This is a recent purchase and I am about halfway through.  Marine action in Iraq is not a typical choice for me – even when accompanied by photos – but we watched the David Simon series on TV and I was hooked.  It’s graphic, ultra-violent and utterly damning of Bush and American politics of war.  I never realised the extent to which the illegal war really was illegal,  chaotic to the point of randomness,  and how many untruths they tried to get by us.  It’s not a particularly sharply-written book – I would have preferred some edge to the commmentary, but then it started out as a magazine article for Rolling Stone, so the style was set by that.

This is next.  I picked up a copy at the Cat’s Protection shop today and am keen to start it.  It’s not my usual style and I don’t think I would have considered it before now, but other reading has lead to it naturally, as often happens.

I have raised avid readers; this year the three of them are getting some Kazuo Ishiguro, David Foster Wallace, Benjamin Hoff, Kinky Friedman,  and, as requested by my elder son, Cormac McCarthy.  My mum saw Santa today (long story) and I asked her to mention that, as a change from the usual Oil of Olay and a handbag diary, he might like to leave  me Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall.  Maybe Santa does have taste after all.

It’s a good thing for Fidel that I prefer a CRT monitor.  How else would he keep his bod warm on these wintry days?

I would very much like to have watched BBC’s programme on Robespierre and The Terror, but I was in the middle of A Place of Greater Safety by Hilary Mantel, and wanted to wait until I finished it.  Sadly, the BBC only gives you a week to see its watch-again facility, then whisks its programmes away.  I shall have to wait for the (inevitable) repeat.  Magnificent book, but then I am a fan of ‘ilary.

(courtesy Princeton)

He’s never where you think he is.

I have to love him – he’s mine.

The grill leaves a nice warm spot in the morning after breakfast.

Troll Room by Sam Evans, inspired by Maurice Sendak

When you read how today’s parents think Where the Wild Things Are may be too frightening for children, and that the word ‘warm’ needs to be substituted for ‘hot’ in case they burn their over-protected litigiously guarded mouths, it makes you grateful that your own kids were brought up in an era when bowdlerising was briefly out of fashion and four year olds could be let loose in the library without a safety helmet, blinkers and a set of guidelines and no-one needed a risk assessment before they left the house.  I read a lot of books to my children when they were young, and they loved this book above all others  -  they can still quotes chunks of it today.  I bought a copy for a friend’s child last year;  I expect the lawsuit any day.

It’s impossible to use the computer without being watched.

I’ve been scanning photo albums all week, for posterity.  This one, which I got to today, seemed particularly appropriate.  The tiny baby in the photo is my daughter, who just graduated with a BSc first class honours  in midwifery, and got her first job yesterday.  My niece, 29 now and a Big Cheese in television, shares her new cousin with Uncle Albert, whose career path was a little different.  They don’t give degrees in execution, but Albert was considered the best hangman in his field.  He would have been so proud of both of them.

Second hand paperbacks in charity shops seem to have been upgraded of late.  No more Maeve Binchy, Catherine Cookson or ubuquitous Grisham; instead you’ll find Tennyson and even Joe Orton prominently displayed amongst the ‘Classics’ and there’s always a bit of Updike and even a spot of Roth.  This weekend we did our regular bit for Cats Prevention and I brought home these:

I’ve attempted Thomas Keneally years ago but couldn’t get far, so time to give it another go.  The Mankell I’m not sure about – I almost felt bad about buying it.  I read a post on this language log which made me instantly unable to remember his name properly, and I’m not sure he isn’t a Scandinavian Colin Dexter, not that that’s all bad.  I bought A Clockwork Orange to send to my elder son, because I think he will like it.  I did offer it to Evans Minor, but he said he had seen the film and didn’t like it one bit.  I thumbed through it but don’t feel brave enough – I used to be much tougher, but I’m younger than that now.