly Cooper or Catherine Cookson - I have tried, but they just don't appeal to me. I don't read many novels anyway: I like autobiographies, or travel books, or books that tell me things, or factual books that make me laugh.

Or, when I'm on holiday, "How I Survived the Japanese Prisoner-of-War Camp" kind of books. I think it's because when I'm on holiday, feeling relaxed, then I feel able to tackle the gloomy topics which interest me; and I'm a sucker for any kind of "human interest" story.

For years and years when we've been on holiday my mother has said, sadly,
"What's that you're reading? - - Oh, no!"

I therefore resolved not to do the same thing to Emily. Here's one of her choices of holiday reading:

The Art of Death. It's one of the books for Emily's archaeology course at York University: it's about how people have dealt with death over the centuries, and I must say it did look rather interesting.

So here she is, in the hotel dining-room at breakfast, sunglasses on head in preparation or the beach, clutching her holiday reading. She does at least have the grace to look a little bit guilty about it.

(Thanks to Emily for giving her permission to put the photo on my blog).