‘Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first of September was crisp and golden as an apple.’ J.K. Rowling. The Deathly Hallows. It’s the first day of a new term. I’ve got that enthusiastic, excited and slightly apprehensive feeling that comes with new copies, fresh pencils and the proverbial clean … Continue reading A Bit of Bookish Rambling and Up-Cycling: Bookish Tote to Bookish Cushion in 30 minutes.
The facts of the matter are these: At a little after eight o’clock in the morning of the first Friday in June, Marcel Després landed in my postbox in the form of a book called Mister Memory by Marcus Sedgwick. I flicked, as I am wont to do, to the first page and read a … Continue reading Unmissable: Mister Memory by Marcus Sedgwick.
It’s a bank holiday here, it’s raining in a fairly gentle manner, the teenagers are (they say) swotting for their exams which begin on Wednesday, and the small girls are sitting behind me watching Horrible Histories on a loop (it’s very funny). I have nicked somebody’s headphones, for the sake of insulation from Terry Deary’s … Continue reading Elderflower Profusion.
Now, Listen, I’m no poet, but today is National Poetry Day in Ireland and I’ve decided to make a bibliophilic stab at it. I was much impressed by some book spine poetry which passed under my instagram-glancing finger recently. I piled up a stack of lines and words into this: If on a winter’s night … Continue reading To the lighthouse, maybe the moon…
‘March is a nervous month, neither winter nor spring and the winds make people nervous.’ John Steinbeck, East of Eden Diary. I woke up with a heavy sense of foreboding but I’m hoping that it can all be put down to the weather. Radio One forecasts ‘a very windy day’ with rising gales, strong gusts … Continue reading March is a nervous month.
My Grandmother was not prone to profanities. She was, however, inclined to call upon her celestial guardians at those moments when life demands a verbal explosive. ‘Mary, mother of God,’ might have been an appropriate reply to some surprising and mildly unpleasant news; that the bus fare had increased by five pence or a magpie … Continue reading Jesus, Mary and Joseph.
The overall prize at the Bord Gais Irish Book Awards, The Eason’s Novel of the Year, was won by Mike McCormack‘s book, Solar Bones, which I picked up in Waterstones last week and put down again thinking I might read it another time when I’m not so tired because, well, to be honest I was … Continue reading Just one sentence about the Irish book awards.
Hetty Feather is the story of a young foundling who is searching to find her mother. Set in 1876, this story is a little hard to get into at the start but as you read further into the book you’ll be both crying and laughing your heart out. At […] via Hetty Feather by Jacqueline Wilson. … Continue reading Reblog from my Middle Girl. Hetty Feather by Jacqueline Wilson. — Treehouse Reads
I’ve just looked up the definition of going like the clappers and found the phrase was first used by RAF pilots in WW2 and is defined as : To go very fast, in a vigorous manner. There was no illustration but I suggest they could use a photograph of me. I can’t recall a time … Continue reading Custom Splashback.
The farmyard at Ballymaloe was a hive of activity during Litfest 2016, thronged with celebrity participants and eager foodies. Pork crackled on spits and craft cider was swilled with an air of orgiastic revelry. Just a stone’s throw away, the gardens remained an oasis of serenity and order. The walled kitchen garden was a particular … Continue reading Ballymaloe House and Gardens.