My Year In Books

Books. Aren't they just so damned addictive? Every year I promise myself I'll get rid of some of my books to free up a bit of space. Every year I buy more than I give away. I'd be absolutely sorted if I didn't hate e-reading so much. 

2025 has been a great year of reading for me. I got some good books for Christmas last year and spent my birthday money on even more, so I've read a good 20 to 30 new-to-me titles.

The absolute stand out pleasure has been the Ithaca trilogy by Clare North. I love Clare's science fiction novels so I was confident her writing would be good, but even so this series blew me away. It's set on the island of Ithaca, home of Odysseus, and chronicles the life of his wife Queen Penelope who has to use every ounce of her wit and guile to rule over a place missing a generation of men, subjected to piracy and political machinations of neighbouring kingdoms, and that will not accept a woman in charge.

Each one (Ithaca, The House of Odysseus and The Last Song Of Penelope) is narrated from the perspective of one of the three Goddesses involved in the fight for the golden apple that started all the trouble. Hera, Aphrodite and Athena have strong and distinct voices, and very different biases. It was a marvellous conceit through which to tell the story and I'd buy Clare North a box of chocolates for it if I could. The women of the island were well drawn characters that I desperately cared about, and I had to ration myself to only reading one then having something else on the go to eke out the story as long as I could.

 Sticking to Ancient Greece, I recommend both Natalie Hayne's Stone Blind and No Friend To This House. I enjoy Haynes on the radio as well as through her novels. She's smart, funny and tells a good story.

Another big win was The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnim. My lovely friend and neighbour Penny bought it for me when I got home from our week in Rapallo because von Arnim had been living there when she wrote it, and the book is set on that headland. It was a gorgeous literary extension of the holiday, with the sea and sky so blue and the buildings glowing in the sun. Penny is a skilled hand at choosing just the right book for a person or an occasion; she puts a great deal of thought into her gifts. I'm lucky to have her as a friend.

Setting for The Enchanted April
 

She also gave me Remarkably Bright Creatures, knowing how I feel about octopuses. (I think they are at least as bright as we are, and possibly more. They are certainly the closest to an alien mind we have ever encountered.) The narrator is an octopus in an aquarium, and it was a good fun.

However, it did tip into the trend for Bloody Ridiculous Narrators To Choose. In the past two years I've had an octopus, a tree, a book, a pigeon, some water, a dog, and probably a couple others I can't remember. I don't mean when an animal narrates a story about animals, or when it's a non-human person like a cyborg or AI or super intelligent spiders (hurray for Adrian Tchaikovsky!) or ghosts of people who have died in the story. I mean stories about people 'whimsically' told by an unexpected being. I'm all for a bit of whimsy here and there, but not whole torrents of it. It's a seasoning, not a main course.

For holiday reading I thoroughly enjoyed two by Tracy Chevalier: Remarkable Creatures about my heroine Mary Anning and The Glassmakers about the Venetian island of Murano through the centuries. Daisy Jones and the Six as an audio book was an ideal choice to keep me entertained through airports and flights and trains - the voice cast is excellent. There was also Small Bomb at Dimperley from Lissa Evans, which I enjoyed but it was slightly spoilt by my sky-high expectations given how much I loved the more ascerbic Old Baggage and Crooked Heart. This was an enjoyable romcom and I wish I'd read it first, not last. 

I did have two clunkers while in Italy. The first as Think Again by Jacqueline Wilson, whom I'd only previously read as a children's author. I forced myself to finish it because I was running low on holiday books and still had 3 days to go, but thought it was leaden and dull. 

Casting about in desperation, I found Sally Rooney's Intermezzo on the swap shelf in the hotel. I've never read any of hers and figured it was worth a punt. Nope. It's boring, has too much sex and not enough personality. One of the main character reminded me of the really irritating drippy John Irving protagonists he went through a phase of - the type of bloke you'd like to give a slap to and tell them to buck their ideas up. I can't be arsed with navel-gazing ineffectual men.

Another I read that seemed to be everywhere was James by Percival Everitt.  It's Huckleberry Finn as told by escaped slave Jim, but it's essentially one 'joke' (that black people are well spoken but put on a dumb patios in the presence of white folk) stretched far past breaking point. It would have worked for me as a short story but across 303 pages it wore mighty thin.

I've been reading quite a lot of non-fiction (for me) lately but as usual I rarely finish them. I start all enthusiastically, galumph through the early chapters but then fade out like a a toddler with a Sesame Street attention span. However, I do like to pick them up from second had shops to dip into when the subject looks interesting. The low cost helps to offset the didn't-finish-it guilt.

The memoir Crying in H-Mart by Michelle Zauner was interesting as a snapshot into a culture I don't know much about - tourism from the armchair is much cheaper than the real kind! I didn't get terribly far with Normal Woman by Philippa Gregory because it covered quite a lot of the same ground as Femina by Janina Ramirez, which I read a couple of years back. 

In contrast, I positively devoured Unfortunately She Was A Nymphomaniac by Joan Smith, which defends the reputation of the Julio-Claudian women of Ancient Rome. Having reread Robert Graves last year, I am embarrassed that I took his wild and misogynistic characterisations in I, Claudius and sequel as true. Poor Livia, the slandered villain of the piece, and poor starved Julia. The Caesars were brutal to the women they disliked or discarded.

I bought Unfortunately when I went to the Women's Right's Network's book festival in November. At the same time I bought yet more histories of women and essays about women's rights, but those are the kind I can dip into for one essay at a time.  Much as I once needed to read Satanic Verses to see what all the protests were about, I'm enjoying The Women Who Wouldn't Wheesht, which caused the National Library of Scotland to nearly self-combust this autumn. It was introduced at the festival by its co-editor Susan Dalgety, who has so many tales to tell and dirt to dish I wish I could be on a night out with her. She also has a downright filthy laugh. Her book certainly sparked a long and interesting conversation with Luke.

I've read a couple of books about buying less (borrowed from the library, naturally) and about being more connected to the natural world, but I kind of do that stuff anyway. The books about birds by Tim Birkhead  - The Most Perfect Thing and What It's Like To Be A Bird - have been very interesting while my pitiful attention span holds, but ultimately I read because I want to be told a story.

Between this year and last I read the first three Brandon Sanderson Mistborn novels. I love a bit of fantasy and interesting world-building, so Luke thought this would be something I could get my teeth into. He was right, as he so often is, and I will happily read more Sanderson in future. After all, poor old Robin Hobb can't be responsible for every mighty fantasy tome, can she? I did read the three Wild Ships novels this year, rounding out her already remarkable world. She takes up about 6 feet of bookshelves alone.

