House of the Bored

Mr B headed back to the UK this afternoon, and I'm bored already. I used to spend hours when I was a kid building card houses - and it's good to see I've lost none of my inability and it's still as frustrating an experience as it ever was.

A friend who's trying to brush up his French said he'd bought a novel in translation (ie an English novel in French) - so I thought I'd follow his lead. I even chose a John Grisham rather than anything more challenging. Trouble is, I read quickly and I skip bits that are boring. But with this I'm having to actually read every word, and even look some up in the dictionary. That's not relaxing for me. So I'll carry on reading it, but I might wander upstairs and see if any renters have left any trashy summer novels that I've not spotted in the bookshelves yet. Or even one of the ones I read years ago. The good thing about reading quickly is that I can be quite a long way into a book before I realise I've read it before.

(The bad thing about reading quickly, of course, is that I can be quite a long way into a book before I realise I've read it before.)