Books, books, books

It was a most relaxing week in France. The only ‘work' I had to do was painting the door, skirting, radiators and pipes in the downstairs bedroom and I was able to get a lot of reading done. The weather wasn't brilliant, but on one afternoon which turned out fine we went for a drive to explore some of the lanes we had never driven before. Very pleasant it was too. But back to the books. Just before we left I had started rereading Robert Goddard's ‘Play to the End' so I finished that. The book is set in Brighton and the setting is researched so thoroughly that the various locations are described with complete accuracy. I had borrowed several books from the local library, only one of which I had read before. I do tend to reread books as I can rarely remember very much about them if the time between readings is long enough, say a couple of years or so.

The one I had read before was Bernard Cornwell's ‘Harlequin' which is a novel set in the 1340s and concerns an archer in the army of Edward III. Apart from the fact that it is a good yarn, the setting is interesting in that it covers a part of France I know pretty well, from Cherbourg, through Rennes, Caen, Rouen, and up to Crecy, where the French were routed in battle in 1346 at the start of the Hundred Years War. The motorway we drive is just a short distance from the site of the battle and one day, when we have time, I should like to make the detour to visit it.

Elizabeth George is a favourite author with her Inspector Lynley series, which has been adapted so well for television. This time, though, the book was nt a novel but explained how she sets about writing a novel. Presumably it is based on the creative writing classes she gives. I found it most interesting.

I have recently discovered another author, Peter Robinson. Or rather, I have discovered his books. These are police novels (who-dun-its) around the character Chief Inspector Banks, and I took two with me, although I read only one. This was partly because I found the latest John Grisham (‘The Associate') in the bookshop at the tunnel terminal. I don't think this has reached the High Street yet as this was an ‘airport version'. Now that both Sheila and I have read it, it will no doubt be passed on to our son Neil who is an avid Grisham reader.