 R.F Kuang's been very busy over the last few years. After a brief foray into her satirical fiction  Yellowface, I returned to her fantasy with Babel, which was fascinating to anyone with a love of just the right word and correct nuance for a situation.  It has racism, colonialism, isolation, magic and conspiracies while romping through an alternate Oxford weirder even than Lyra's. Her latest, Katabasis, is on my wish list for next year.

For science fiction, I've only read a few this year and only one new one. The Ministry Of Time (which barely counts) kind of fluffed its execution while landing the ending pretty well.  I revisited my old pal Kim Stanley Robinson's Mars trilogy. 

Uncharacteristically, I only read 6 Georgette Heyers instead of my usual 15-20. I chose Terry Pratchett for most of my comforting re-reads instead - first all the Guards novels, then dipping my toe in a variety of them as they appealed to me including Granny Weatherwax and Tiffany Aching novels.. I think I needed the humour. And it does me good to have a gap from Heyer now and again because I know my favourites almost by heart.

 Zach loaned me Batman: Year One by Frank Miller in a sincere attempt to overcome my long-held impression that Batman is basically an asshole. I like Wonder Woman, Spider-Man, Superman, the X-men (Bryan Singer movie versions, at least) and Ms Marvel, but the Caped Crusader always seemed more of a sociopath than a hero.  I was impressed! Year One was a very engaging story.  That was a super introduction for me, although Jim Gordon almost broke my heart. He's queued up another couple for me to carry on with. I like the lads' determination to share their cultural capital with me the way I share mine with them.

Queen B doesn't recommend books to me often but we share a few authors. We both enjoy Emily Henry's romance novels.  I wasn't as taken by Funny Story, which I read in the summer, so I re-read Book Lovers and Holiday Read to get me back in the mood. 

Oh! I forgot one of the big hits of the year - The Voyage Home by the sublime Pat Barker.  It was the final in the trilogy started by The Silence Of The Girls (my book of the year at the time). Barker's prose is so gorgeous I always feel I'm in the room with the characters, hearing the insects chirp and smelling the blood and the dirt. I love a book that sweeps me in so utterly that I forget my surroundings. 

I expect in January I'll tell myself I need to make more space and give away another 30 or 40 books again, before instantly filling the space with a new batch of exciting stuff to read.

It's still a shame I hated my Kindle so much. It felt the ideal solution to my slightly out of control book habit. My mum-in-law Marion very kindly bought me one for Christmas some years ago. But somehow it's just not the same without a cover and pages. At least the kids use it. 

I'm sticking to paperbacks. 

Dear Zoo

Happy Birthday!

I've passed my half century, along with my First Ever Best Buddy Beth, Cerys Matthews of 6 Music, and the Open University. Balloons and cake to us all!

Like your typical eight year old fifty year old, I made the excellent decision to take a picnic to the zoo.  I say zoo, I mean the Yorkshire Wildlife Park in Doncaster which is a friendly and excellent place.  It functions partly as a normal zoo and partly retirement home for animals no longer in the zoo breeding programme. It's one of my favourite places and somewhere all five of us enjoy.

Feeling pretty lazy, I bought a pack of fondant fancies to serve as a mini birthday cake. Feeling hungry, I made spanokopita to take with us on the picnic.

Leeds used to have a place called Salt's Deli, and their spanokopita was to die for. They vanished some years back and I really had a hankering for the lovely spinach and filo pie. As usual, I turned to Felicity Cloake of The Guardian for recipe advice. I roughly followed her recipe here.

I reduced the spinach from 1kg to 750g and would recommend increasing the feta to 350g. Chopping and massaging a tablespoon of salt through the fresh spinach did work, but I had to put it in a colander with heavy weights on to help remove the excess liquid.

It was a pretty easy recipe and I highly endorse it - it was delicious and kept me in lunches for several days. My VEM Kirsty had a taste and went home to cook it herself.

We had a brilliant time at the Wildlife Park. The baboons were busy with new babies, and freaking out about a male mallard that was somehow terribly threatening as he swan serenely around the pond. There were fights over a stick, brawls over getting too close to the babies, sibling jealousy, male posturing and female impatience with all this crap.  Pretty much like the rest of us. Except for the mallard phobia, obviously. That was just weird.

The painted dogs were remarkably laid back in the face of their neighbours' noisy chaos. I'd swear one of them was rolling her eyes, but anthropomorphising is too easy. 

One of my great delights is visiting the polar bears in their 10 acre playground. Polar bears are HUGE. Really, really huge. Not "gosh, that's big" type of beast, more "Holy Geez, look at the the size of him!" It's hard not to want to go in and give them a cuddle, even if they'd eat you - they are gorgeous and hey, a bear's got to eat. You don't get to be the world's largest land carnivore without a heck of an appetite. This is beautifully demonstrated by the sign on the staff entrance to the bear enclosure "Do You Know Where The Bears Are?"

Victor is my favourite. He's a behemoth of a bear - old, wonderful, father of 10,  grandfather of many. He had a lovely swim in his lake and spent a lot of time blowing bubbles because he can.  

I love the capybaras and the maras; if a rabbit and a deer had babies, they'd be maras. For my 40th birthday my Best Woman SJ bought me a hutch and two guinea pigs (Lola and Lotta because they were small and very funny) and it's hard not to see the capybaras as giant free-range guinea pigs, happily bimbling around and dozing in the sun. They *definitely* want a cuddle and a scratch on the back.

Guinea pigs on steroids

We were delighted to see the tiny baby anteater, Licky Minaj, having a cuddle with her mum then having a little wander in the outside world. She's ridiculously cute. Top work crowd-sourcing the name, YWP. No Anty McAntface for you.

Our big surprise of the day was discovering that armadillos go jogging. Watching them trot in opposite direction around their well-worn circuit had us transfixed for ages. Sure, the marmosets were cute, and it was exciting last time when they escaped, but jogging armadillos are adorable.

After our picnic, a visit to the tigers and giraffes, total failure to find the Amur leopards and a pause to admire the black rhino standing to attention, we met with Elvis the Emu. Elvis is under the misapprehension he's an ostrich. No one wants to hurt his feelings, so he lives in the African enclosure and hangs out with the female ostrich who's too polite to say anything. Maybe it's in the name.  We adopted a hen called Elvis from my good friend Lisa recently. She and her lads all refer to Elvis as "he" despite Elvis laying eggs daily.  Emu, ostrich, boy hen... Live your best lives, Elvis.

