It is the end of the first week of 2016 and I think I may have found my Book of the Year already. This one is going to be hard to top.
You know when you read a book and love it so much that you deliberately read it extra slowly, so that it lasts longer? This was one of those.
It’s Monday morning. I wake up to the sound of seagulls screeching outside the window, sun straining through the blind.
I work for a bit, perched on the edge of the single bed in the hotel room with a bright pink laptop on my knee and my feet resting on the chair opposite, tapping out replies to emails and deciding on my Out Of Office message.
By 10am I’m on a bus through the countryside, familiar places passing by the window, invoking memories that have lain dormant since I last returned almost three years ago.