Cartel

Reading is usually a surefire tactic to get me to wind down and feel the eyelids eventually closing, except on rare occasions when I find myself with a page-turner.

Last night I wrapped up Ian McEwan’s novella, The Cockroach, which I can’t remember buying but is a short, entertaining read. I then moved onto a new book, American Dirt, which sucked me in as the opening chapters are all about a Mexican woman escaping from a drug cartel that kills most of her family members. It took a while to nod off after the excitement.

This artwork on a railway bridge in Cambridge is nice.

On we plod.