Sorry I went awol for a while. Had to kill an exam dead. And now that I've slain the beast, I'm back to reveling in this thread. I love the stories that come out when people talk about their favourite books. Like pieces of music, I guess we all associate certain novels with certain places, or certain times in our lives, and the people who were with us then. We talk about the books we love, and in doing so we are telling about ourselves.
Yoooovia: You can call me whatever you like. [blushes] I have to admit I prefer calling you Chan despite knowing your real name because it’s easy for me to remember. In the world of slash fanfiction writing, the word ‘chan’ refers to the type of story where an adult has sex with an underage person.
You know, I got comedically indignant when I first read this, and then remembered the crush I had on Jack Bowers, an eleven-year-old I babysat a few years ago. I swear, if he'd been fifteen years older I wouldda married him. He was so great. Funny as hell. But no, I didn't seduce him. I did give him noogies, however. And that is the extent of my pederasty. So yes, Chan is just fine. I like Chantie a lot too.
One landmark in my pictures of that area show a sign that says ‘Abbey House’. What is that and is that close to your place?
Yes, isn't that the sensationally ugly block of flats on the corner? I seem to think it's a blue sign, right? Go past that and hang a right. There's a little street called Garden Rd. that you'd never notice if you weren't looking for it. A few steps down there, you'll find a quiet, leafy little enclave away from the business of Abbey Rd., called Hamilton Gardens. Ours is the one with the crimson door. Knock, and come right in.
I read Clancy's Hunt for Red October and Sum of All Fears before Clancy got egomaniacal and ruined his Jack Ryan character.
Oh, I'm in emphatic agreement! Mr. Clancy's terrific if he sticks to the thriller stuff, but as soon as he starts thumping his Republican drum, I tune out. Oh, and also when he starts rabbiting on about this new martial technology or the other.
Boring. Flip, flip, flip.
Frontie:Thanks for all these wonderful recommendations. I'm printing out this thread for my next trip to the bookstore!
Oh, I know! Isn't it great? I made a list, but I've already lost it, which tells you something about me. But I'll make another one, and tuck in into my wallet so I have it on hand whenever I pass a bookstore. Like the Boy Scouts, I'll
Be Prepared.
Also, any of the books of Alexander McCall Smith, particularly those set in Botswana, are excellent to listen to.
I ain't religious, but I am
evangelical about the
Number One Ladies Detective Agency books. You can't tell me that Mma. Ramotswe doesn't exist. Of course she does! To anyone who hasn't read them,
run, don't walk to the nearest shop and get the first in the series, the above mentioned
Number One Ladies Detective Agency. Your world will immediately become a cheerier, better place. You will also develop an unhealthy addiction to redbush tea, but I can't be held responsible for that.
Henrypie:Oh yes, Willesden Green's very decent. I have absolutely no idea where Seven Sisters is, but I'll be sure
neverto go there. Forewarned is forearmed.
I just squealed with appreciate laughter when I read this:
So wait, you grew up in St. John's Wood? I can just hear the Jubilee line lady saying it in her tight-ass little voice. The next stop is St. John's Wood! This train terminates at: Stanmore.
You've got it exactly! Word perfect! I'm so impressed. How long ago were you there? If it was in the last six years, then that enormous Sainsbury's you shopped at is our local supermarket/eyesore. Before then, there was a seriously crummy little Sainsbury's I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. This is so funny. I like to think of you patrolling the bread aisle. I feel like we're connected through so many things, supermarkets being least among them.
Books: to sedately celebrate having demolished my first exam, I am tucking myself up tonight with an old copy of
The Sign of Four, a little Sherlock Holmes mystery courtesy of Herr Conan Doyle. I anticipate fog, jangling carriages, ingenious solutions and dastardly villains. Maybe a rabid dog in there somewhere.
Interesting facts: Sherlock Holmes never wore a deer-stalker hat, never smoked a pipe, and certainly never, ever uttered the immortal phrase "Elementary, my dear Watson." Filthy lies. It's all ornamentation by the movies. Like cats, you just can't trust them.