Saturday: the day when the weekend and the promise of sunny weather stretched before us.
Sunday: the day when the British Summer and all its inherent clouds returned. Sigh.
What to do when it’s grim outside and riding a bike through Richmond Park in shorts and sunnies is no longer an option? Cookies. Cookies are almost always the answer to any question, let’s be honest. Cookies and catching up on the books that almost the entire reading world has read before you. Reading The Help, by the way, just case I’m not the last person on earth to have done so, is like gliding. 400+ pages and not a single one jars. I love stories that are a little off-centre to the main event; a true test of writing skill is weaving real-life historical events into a novel, and Kathryn Stockett does it with ease. Alluding to a focal event without letting it take over, or become simply a conduit for the writer’s own feelings about it is far tougher than it sounds. But President Kennedy’s assassination, Ole Miss riots, Martin Luther King’s walks on Washington…all these become texture under Stockett’s deft hands instead of overriding detail. And the dialect – the dialect! What is it about southern state accents?
Needless to say, I’m far too sad that it’s finished, but I’m now a few chapters in to Zadie Smith’s NW, so I’m sure I’ll be gushing again soon.
Now. Where did I put those last cookies…?