I had lunch with a former colleague of mine during the week. “Look at this,” said she and hauled out a letter informing her that she is going to be made a Chevalier of the Légion d’Honneur. I was suitably impressed. I also had lunch with an old friend who has decided to abandon retirement to head up an august (though small) body. I feel the quality of my lunch dates at the moment is high.
Still Reading
One of my Monday book club members is president of a professional society this year. Last Monday she invited us to dinner on the society’s premises to celebrate her presidency. How satisfactory. 22 years of book club and it was the first time we haven’t had frozen pizza at a meeting.
One of our members who is cautious insisted that we all take an antigen test in advance. I was sure one of us would be felled but no, we were all clear. It was such a lovely evening and we all waxed nostalgic remembering early meetings, members who had come and gone and favourite books. Also the food was fantastic.
Herself also came back from her trip to Marbella on Monday evening. As I cycled home, I thought, “If I were a good mother, I would have a vegan feast prepared for her instead of going out for dinner for myself.” Happily, I am not a good mother because it transpired that she had rung her father and asked him to iron her evening dress, bring it with him to the airport when he was collecting her at 6 and drop her into Trinity for 7 where she was going to a ball with her friends. People, if I had prepared a vegan feast I would have been incandescent.
Feeling Popular
The school is having a fund raising quiz night next week. We asked Daniel and Michael whether they would like to be part of a family team of 4. They instantly declined.
We asked two friends of ours who love quizzes and who have no children (so no babysitting or school events of their own to support) whether they would like to go. Yes but that night one of them has bridge and the other has poetry appreciation club (it’s our age).
I texted herself in the fleshpots of Spain where she is currently enjoying herself, to see whether she would come with a friend. Two days later I received a curt monosyllable in reply. No.
I suppose we’ll have to go on our own. We’re doomed for the popular culture round though to be fair, I’m not saying that the bridge and poetry appreciation crowd would be delivering there either.
Alas.
Tempus Fugit
I remember when I was an apprentice solicitor (neither today nor yesterday, my friends) one of my other apprentice friends met her master’s children when they were brought into the office for a thrilling look at the office machinery and to see where their Mum and Dad worked.
“Imagine,” said my friend to me, “they will just grow up with the fax, it will never seem strange or new to them.” We marvelled. It did not cross our minds that by the time those children were pushing 40 the fax would be a thing of the past. I remember one of the partners in my office had a computer on his desk and was gently mocked by the other partners for his dedication to this glorified typewriter which took up so much space on his desk and was clearly pointless.
But yet, the 90s doesn’t really seem very long ago at all. Related: have you noticed that the policemen really are getting younger?
Property Ladder
A younger colleague of mine told me that she has bought a house. She is in her late 20s and has been living at home with her parents since leaving school and saving diligently. I mean I applaud her and I’m delighted for her and it is always hard to buy on your own (as opposed to with a partner), but I can’t help comparing it to my own experience. I thought it was pretty hard at the time but really it was easy for me to move out of home and rents were pretty cheap and there were lots of places where I could rent and still save up a bit (if only I had been more frugal – it was not my nature, good job I met Mr. Waffle saver by nature). I’m not sure I would really have wanted to live at home until I was 30 and I didn’t have to.
She is the only colleague I know under 30 who has bought her own house. It does not augur well, I feel. I do wonder how my children are going to find somewhere to live in due course if things keep going as they are. I suppose we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.
Reading etc.
Just Like You by Nick Hornby
God, I found this a bit tedious. Older white middle-class woman, younger black working-class man and their relationship. It could have been insightful but I did not find it so. I didn’t find it funny either which was my expectation for a Nick Hornby book. To be fair, I’m not sure it was meant to be funny.
The Ministry of Bodies by Seamus O’Mahony
I quite enjoyed this. It’s a, now retired, doctor’s slightly cynical account of life in Cork’s largest hospital. I recognised a couple of the characters which is always mildly entertaining.
The Building of Jalna by Mazo de la Roche
Somebody recommended the Jalna series of books to me. I tried this one (book 1 in the series). I think it’s one of those things you have to read at the right age and I was a bit old to be starting. It’s about 19th century settlers in Canada and follows their lives over different generations. Maybe better if you’re Canadian. I did enjoy discovering that the author’s real name is the much mor prosaic Maisie Roche
The Moving Finger by Agatha Christie
Standard Agatha Christie fare – anonymous letter writing and murder – but none the worse for that.
Agatha Raisin and the Dead Ringer by MC Beaton
I had never tried an Agatha Raisin book before. For all their, extremely numerous, shortcomings, I quite enjoy the author’s Hamish Macbeth books so I thought I would try this. Honestly, it is an absolutely awful book at every conceivable level and I actually found myself wondering whether the elderly author was completely well when she wrote it and I am baffled by her publisher’s decision to publish it.
The Plot by Jean Hanff Korelitz
I am not a huge fan of thrillers with a twist so this was probably never a book for me but it’s competently done, if you like this kind of thing.
Dublin: The Making of a Capital City by David Dickson
This took me months to read. I learnt a lot about Dublin but I will only forget it all again so I am slightly wondering why I put myself through it. Very worthy but more like an academic text book to dip into than a fun read.
My sister said to me over Christmas, “You’re much more Dublin than Cork now.” I am outraged so must pick up a Cork history book, I suppose.
Still Life by Sarah Winman
A lot of people I like and respect loved this book. I mean, it’s grand and readable enough. It’s kind of a fable; a love story to Florence where a lot of English people end up living for a variety of reasons over the course of the 20th century. But overall, I found it a bit twee and very unlikely.
Death Has Deep Roots by Michael Gilbert
This is quite a well-written whodunnit from the golden age of crime writing. Pretty good, I thought.
Hare House by Sally Hinchcliffe
I must confess an interest here as the author is a blogger and cycling enthusiast whom I have been following online since 2003 and even met once.
I really enjoyed the book though. It’s a gothic horror story but not too scary for the lily livered (me). The atmosphere is built up really cleverly and I found it creepy without being too scared to turn off the light which is the perfect balance for me. Recommended.
Again Rachel by Marian Keyes
A follow-up to “Rachel’s Holiday” which I re-read in preparation. Marian Keyes is always reliably entertaining. I was entertained.
This Is Going to Hurt by Adam Kay
The first book in a very long time that made me laugh aloud. That said, who would be a junior doctor, I mean really?
In Memory of Memory by Maria Stepanova
This was such a good book but really hard going. The author is interested in family history and weaves her family story around general Russian and Jewish history with a good dose of art history as well. I found it fascinating and it deals with the theme of trying to preserve memory in a really interesting way. It’s something I am interested in myself (what do you think this blog is for?) and something my mother was interested in as well. The author does an amazing job and the result is a memoir in tribute to her family but a lot more besides. I started reading it before the war in Ukraine but was half way through when it started. I started to notice how many of the family came from Ukraine although its relationship with Russia was never really considered and in a book that contained deep thoughts about many things, that absence was interesting in itself.
Definitely recommended but you would need to be in the whole of your health to read it. Herself said, “I bet you’re the only person reading this while simultaneously rereading Georgette Heyer’s ‘Pistols for Two’.” This may well be so but you would need something less demanding on the side as you work your way through it. Also, if ever a book needed a family tree on the inside front pages, this is it. My only real complaint is the absence of same.
