Scotch has never really been my cup of tea. It doesn’t exactly come naturally, being Irish. When I do pick up a bottle of whiskey, which generally only happens when the weather turns and there’s… More
I have fallen behind on writing up my monthly reads what with all the good Summer weather, the weddings and general life getting in the way, so I’m going to dissect August’s Reads with maximum efficiency.
I haven’t been doing much writing this month but man have I been reading!
June’s reads come a little later than planned, much like May’s did, and for much the same reason. Life has a very bad habit of getting in the way of writing, but thankfully not reading of which I managed at least a little in quantity and a great deal in quality.
It is a sunny, blue sky Saturday morning and the living room window is open out so wide that from where I sit on our giant sofa, I have a bird’s eye view of passers-by three floors below, reflected on glass which is mottled now after weeks without a decent rain shower to clean it. It feels like the first Saturday morning in forever that I have had the time and luxury of sitting down with a pot of tea and an avocado something, Saturday Morning Kitchen in the background.
Here I am on the brink of thirty and still, at least every few months, I have one of those weeks (or two) where I simply cannot adult. I am struck with a sudden incapacity to prepare a meal, put away the washing or water the plants and the feeling of failure that follows lulls me into a rut.
Yes, a little later than might be expected, forgive me, I have no idea what I’ve been doing with myself. The month of May was rather jam-packed between a ramble to Lisbon for Eurovision, Liverpool Light Night and flat viewings pretty much every weekend. Thankfully I did manage to get some reading done, mostly on planes.
When it came to choosing a poem for the month of May I wondered if I should seek out something Portuguese to compliment the ramble to Lisbon, and I did spend quite some time pondering over a bilingual collection of poetry in Ler Devagar, an utterly wonderful bookshop to be found in Lisbon’s LX Factory.
There are some 460 pages in Yuval Noah Harari’s masterpiece Sapiens. That means I’ve probably read something in the region of 130,000 words over the past few weeks buried beneath it’s covers. Well I’ve emerged, brimming with knowledge that I’m desperate to share and have thankfully managed to contain my enthusiasm to a mere 3000 odd words… but first, Dark Days.
The first thing I learned to cook was scrambled eggs.