Little blogging this week as I have been head down trying to wrest order from chaos and catalogue all the pony books I've bought recently, as well as do all the other things I'm supposed to. (Though at least, unlike my friend Charlotte, I am not wrestling with accounts). I've done the catalogue anyway, at last, and it'll be on line on Wednesday 15th October. I hope. Some computing blip or other always rears its head whenever I need to do a catalogue so I wait with interest to see what the current one will be.
Further to my post about the Booker, I have bought The Northern Clemency (described this week on R4 as a page turner) - well, I haven't turned the pages so fast I've finished it, but I'm chugging on. What I hadn't realised was that it was set in Sheffield; not quite the time I was there, but a little before, though I will get to where I was as I go on through the book, if you see what I mean. It's very odd to read about Broomhill and remember the shops that were there.
At the moment, it is the physical surroundings described in the book that mean more to me than the characters. My lifestyle was completely different to those described so far; I was a tad more disorganised, with my head permanently stuck in a book, in between being a disputatious member of the Christian Union and making every relationship mistake in the book (well, not quite every, but a good selection, anyway) so I've not yet found a lot of points of contact. Possibly if I wasn't reading it with such an instant connection to my own past, I would.
Well, we'll see.
I'm also reading Kierkegaard. Yes! I am, really. I'm halfway through. I only wish I had an actual understanding of what dialectical means. My dictionary is of no help (and I am reading this book with the dictionary jammed by my feet because I need it). The one thing that strikes me at the moment is the lack of suggestion that there might be alternative points of view. He is so certain in his own faith that he never seems to suggest there might be an alternative (though of course he might get there, or might have said it in a form I haven't understood. Only too possible, I'm afraid. Boy, is this finding out my lack of intellectual application, or appreciation or indeed ability).
I had a brief dabble with philosophy in my teens and after that left it strictly alone; but I have always had the feeling that it was about the discussion of different points of view. Well, I have plenty to think about at any rate. Shall look forward to another bout of Kierkegaard after Strictly Come Dancing. I love, love, love this (and I LOVE Don Warrington), The world seems to divide into two camps here: those who absolutely see the point, and those who think it is a strange, twinkly aberration.
And I also, on another point altogether, loved Lost in Austen. I was so sorry when it finished. The way it took so very many sacred cows and rounded them up into a completely unexpected rodeo was brilliant. I loved that too.
On with the weekend now - the weekend's taxi driving beckons.