What a wretched, rainy day. Now, I like the look of deep pink cherry blossom against a slate-gray sky, I just don't like walking about in driving rain. Obviously jeans, light jumper and a mac were inadequate clothing for today. Should it even be this cold in May? I really could have done with warm hat and gloves, so came home early from a local (unsuccessful) book hunt and wrapped my hands round my huge Cath Kidston mug of tea. Small design flaw with that in that it keeps my hands toasty warm, though the tea cools down before I finish.
Anyway, I've been happily packing up more book orders so more wonderful customers will have their copies of The Whicharts early next week. It's the most fantastically uplifting feeling when orders come in. I just hope that a few more bookshops will stock it, some have been so helpful and keen and I treasure them.
Now I can re-read Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day with a clear conscience. A number of people whose blogs I quietly follow are reading Persephone books this month. I plan to go in and buy In Bed with Grand Music and Doreen. Then again, when I actually do go in to Persephone's shop, admire the china, the spaniel (usually snoring) and the beautiful, beautiful books, I end up choosing something else entirely. The Far Cry was one of those books that I just bought on sight, even though it wasn't on my shortlist, and the story grips me on every reread. Ruth's such a competent teenager and it's a good treatment of the 'coming of age' novel in Anglo-India.
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