It was a lovely day spent with my best people. Dinner at Salvo's and home again to indulge in another birthday treat - watching the live-action Peter Pan from 2003, which remains one of my favourite film.

Over coming weeks I've a series of workshops, courses and performances to enjoy as I continue my bid to make this a year I look outwards rather than in. Textile printing, glass work, sewing garments, seeing ballets and shows... 50 has a lot to look forward to.

I'm handsome and I know it

In a pickle

One of the things I missed most when I moved to the UK as a kid was the lack of dill pickles. The lack of good food generally, come to think of it. Sure, the chocolate was better and you get a lovely cup of tea, but the food was almost uniformly lousy, the pizza were appalling and you couldn't even get a nice crisp dill pickle to liven up your sandwich.

The North Wales culinary landscape was pretty miserable in 1985.

Things are much improved. However, I still find the dill pickles a bit hit and miss. Too sweet a lot of the time, or too floppy, or just a bit 'meh'. So I'm making my own.

As I'm not sure how they will turn out, I'm starting with two different recipes.

My new friend-of-a-friend-via-Facebook, the very ace Lisa D, suggested this particular recipe. She's an ex-pat Canadian with excellent taste in many things (i.e. we agree with each other) so that's my first attempt.

Refrigerator pickles aren't proper preserves; they are only good for 2-3 weeks. I'm not sure how many pickles I'll need in that short a time, so I'm only trying one jar for this one. What I have in the cupboard is a much smaller jar than the recipe uses so I've halved the amount of vinegar. I'm using a generous sprig of fresh dill, a peeled clove of garlic (because I like it) and a teaspoon of sea salt. I've sliced the pickles about pound-coin thickness because I prefer them thicker than her wafer thin style.

It takes about 3 minutes to do, and is an absolute doddle.  If these are good I'm going to be delighted.

I liked the idea of longer-lasting pickles too, so I'm doing a more traditional recipe with the majority of jars.

Unlike the massive farms these people seem to have, producing kilo after kilo of cucumbers that require industrial scales of production, I have one plant that escaped the slugs. Downsizing needed.
I swapped the unit of measurement from 1 cup to 1/4 of a cup, and kept proportions the same. so: 1/4 cup table salt, 1 1/4 cups of water, 2 3/4 cups of white wine vinegar, simmered for 10 minutes to dissolve the salt. I put a large sprig of fresh dill, peeled garlic and one fresh chilli pepper (also from the garden) in each jar before stuffing them as full of cucumber as possible.
Because my cucumbers aren't a specific "for pickling" cultivar, they do have more seeds than is usual for dill pickle.  I'm doing some jars with slices and some with spears that I've trimmed the seeds from to see if that keeps them crunchier.
I also read on a number of recipe sites that the blossom end of the cucumber contains enzymes that make it go floppy, so I followed that advice too and trimmed the ends off.

To allow the pickles to last long term, I put all the jars on a folded tea towel in my big stock pot, covered them with boiling water and simmered for 15 minutes. The Internet assures me that will work just as well as a pressurised canner (and obviously the Internet is always factual - ha!) so that's what I did.

Don't worry, I did add more water

When I lifted the jars out (carefully) I could see one wasn't sealed properly so we'll not store that one and eat it soon. The other 4 looked much better, bulging because of the heat, contracting to a vacuum seal as they cooled. They are the duller green I associate with pickles, and I'm very much looking forward to trying them! A shame I have to wait about a month before opening them - I promise I'll update you.

Having been away for 12 days, I had rather a glut of produce to deal with.  I have now washed, trimmed, blanched and frozen over 4kg of French beans, swapped 2 dozen quail eggs for courgette to make fritters, and enjoyed salads of tiny tomatoes with red onion.

I know I say it a lot, but I really do love my garden.

Talk is cheap (but remarkably effective)

Loquacious. Verbose. Garrulous. Gabby. Gobby. Can talk the hind leg off a donkey.
Have you met me face to face yet?

I talk all the time, to pretty much everyone. Actually, I talk to non-people too. The animals (obviously) the plants (Aren't you doing well! good on you), the appliances ("Don't you DARE burn my bagel, you rotter"), the timer ("Oh, belt up, I heard you the first time!). 
I started as a chatty toddler at an extremely early age and haven't shut up since. This can be useful, friendly, charming, wearing, crass, irksome or bloody annoying depending on one's mood and temperament.

On Thursday, my Best Woman SJ, my Very Ace Mate Kirsty and I went to the RHS Show at Chatsworth. The sun was shining, the flowers and gardens were glorious, the picnic was extensive and delicious. It was an absolutely wonderful day - as are all my days out with SJ. 

There's always a section of food and drink stalls. For the last 5 years gin kiosks have been A Big Thing. (Before that flavoured vodka, before that whisky, and the “new” thing on the rise is rum).  As usual we have a fair few tiny samples (Mason Gin from Yorkshire does a lovely Lavender gin, and I don't generally like floral stuff. There was a lovely baked apple and almond moonshine as well.)

Moving ahead of me as I tasted a mature cheddar (a bit dull), Kirsty called me over to see the product on a stall a few metres along.

It was a Scottish gin in a really beautiful ceramic jug. Lovely stoneware, a real heft to it. I went to look, and a couple of women already there were making a purchase. They told me to definitely try it, it’s lush.
I said it was the gorgeous bottle that attracted me, and we chatted a bit about the things we'd sampled while the seller got the card payment ready.
Paying for their gin, they were offered a free empty bottle “to use as a vase or make a lamp”
They said No
I asked the salesperson “how much is it for one of the empty bottles?"
She did a snooty face.
“One is free when you purchase a bottle of gin” (you ghastly peasant)
Oh, ok.
My new gin-tasting friend said “I’ve changed my mind. I’d like an empty, please!”
As the salesperson passed it to her she said “I’m sharing the happiness “ and passed it straight to me, smiling broadly.
The salesperson looked like she’d sucked a lemon. I was chuffed to bits.

When I showed it to Kirsty she started laughing. "How does this happen with you? This never happens to me, and it happens to you all the time!"
She's right, it does.
I talk to people. I chat away, all friendly and open. Sometimes it's annoying, sometimes people are abrupt or ignore me, but mostly people are friendly back. On the whole, I think people like an opportunity to connect. Sure, not everyone likes an extrovert but enough people do that it's worth being friendly.

