A new day...

Right now the internet is working just fine.  I feela bit tentative saying that out loud as if I'm tempting the gods of technology to rain hell on me, but I figured I'd risk it to write my daily missive.

I just came back from a walk to the local shops and a sweet little trip to my local library.  What a wondrous thing the library is.  All those books, CDs, DVDs, computers, and reference sources, all there for the taking, all for free.  The institution of the library is much older than I thought and apparently the Romans had declarations on scrolls available free to patrons of the baths to read at their leisure. I love going to this book heaven and today spent a few moments enjoying the three (!) full shelves of books on how to be a writer.  I was tempted to take one out, but I thought I would rather stubbornly stay a complete novice.

In the books on how to write (for the web, for business, for fiction, for memoirs, for speeches, for poetry and for romance novels), there was one section in each on setting yourself a task.  One of the writing tasks one book suggested was to write an essay about someone you really dislike as if they would never read it.  This had me madly giggling and imagining, firstly, who I would write about and secondly, what vitriol I could spew on to a page. In a few short moments I had written in my head, the bitchiest obituary imaginable about a nameless acquaintance.

I also noticed on a nearby shelf books about how to read novels.  What!!!??? How to read... don't you just pick up a book, start at page one and carry on?  Maybe all these years I've been missing something.  I have been an avid reader since I was about eight. Have I been doing it wrong all this time?  Why hasn't anyone told me? Maybe this is why I've never been tempted by the idea of joining a book club (not that I've ever been invited to one, but that's a different blog topic right there).  I can't abide the idea of being directed towards characterisation, plot, or sub-plot by the expectations of others.  I've always seen book clubs as social evenings for people to discuss personal issues under cover of a book cover.  I will entertain the idea that I am wrong in this, but from the outside that's how they seem.

While I was out I was inspired to cook risotto for lunch. My trip to Italy is still fresh in my mind and a TV cookery show last night made my mouth water for a good risotto. My local council has planted big beautiful tubs of flowers and plants at the local clock tower.  I noticed the other day that there were tomatoes and courgettes growing in one of the tubs.  I also noticed that the courgette flowers, wonderful edible delicacies, were just dying on the plants, so today I pinched the flowers for my lunchtime risotto.  I am now officially the flower thief of Crouch End.  Mea culpa, but they did make a lovely risotto garnish and I have to say, this was the absolute best risotto I have ever made.

And so, today it is sunny, I feel good, life is fine and still my wall is cracked, the internet is intermittent and my tooth still needs repairing.  Today I can laugh about all of it.  My risotto was grand and I don't need any books to tell me how to read.

Now to carry on with the character assassination of the person who will never read what I write!