During the week I read Alan Bennett’s The Uncommon Reader.  I hadn’t read a book for ages but it was recommended by a friend so I sifted through EBay.

I assumed it would be a modern take on Virginia Woolf. How wrong I was. The story is ostensibly about the queen becoming an auto didactic via a chance encounter with a travelling library. Yet it becomes amongst the humour a discussion on why we should read and how one book leads to another.

It only took about an hour and a half to complete and I actually turned off the TV which is unheard of these days especially since there was some sickly but highly addictive programme about a model agency on.

I had forgotten the sense of achievement felt on finishing a book.   The problem I always encounter is a needing to find a similar book which of course is impossible.

Nevertheless I have ordered another that I have been meaning to read for ages. ‘Oranges are not the only fruit.’  Having seen the author on the BBC’s programme celebrating ‘World Reading Day’, she seemed passionate about literature and I liked the way she dissociates herself from her rather gruesome mother by referring to her as ‘Mrs Winterson’.