I also got a photo with Joe Swift, my absolute favourite of the Gardener's World team. (They were filming for a segment on the programme.)
We saw him around and about while we were enjoying the show.
Clearly the RHS aren’t a selfie crowd, but lots of people were taking surreptitious photos.
A little later we saw him by a stand, waiting while the crew were sorting the technical bits.
I said to him and the production assistant “while you are still setting up, could I possibly have a quick photo with Joe? Would you mind?”
She said “no problem “ and Joe said “what do you mean?”
I took that as a yes.
(Of course I did!)
She used my phone for a photo. Joe said “OOOOOOHHHHH. Setting up! Of course! I thought you said ‘sitting up’ and thought I’m not that old, of course I can sit up!”
I laughed and said, “while you can hear me, Hiya Joe, I’m Jay and I’m delighted to meet you.“
“Lovely to meet you too, and enjoy your day”
As I rejoined Kirsty and SJ I noticed some people in the crowd shooting me funny looks - it seemed a bit "how dare she," or at least "how rude." But heck, I saw a nice person I wanted to meet, he was standing at a loose end for a moment and I asked politely.
Y'know, using my words.
And that worked.

Chatting. It's an under-appreciated skill.

Not my favourite day

I am a fortunate soul. I have a wonderful family, I know many amazing and inspiring people, we can afford (just about) for me to work for free at things that matter to me. I have far too many animals and a veg garden prone to flooding but that's OK.
And I love my city very much indeed.

However, sometimes it all goes a bit tits up. Yesterday was one of those days.

First of all - women, cross your legs. My apologies for this bit.
Today I had my 3-yearly cervical smear test. Like every woman in the country of screening age, I received the notification letter with a glum sigh. Yes, I know we have to do it, it's the smart course of action but still...
I procrastinated just long enough to side-step the Easter school holidays and scheduled it for first thing on a Monday. "get it over with first thing."
The speculum isn't exactly comfortable and I actively dread the click...click...click noises they open it.
Unfortunately, the nurse was inexperienced.
(I did warn you to cross your legs)
She's a total poppet. She's warm, friendly, kind, well-meaning and has a terrific manner with patients. She has the sparkly blue eyes of an old Hollywood movie star. She's great at taking blood and doing inoculations. She's just not quite got the hang of cervical smears.
Yet.
It took 8 goes.
 EIGHT.
I had to ask her to stop, I couldn't take it anymore.
She fetched an experienced nurse who sorted it - without pain - in 2 minutes.
Talking to one of my Very Excellent Mates afterwards, she'd had the same nurse with a similar result (fewer tries, more bleeding).
Ick.
I thought that was the worst my week would be. Everything's on the up from that, surely.

After dropping Z's forgotten lunch at school and buying the approved summer uniform polo shirts at the shop down the road, I drove to work on my lovely Vespa.
The roads are generally quiet at that time of day but a combination of road works, building works and changed lane marking mean a couple of sections are more awkward than usual. This resulted in the cars in the lanes either side of me simultaneously deciding to be in my lane, which they did without indicating and seemingly without noticing me on my scooter. Cars in front and behind, and moving in from either side - adrenaline spike! Luckily the car behind blasted its horn and they both swerved back into their lanes. People tell me scooters are dangerous. My experience is that no, it's dozy car drivers that are dangerous.
After that burst of near death excitement I went to the marvellous Play Lab.

Play Lab is a pop-up play space in the centre of the city. It's brilliant and if you are local to Leeds do come ad see us. It's on New York street opposite the post office, on the road down Kirkgate Market that leads to the multi-story carpark and the bus station. We're there 10-4 every day, sometimes later as well.
We have an empty shop that we've filled with Lego, toys, pillows, hula hoops, craft bits and a visiting coffee shop. We've pompom makers, chalks, markers and paper, stuff for den building, plenty to mess about with. That's the drop-in-and-play bit, totally free.
Downstairs we run workshops and inventors clubs to get kids exploring what they can build and create.  It's flipping lovely.

I'm acting as a self-appointed intern at this community-based project. It was clear to me the founder, Emma Bearman, couldn't possibly manage all her plans with the workforce she had funding for, so I nominated myself. I do a few days a week - mostly just being there to welcome people, help kids with activities, do the odd errand, clear up and so on. Having an extra body to (wo)man the play space can be a help.  It's very rewarding, if occasionally very noisy!
After a 4.5 hour shift I locked up and headed across town to collect a book from Waterstone's. My arthritis hasn't been great, so I was walking awkwardly and was jostled a couple of times. I put that down to my clumsiness.
When I got to Waterstone's and went to pay, I discovered my wallet was missing. On the unlikely chance I'd left it at work, I went back to Play Lab and searched for it. No wallet. I'd definitely had it when I bought those school shirts. I definitely had it when I tucked it in my cotton shopping bag when I got to Play Lab, and tucked it out of sight in the back of the cubby under the motorbike jacket.
There wasn't a lot in it - frustrating things to replace like loyalty cards, membership cards, drivers licence, credit and debit cards, and a couple of gift vouchers. Things I'll now have to reset on all websites I buy from. Hoops to go through because I bought out Hamilton the musical tickets with that card and I need it to collect the tickets.
Oh, and two really nice commemorative £2 coins in the separate compartment for my coin collection
(I know, I know, coin collecting is lame. Don't judge me. I've had a rough day.)
I'd been pickpocketed on my way through town.
That pretty much broke me.
It was such a crappy thing to happen, with so little advantage to whomever stole the wallet. It had been a really lousy morning followed by a nerve-wracking commute, a lovely but draining shift with my bad knees and now lots of inconvenience and frustration, as well as costing me about £50 to replace things.
I sang fed up songs on my way home (thanks to Lily Allen and Belle and Sebastian for their excellent work in this field), felt thoroughly narked with the world and went to bed early feeling drained.
Monday the 16th can piss right off.
So here I am on Tuesday.
I have an open bouquet of daffodils on my kitchen counter., which is enough to brighten my day. Yes, living in a city means there is crime and it's damned annoying when it happens to you. However, living in the city also means there are amazing things like Play Lab, providing a warm and welcoming space for families. There are large bookshops like my lovely Waterstone's, and fun places to go like my beloved Everyman cinema. There are Kirkgate Market traders who call out and wave when I go by, friends to commiserate with when rotten things happen, and thousands of connections and intersections of communities that make life richer.
I'm shaking off yesterday and looking forward to tomorrow. There are rumours of sunshine.

