Terrible confession

This is an extremely unpleasant confession. Firstly, because it's embarrassing. Secondly (and much more importantly) because it means that I was wrong and someone else was right. And that someone else will never, never let me forget it.

Under Katy's evangelical recommendation, I reluctantly began reading the much hyped "Twilight", amidst an awful lot of muttering about not sharing reading choices with hormonal adolescent goths. I have mocked Katy for quite some time for her love of these books. She's 30, has children and is about to commence a law degree. Frankly, she should know better.

I started reading the book on Tuesday. It's not going to win any literary awards, it won't be studied as part of any modern literature reading list, it's not particularly clever, it's certainly not original, and is entirely predictable. It's also irritatingly, page-turningly addictive reading. I finished the book on Thursday. Those is you with young children will know how impossible this is.

On Friday I went shopping with Katy, and had forgotten to tell her that I'd finished the first and now needed to borrow the second of the "saga". Or maybe I just couldn't face the gloating. Either way, I couldn't stand the idea of not being able to read the next book immediately. So after Katy left, I sneaked into HMV, shuffled up to the book shelves, grabbed a copy of New Moon, and shoved it onto the counter, and scurried out with my guilty pleasure.

So here we go. Katy - you were right, I was wrong. I maintain that the books are total and utter tosh, but they are tosh that I am compelled to read, and enjoy doing so. That just about killed me.

Oh, and for those in the know, Team Jacob by the way....