Reflections of a Bridge

It's turned out nice again today, as they say.
There's always a special quality to autumn when the sun shines. There's a warmness and softness in the light casting long shadows on the ground.
The plummeting night time temperatures have caused the trees to don a livery of yellows, browns and russets and the walk back from the canal this morning was through a fluttering of falling leaves.

With my book group meeting looming large tonight, I have done something I never dared to do as a school girl or student, given up on homework.
I have read 430 pages out of 564 of The Stranger's Child by Alan Hollinghurst and have said, Enough is Enough!
The book was long listed for the Booker Prize in 2011, so presumably someone thought it long and worthy enough for that honour, with the emphasis on the long.

It's obvious I must have missed something, and no doubt the English literature graduates in the group will be able to appraise me of the missing,'something'. Perhaps it's the Stranger's Child that has to outed, who knows, but it will save me reading the last 134 pages if they tell me.

Before that I have the pleasure this afternoon of hearing about my friend o.m.t's sojourn in Greece.
That I am looking forward to.

Edit: I went into the refurbished pub with the orange bike atop and asked if it was in homage to Chris Hoy. Apparently not: it is the bike given to the new owner, now 37, on his 14th birthday. I didn't go into why he felt the urge to spray paint it orange.
It's not as if the pub is to be called 'The Orange Cycle', no it's to be called 'The Blackbird'.