Some Diems Need To Be Carpe'd

the fairy-like elegance of the Arctic Tern

Much of the UK tracks the televisual seasons of the year by Strictly, talent shows or celebrities in a jungle. Those aren't really my sort of thing.
I count down the days to Doctor Who, Game of Thrones and, most especially, Springwatch.

Springwatch is one of those creations that is so much a part of BBC's culture it's like the Beeb distilled. It's earnest, a bit geeky, silly, incredibly local and yet also national, and is grounded in a will to educate and inspire. I love the presenters even when they drive me crazy, I love the stories that carry across from year to year (Monty the Osprey! Chris the Cuckoo!) and I especially love how excited it makes me about new species every time.

A while back, Iolo Williams reported from the Farne Islands. As well as the adorable puffins, it was the Arctic Terns that amazed me. They had put a tracker on a tern to see if their estimation of the distances he flew was accurate.  Not a chance - he flew 97,000km in a single year. What a champion.

I wanted to see them myself - what an incredible sight it was, those thousands of birds ad grey seals  coming to stay on these rocky islands. Last year we just didn't have the opportunity. This June, we grabbed a two day gap while Mark was still not working and went north.

The Farnes were everything I'd hoped - stunning, exciting, teeming with wildlife and lit up by warm summer sun.

It was only through help of my ace friends that I could seize the chance to abscond overnight and see this marvellous sight, and I am very grateful.  The trip will stay with me for the rest of my life.

The stacks - more birds nesting than is plausible 

Glossy, gorgeous guillemot and her brood

Arctic terns thought Mark was a well dodgy geezer

keeping a watchful eye for the thieving gulls

every dot is a returning puffin

Razorbills are very handsome

back on the mainland, looking over a beautiful sea

Accentuate the positive

In July last year I started a list of happy and interesting things I'd like to do before January 1st 2020 - i.e. before the end of the year that Mark and I turn 50.  I have been thinking about other things I want to add to my list. This is about inspiring me, making me happy, stuff.  I'm not after a scary challenge but a "gosh I'm glad I did that!"  

Like the worst of list cheats I'm adding two things I've already done and can tick off instantly.  That isn't as audacious as it sounds - I mentioned it in the first draft of the list as something unattainable. Thanks to my amazing parents, it became attainable; they gave me a weekend in Tromso, Norway and I could fulfil a lifelong dream to see the aurora, and do whale-watching too. I'm astonishingly lucky.

Here's how my list of things to do stands so far:

1. Go fishing  - Woo hoo! Did this at the end of last summer 
2. See the Giant's Causeway - I'm making plans, hope to do it either July or the Autumn.
3. Try salsify and Jerusalem artichokes -  Still not tried them. They are in season in winter, so that's one for later.
4. Go rock pooling - Definitely a summer activity
5. Sing in a choir - I admit, I bottled it. Was absolutely going to do it and panicked. I'm a wuss.
6. Grow cut flowers - Some setbacks here - slugs had my seedlings and Mark accidentally dumped a mound of compost on my freesia bulbs, but I have a few other irons in the fire. - Update: masses of sweetpeas and sweet william, enough for numerous bunches per week. Hurray!
7. See live music -  I did this! With mates and neighbours, we went to the OnRoundhay festival as a family and saw James. They were fantastic. Of course they were. 
8. Visit Hadrian's Wall - Done!
9. Spend all day at the movies - Not done this yet.
10. Learn to apply make up properly - Thanks to my fantastic mate Heather-in-London, I've got a makeup look that works for me. She gave me links to tutorials and product recommendations, and was so amazing and supportive. Heather is a beauty product guru, as well as one of the best parents and most thoughtful people I know. She's as generous with her knowledge as she is with her time (Apparently, I have sexy hooded eyes, like Lauren Bacall and Ava Gardiner. Go me!)
11. See the Northern Lights - TICK! Best thing imaginable.
12. Go whale-watching - Also TICK! A morning watching a pod of orca hunt for herring before a night chasing Aurora Borealis. What a day.
13. Learn a new range of cooking - North African, Middle Eastern, Indian or Thai would be my thoughts but I'm flexible. I've learnt to make ramen recently and I want to expand to incorporate other dishes. NOT European food, though, because I understand the flavours of that already. Learning from Sabrina to make a curry was one of my favourite days, and it's time I tried to level up my culinary skills. Update: Thanks to Made in India by Meera Sodha I have a number of Indian meals I can make
14. Sew something I can wear - This is all about fear and ineptitude. One day I'll manage it. I'm such a wuss. I can't even cut into nice fabric. I have an almost-finished dress I was working on when I lost my job and I just couldn't face doing it again.
15. See a new ballet company - I see New Adventures and Northern Ballet regularly, and English Ballet occasionally but Id like to experience another dance company. I may seek advice on that.
16. Learn to play a song on an instrument - Even if it's Happy Birthday on the recorder, I want to play an actual song on something again. I have re-strung Mark's ukulele to make it left-handed and am thus far rubbish. I can only improve.
17. Go Birdwatching on the Farne Islands - This is Springwatch's fault. I'd love to see in person the remarkable sea bird colonies they've shown me on the telly.
18. Return to Paris - After the holiday from hell 9 years ago when Zach and Bonnie had a stomach bug and I was washing bedding and clothes every single day of the trip, I can't think of Paris without a shudder. Mark, who was NOT the one dealing with an exploding toddler morning and night, has incredibly fond memories of the holiday. I need to nice experience to banish the vile one. Update: It turns out Paris is still fantastic. 
19. Cook a decent roast dinner - OK, this one is scary, because I don't cook or eat big slabs of meat and I think a roast dinner is all about the roast itself. However, I feel there is a veggie alternative out there I could work with, and surely it's not The Law that the vegetables are boring. It seems a skill all competent cooks here should have and I'd like to nail this one at some point.
20. Build sandcastles - because it's fun yet I never do it anymore.

Here are a few photographs from the marvellous weekend in Tromso. I had no idea I could love a place plunging in darkness quite this much - I adored it from the moment we arrived. And two days before the solstice is a very dark time of year in the Arctic! The water, trees and mountains thrilled me to my core and I could have stayed forever. Except for the cost, obviously.

