Sometimes I like to think I have a few friends sitting on my bookshelves, keeping me company in my most desolate moments - usually when husbando and the wolbag have totally turned their backs on me and started talking amongst themselves (which does happen from time to time, but I tell myself this is mostly due to their mental idiosyncrasies - not mine... ). Occasionally (just occasionally), I am gripped by the need to peek into somebody else's world, just to see if mine really is as weird/boring/tough (depends on my mood, of course) as I think it is (and it never is, of course). And to satisfy this need, all I need do is reach for one of the four autobiographies I now own. The first three were Michael Palin's
Halfway to Hollywood diaries, James Frey's
A Million Little Pieces and George Harrison's
I, Me, Mine. But this week, I took delivery of a new friend,
Mark Oliver Everett's
Things the Grandchildren Should Know, and I can't put him down! Now, this guy really has seen some shit. He REALLY has. Yet, just as his music does, his writing has me smiling, laughing, crying - all in a page. I think I'm going to add him to my dream dinner-guest list.
I also have some new friends on our front windowsill. Having spent most of February rummaging through loo bins looking for empty toilet roll holders for root trainers (and seriously jeopardising my career in the process), my sweet peas are now growing great guns and I'm reeeaaally hoping for some blossoms in May/June...
And here's a peek at the beginnings of a new quilt...
Wolbag, meanwhile, has been keeping warm and busy (just for a change).
