…And a deep breath and a huge sigh all around! I have just had the most manic week I think I have ever worked. Today was my first day working from home in over a week, I wanted to say it was my first day off but that hasn’t quite happened and probably won’t happen for a few days. The reasons, well, over the last weekend we had the opening four days of the Liverpool International Music Festival which my team have been working on for months. It was madness, brilliant but madness. We had thousands turn up (60,000 on the last day on Monday) and myself and the Beard, who kindly was forced volunteered to help out, did all the meet and greets which ended up with us taking over 120 screaming girls to meet lots and lots of pop stars – knackering but loads of fun, especially as my aunty and cousin came to stay for some of it!
These celebrations, and the week and a half of madness in the office leading up to it, have meant reading has really gone out the window and I am haven’t really picked up very much. I have finally been doing some book sorting and got rid of about 200 half of which have gone to neighbours and the library, the rest are going to be donated to my local bookshop. This sorting has highlighted a) just how many bloody books I have – not that I am complaining – and that b) I have a lot of books lingering on the bookshelves that have something in common, they are all bloody huge…
(Note that the selection of books pictured above are some recent additions to my ‘really bloody big and really bloody scary’ row of shelves at the bottom of one of my bookcases – seriously, I keep them there because my eye line skips them and they do genuinely daunt me.)
You see, in my head, initially I think they are going to be 500 pages of me pondering over how many books I could be reading instead, being honest. Yet actually, when I was sorting through the shelves of books in the lounge which I have read, I realised that out of all the books I have kept that I have really loved they have been books of a larger size. Once you are in a book you love you often don’t want it to end, with a longer book it won’t!
This leads me to think that it must be that the pressure I put upon myself (along with some work deadlines) reading wise means I tend to go for shorter books overall. If I try and make excuses for this I could say that with everything that went on with Gran over the last year and a bit I couldn’t really get into a long book, then there was this huge project at work. Yet now feels like time to try some longer books, maybe the biggest hurdle is taking that leap of faith and patience with something massive? Any recommendations, new or old, would be most welcome. What are your thoughts on those chunky tomes?