Eating Ramen here in my Pyjamas

Given how often we sang The Virtual Life here last year, you'd think I'd have made ramen before now. I mean, I LOVE ramen. Zach loves ramen. Mark would probably love it and even Miss B will noodles in soy sauce and miso. The Big Lad is never going to like them but if I can get 4 out of 5 of us eating something that's a gold medal in this house.

The online recipes I found initially had me retreating in fear. So many ingredients! So many I'd never heard of! And most crucially, instructions to make a stock over a day or two.
2 days making pork belly stock?
Not going to happen.
I don't even eat pork.
I asked my top mates Suzanne and Hannah for recipes and advice.  They are ramen-scoffing fiends, if anyone would have an easy recipe, they would.
As always, they came up trumps and my first attempt was pretty darned tasty. I picked bits and pieces from all their suggestions and made something I thought worked well.

I'm sure it won't pass as remotely authentic, but as a a family dinner it was delicious. Before I totally forget how I did it, I thought I'd write it up in case anyone else fancied a go (if there is anyone left who doesn't make them already - tell me I'm not the only noodle noob out there!)

The main components of the dish are the broth, the protein, the noodles and the toppings. Lots of recipes use chicken or pork belly in meaty stocks; I'm using salmon and a vegetable stock. A hint on the BBC website suggested using the stalks of the coriander along with a while fresh chilli pepper to infuse instant stock with more flavour and I think it was pretty successful. When I get a chance to pop into town I'll visit the Asian supermarket for some dash or kimchi to spice things up a bit, too.

Beginner's Ramen

1litre veg stock
bunch of fresh coriander
1-2 fresh chillies
1-5tbs soy sauce
1 tbs mirin
1 tbs fish sauce
1 bunch spring onions
4 cloves garlic finely grated or crushed
fresh ginger about half the size of your thumb, peeled and finely grated
large handful of mushrooms
2 salmon fillets
handful of frozen prawns (optional)
2 pak choy
chinese noodles
1/2 tsp bicarb

Bring the stock to the boil; add the stalks of the coriander and half to a whole chilli. Turn off heat, leave to infuse while you chop the other ingredients.

Finely chop the spring onions right up to the green parts. Put the green aside in a bowl. Chop the remaining fresh chilli and the coriander leaves, add to the bowl of toppings.

Toppings ready

Slice the mushrooms and fry on a medium heat with the white parts of the spring onion and the grated garlic and ginger.

Remove the coriander stalks and chilli from the stock. Stir in the mushroom mixture, soy sauce (depending how salty you like things), fish sauce, mirin and a cup of water. Simmer for 10 minutes and taste - add chillies, sugar or soy sauce to taste. Keep it on a low heat ready to use.

I think the mushrooms added depth to the broth

Season the salmon and cook it skin side down for several minutes before turning it over to complete the last bit of cooking.

Cut the pak choy in quarters lengthwise. Put it and the noodles (usually 1 nest per person) in a pan of boiling water with the bicarb. Cook according to the packet instructions (usually 3 minutes). Drain.

Assemble the bowls with noodles first, the pak choy and salmon pieces divided equally, broth and finish with a scattering of the coriander, spring onion tips and fresh chilli to taste.  I decided at the last minute to add some cooked prawns I had in the freezer that just needed warming through in a mug of boiling water, so I added them at the same time as the salmon.  Not sure they were entirely necessary.

If you feel like going all out, add a halved ramen egg to each bowl.  These are soft boiled eggs marinated overnight in soy sauce, garlic and other nice things.  On Hannah's recommendation I used this recipe . I even had a go with some quail eggs; they were delicious but not soft boiled because they are so darned small it's hard to judge the timings.

Fool that I am, I was so flustered bringing everything together that I totally forgot the eggs I'd done the day before so we had them after like a snack. Really lovely!

Thou Shalt Have a Fishy

Gone fishin'

It's a cliche for doing nothing, sloping off, taking it easy.  And it's been an aspiration of mine for a-g-e-s

Number 1 on my list of Things To Do Before I'm 50, fishing for my dinner, was a highlight of my summer.

Thanks to miscalculating how long it takes to get from Teeside to Whitby, and then the total lack of availability of parking spaces Whitby in the summer, my reservation of 4 places on a fishing boat came a cropper.  Luke had obviously opted out as he doesn't eat fish, hates strong smells, and refuses to be involved in the death of animals but I'd booked the rest of us.  As we got more and more frenzied, stuck in traffic with no parking, Mark told me to ditch them and head straight for the boat. Despite the lack of travel sickness pills, Zach agreed to join me.

The day couldn't have been lovelier. It was hot, still and beautiful.  The swell of the tide was pronounced as we were half an hour outside the harbour, but I was fine. This was not the case for everyone.

We fished with just hooks and feathers. Zach was first to reel in two enormous mackerel on his rod, although he was horrified at the prospect of wrenching the fish from the hooks. Sadly, that was it for Zach; seasickness overwhelmed him and he spent the rest of the 3 hours curled up in a ball trying to hold it all together. His good humour whilst feeling wretched was astonishing. He is the most gracious human being I've ever known. "I wouldn't have missed it, Mummy. You were having such a wonderful time that I was happy to be there, no matter how sick I felt. I know how long you've waited to do this."
I wish I could take credit for Zach's aceness but he does it all himself. He's honestly that lovely.

Possibly the nicest human alive, and his mum

I was as happy as it is possible to be when surrounded by slimy fish guts and having not eaten for many hours. That is far happier than I would have expected. The skipper moved us to 4 different sites over the afternoon and we brought up unbelievable quantities of fish.

Mostly I caught mackerel. However, there were whiting, a member of the cod family, and one very small but exciting gurnard.
The skipper yelled, "Don't touch it!" while the rest of the fishing friends leapt backwards.  Gurnard isn't venomous but the spines can deliver a very nasty injury. We removed the gurnard from the hook, threw it back in the sea and it swam off to freedom.

Little gurnard to lived to swim another day

While we paying punters fished and fished, the skipper kindly gutted our catch.  We motored back into Whitby harbour and transferred our fish into great big bin bags.  Zach emerged from his cocoon  of queasy and we joined Mark, Luke and Bonnie on the path.  Being the type to plan ahead, I'd put a styrofoam cooler in the boot. I picked up three bags of ice from the supermarket and tipped it into the cooler with the ice so we could drive the fish home in good condition.

