If there is one thing I can not resist in the world – it’s a romance with food & food peoples. You know how some people are about cowboys? How they start fanning themselves and getting heart palpitations at the mere mention of a jingling spur??? Well, Foodie Romances (is that a thing? I’m not sure – but BlueCastle is making it so), are like my own personal catnip. I can’t resist them. Chefs, cooks, B&B’s with food, kitchens, restaurants, food vans, catering, fast food* – it’s like a book buffet.
Dear More Than You Dreamed.
I don’t know if you remember me, but I am the individual, who just last week, threw you at my wall and left you lying awkwardly and splayed in the corner of my lounge-room. I apologise sincerely for any injuries sustained in the course of this event, and I have since (you will note), picked you up, unbent your cover, generally un-smooshed you and placed you high on a shelf in my study. You may be wondering about the highness of the shelf, its relative distance from my lounge room, and its relative closeness to the two daddy long-legs that are inhabiting the corner of said study…
Musings are forthcoming on a movie…so if you entered the post looking for things-about-books, I am upfront shattering those illusions.
Sorry, not sorry.
I am sad to report and and even more loath to write it… BUT I think it may be possible that I have entered a wee doldrum of book reading.
Yes, like the muppets of treasure island ilk, I have sailed the distant oceans, traversed the waters and just when the I was avast ye-ing into the horizon, I encountered the doldrums…or in this case: the-enormous-pile-of-books-I-started-and-threw-down-again-in-frustration/hatred/annoyance/disdain.
It’s a big pile. My cats edge quietly around it, wondering if its precarious lean to left will end in a squished tail.
I offer this post in the light of a cautionary tale. Much like the mouse that went to town and wished he was back in the country (or vice versa), I have discovered that revisiting innocent days gone by can be somewhat surprising and even down right dangerous to one’s mental well being.
Dedicated to that feeling of disappointment when you realise what you have just read, has already been done, better; clever-er, funnier; and probably 50-100 years earlier.