A Comfort Read

Feeling as if I'd been ill forever, one big comfort has been picking up my 500-page comfort-read: the 2005 autobiography of comedy writer and actor, the late Eric Sykes. And now I've just finished it. Called If I Don't Write it Nobody Else Will, it has been a joy to read. Thanks to my sister for lending it to me years ago. Having finally opened it, I couldn't put it down. What am I going to do now? I have some books lined up, but none light enough for how I am feeling at present. Maybe I'll have a reread of something 'safe'. Meanwhile, my second and last box of man-size tissues has just run out. Whatever next?

Today would have been my father's 105th birthday. He was of a similar generation, but Eric Sykes' book was published in the year my dad died. RIP.