We got home late that night, having detoured to my Very Excellent Mate SJ's house to collect The Great Gonzo, our new kitten.  He's exceptionally naughty and quite spectacularly cute. Sorry, Mark! I can't resist a tabby cat, in whatever colour.

Then Mark cooked a couple of fillets so we could enjoy the very fresh fish.

The next day Mark filleted the many, many fish and I invited friends for a meal. We had potato salad, horseradish dressing, chilli and lime dressing and grilled toasts. It was fantastic sharing food I'd caught. I loved it and so did our friends. I'm delighted than my chance to catch this sustainable and delicious fish resulted in meals for my family and friends.  I couldn't be happier.

Hail, Caesar!

That Hadrian was a top bloke.

Not satisfied with building ace stuff in Rome like the Pantheon - a building so perfect it made me come over all emotional -  he schleps himself to the furthest northern reach of empire and builds ace stuff here too. The jury's still out about whether introducing hipsters to the empire by making beards fashionable was a good or a bad thing, but let's give him the benefit of the doubt.

As I said in my last post, Hadrian's Wall is something I've wanted to see since I was back in Highland being taught History by Mr Regan. Jim Regan was a wonderful teacher. I've never met anyone here in the UK who was taught history in such a fantastic manner - from prehistory to WW1, hopping countries and continents to look where the most interesting stuff was happening. I learnt to think about how one event led to another and ideas spread from place to place rather than knowing a list of dates and battle names. Mr Regan inspired me to want to see these remarkable places we were hearing about.  I'll always be grateful to him for bringing so much history to life for me.

So, off Mark and I went first thing on Saturday morning for points North.

For my pals not from the UK:
 I live in Leeds, Yorkshire.  Hadrian's Wall is about 125 miles away roughly due North, about 2 and a half hours drive. On the map below, if you follow down the east coast from Hadrian's Wall to a downward pointing snag on the coastline ( the River Humber estuary) Leeds is inland from that. Not an unmanageable distance but quite a long way for a day trip.

We grabbed our breakfasts of choice - toasted cheese bread with marmite from Haley and Clifford for me, a McDonalds sausage McMuffin for Himself. I definitely win at breakfast - and made for Gateshead to pay homage to the Big Man, the Angel of the North.

He's a good looking fella, the Angel. I'm immensely fond of him.

Something I hadn't seen before were young trees planted nearby with decorations, stuffed toys, artificial flowers and memorabilia hanging off them.  They appeared to be shrines or memorials to people - a sort of Christmas tree to the dead.  Is this now A Thing?
Most unexpected.

Driving past the Sage and over river Tyne on the bridge those nice people from Springwatch tell me is a major nesting site for kittiwakes, we cut through Newcastle and headed out to drive alongside the Wall for as much of the journey as we could.

My ridiculously fit and active cousin Gaz O'Connor once ran the entire length of the wall in 13 hours 42 minutes.  Gaz is three weeks older than me and a world apart. He's amazing, and he mystifies me completely. A fun run is a contradiction in terms in my experience. I chose the more indolent option and navigated while Mark drove. I love maps.

We explored the Roman fort and village at Vindolanda, and the museum there. My lovely internet mates Sarah and Katie agreed with WI mate Morticia that it we should definitely visit it. I love having recommendations from mates, it makes trips more exciting somehow.

Amongst the remarkable discoveries in the excavated site there was a mystery. A body of a child had been found under the floor of a room in the barracks. It was against Roman law to bury people in forts or towns; the mausoleums were just outside. Whoever hid the body of that 11 year old girl didn't want her found, poor love.

Vindolanda is most famous for the Roman 'postcards,' the wooden tablets with letters, pleas and a birthday party invitation written on them.  There are photographs, translations and fragments in the museum, but the main collection is with the British Museum. However, the other finds there were also amazing.  The domestic details, the shoes, the child's sock and woman's hairnet are incredible. such small, human touches. I loved the betrothal pendant with two heads kissing on one side and clasped hands on the reverse. The carefully painted glasswork was crazy - two pieces of the same piece found 20 years apart.

One fascinating aspect of Vindolanda was a result of their reconstruction.  In the mid 1970s they built a reconstruction of both the earthworks and timber wall and tower and the stone wall and tower.  In the 40 years since, the earthworks have settled so much the height of that wall is now two metres lower than its stone counterpart.  No wonder they rebuilt in stone!

We had a lovely lunch sitting out in the roman style garden of the museum. Daring little chaffinches, tits and robins were darting from a nearby bush to pinch crumbs from under the tables. There were martin nests at the top of window lintels and a great many swallows zigzagged across catching insects.  It was a delightful way to spend a warm afternoon.

Driving on to Steel Rigg we had a short stroll to the Wall itself. It's a lovely thing. It snakes up and down the hills, sometimes disappearing where stones have been taken and used for other things over the centuries, sometimes rising up from the farmland abruptly.  Steel Rigg is absolutely beautiful, and I had my Wish You Were Here moment.

I am a tactile soul at heart, so I climbed over to the Wall to feel the warmth of the stones. I was there, I touched it, I saw the stonework follow the contours of the landscape and I thought of the men who built it and the men and women it was designed to keep out.

I only wish Mr Regan had been with me.

Looking forward

It's been a pretty rough couple of weeks. Most significantly, my beloved new Vespa, my pride and joy, my ticket to freedom and self-reliance, was stolen from outside the food bank where I was volunteering. I'm heartbroken.
Through assorted coincidences, mistakes, and glitches, I faced the equally devastating news that there will be no insurance pay out and I am not going to be able to have another bike.
This also means no more volunteering in the Food Bank Office, as I can't get there by public transport. That's a blow to me and them both - I'm pretty good at admin. I felt like my insides had been kicked out.

Wallowing isn't going to do me any good.  There are people in real distress in our community, and while loss of a vehicle is a significant dent in a life it's something I can push past. So I am attempting to direct my attention towards more positive things.

I'm 47 years old. In 3 years Mark and I will both turn 50 and we will celebrate our 25th anniversary. Rather than my usual "Things that scare me that I will try this year" list, I'm going to write a list of things I'd really like to do before the end of that big year - not challenging necessarily, but pleasing.

For example, I've never been to Hadrian's Wall. I'd really like to, it sounds cool.  History was my favourite subject in school and actually seeing the things I've only learnt about in books always gives me a thrill. I was ridiculously overexcited the first time I saw the Rosetta Stone (back before the boxed it away in a big case.)

