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Saturday, 26 October 2013
Reading and Roses
I have been out and picked the last of the roses in the garden as we are due a tail end of a hurricane on Sunday night. There is nothing more depressing that stripped rose bushes.
A long conversation with R and others last night about how none of us are really able to read a book anymore. R and I are fellow listeners to Radio 4/World Service all night long and hear, fuzzily, at 1 am about orchids fertilisation or, this morning, the World Football round up. I now know more about football in the Carribean than I want to, I think.
I miss reading. I used to wander around the house with my head stuck in a really good book and once took the day off work to finish the new Jilly Cooper (Rivals!). I have been a bookworm all my life and used to haunt the library in Bury St Edmunds, reading things like Jean Plaidy and Georgette Heyer. I moved on to other stuff in my teens - Lordy Me, I was pretentious at one point - my "Cement Garden" carried front and forward round school, so everyone could see how clever I was. I used to read the bleach bottle in the loo, if nothing else was available...
Nowadays, I takes the teenage iPad and play Solitaire or Bridge, whilst listening with half an ear to the Radio, until I fall asleep. I usually wake up about 2 hours later and turn out the light.
Sometimes, in those dark and scary moments at 3 am, I want to weep that I will probably never read a book again. Then I think that I have been privileged enough to read more books in my lifetime than most other people and I should not be sad about not reading more, but happy I have had the opportunity to read so many.
This attitude drives Laura mad, I know, but I just can't help myself. Fifi had the poem below on her Order of Service at her wedding and I have never forgotten it
A piccie of one of my roses.