So, like the National Trust's 50 Things To Do Before You're 11 3/4, here's the first 10 items on my list of things to do before 2020:

1. Go fishing. I'm serious. I've been trying to do this for 6 years and it just never quite happens. Mark's promised it me as a birthday present twice, for heaven's sake. I want to go fishing for mackerel and then eat them.
2. See the Giant's Causeway. The first time I saw a picture of it was in National Geographic's kids' magazine, World, back in the mid 70s. I couldn't believe it was real.  I've always wanted to see it, and unlike the Northern Lights is isn't hard to find. Nor, unlike Petra, is it prohibitively expensive to get to.  So I am determined to go.
3. Try salsify and Jerusalem artichokes. Somehow despite 26 years as a vege- or pesce- tarian I've never had them and I want to know what they taste like.
4. Go rock pooling. Not a new experience, but something I completely love to do and rarely get the opportunity.
5. Sing in a choir. Singing out loud with a bunch of people is scary as hell - what if I'm terrible? - but I also think it would be amazing fun. I even know of a choir I could try out for, but previously fear and now my lack of transport conspire against me.
6. Grow cut flowers. I'd like a change from my total vegetable gardening focus to grow some lovely cut flowers for the house. My Very Excellent Mate Kirsty got me thinking about it, and I do fancy being able to have flowers in my room.
7. See live music. I tend to use any money for going out on ballet tickets or comedy. I tend to think of music as not for me, really, because I have terrible, uncool taste and had A Thing about singing badly. I've determined to get past that now.
8. Visit Hadrian's Wall (see above)
9. Spend all day at the movies. Mark and I did this all the while before we had the kids. There are very few films from the mid 80s to early 1999 that I didn't see, excepting scary films. Don't like being scared. Pulling a 3 or 4 movie marathon would be a blast from the past. 
10. Learn to apply make up properly. I only occasionally feel like wearing makeup, but when I do, I feel uninformed. I have favourites, I have skin care standbys I know how to use but I can't do flicky eyeliner, smokey eyes eyeshadow, apply false lashes, prevent lipstick bleeding or do contouring. I'd like to have a clue how to apply makeup that enhances my appearance rather than slapping on a lippy and hoping for the best.

A question of Darcy

Recently, a friend attributed my love of Pride and Prejudice to the appeal of a soaking wet Colin Firth emerging from a lake. Heaven knows in the 20 years since it aired it's remained one of the iconic heart throb moments and caused millions to swoon.

I. Think. Not.

I hate that scene. It's one of my most loathed scenes on telly. More than the time Gordon Ramsay tricked a vegetarian into eating pizza with bacon and boasted about it, more than any appearance by Jeremy Clarkson.  Even more than John Selwyn-Gummer shoving a burger into his little girl's face during the BSE crisis.  Allow me to explain.

I love Colin Firth. I think he's marvellous - very talented, extremely attractive and charming. I've seen Fever Pitch more times than I can remember and pretty much every film he's made since. Although singing in Mamma Mia wasn't one of his better moments...

In no way whatsoever is Colin Firth responsible for that dreadful scene. It's entirely the fault of Andrew Davies, the ferociously successful TV writer.  He wanted to sex up the dry and proper Mr Darcy for modern audiences so he had him partially disrobe and plunge into the water, emerging all tousled and hunky.

That's attractive and all, if it weren't for the fact that I know Fitzwilliam Darcy. I know him pretty well; I've spent countless hours with him.  I read P&P at least twice a year. What he looks like is pretty fluid and the nuances of his motivation I'm happy to let others play with, but at his heart I know him. I know his faults and his strength and I love him for them.

Mr Darcy is a very proper young man. He, like another of Jane Austen's heroes Mr Knightly, believes in honour, dignity, duty and being a gentleman. He is proper in the old-fashioned sense. Darcy is intensely private and reserved - rather shy really, retreating into stiffness when confronted with the unfamiliar.

His reversal in behaviour comes when Elizabeth forces him to recognise that his sense of self-worth has lead him to behave with arrogance, valuing his consequence above all else. It's awful realising you're in the wrong. He is hurt and but once his temper cools he realises the truth in her accusation. So when he sees her in the grounds of Pemberley he wants to prove her wrong, to be welcoming. Gracious even. "Look how wrong you were about me, I am a true gentleman" which progresses into "I realised you were right, so I've fixed it."

That meeting is both awkward and touching - both characters discomfited, neither quite knowing what to do, and aware of a change in themselves they can't yet let the other know of.  I love it. It's perfectly written just as it is.

Darcy wouldn't plunge himself into a lake on his way home unless her were actually aflame. Even then he'd be more likely to take the offending jacket off and throw it to the ground. He's not the impulsive, physical type. Andrew Davies wanted to make him more appealing to a modern viewer by showing a relaxed, unguarded man indulging in a relief from a stuffy day. In a different character I'd have liked it - hell, as a human, heterosexual woman I like it, but I absolutely loathe that he did that to Darcy. Davies rewrote him to sex it up a bit, and that re-write became the image of Mr Darcy in popular culture.  Andrew Davies deserves a slap with a kipper.

Incidentally, Matthew Macfadyen's Darcy works well for me - again, there's a modern slant as you see more vulnerability, but it's emotionally and psychologically consistent with the Darcy Jane Austen wrote. Nice work, Deborah Moggach (except for the ghastly scene added for American audiences that I've done my best to blot from memory.) It helps that Matthew Macfadyen is utterly lovely.

I know my fixation with some of my literary heroes can make me a cussed thing - I refuse to watch Life of Pi because the book in my head is so perfect. (This drives Luke crazy. ) I am happy with my images from the author's words and don't want them supplanted by someone else's vision.
I wouldn't watch To Kill A Mockingbird until I was in my 30s because Gregory Peck plainly isn't Atticus Finch. Gregory Peck is about as handsome, authoritative and charming as a man can be, and an absolute idol. Atticus is older, thin, with fading eyesight, thinning hair and a tendency to stoop, and he can't play ballgames like the other kids' dads. He isn't a fine figure of a man but he's a very fine man indeed.

Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe, Laura Ingalls, Scout and Atticus, Charlotte and Wilbur, Lizzie Bennett and Darcy, Elinor Dashwood, Dorothea Brooke, The Grand Sophy and so many others have been amongst my dearest and most cherished friends for years. I want to share them with the world, buy copies for my friends' children, revisit them regularly.

I don't need to shove them in a lake to see their appeal.