New year, same me (minus the scaly, eczema-plagued hands). 2018 was a blast, even if I am hurtling towards being a member of the quarter-century club (argh, how time flies!). To those who have read La Grenouille Anglaise since the beginning, and to those who have joined along the way, thank you – for your comments, support and words of encouragement. With 2019 already well underway, it’s time to take a look back at some of 2018’s most memorable moments. On y va !
If I actually owned all the books I’d read this year, my (real) bookshelf would be overflowing, creaking at the joints under the weight of masses of thrillers and autobiographies. Fortunately, between Cambridge Central Library and the book swap box at work I rarely need (or have cause) to buy a book, so my bookshelf is, for the time being at least, under control. (That said, I did bag a few bargains, including Nelson Mandela’s Dare Not Linger at a charity book sale at work earlier this month.) Honourable mentions for this quarter go to Kristen Lepionka’s What You Want to See (an electrifying sequel to The Last Place You Look) and Celeste Ng’s Little Fires Everywhere (which completely lived up to the praise it had received).
No matter where I live, the North will always be my home. It’s woefully misunderstood by (a large number of) southerners, who take one look at faded seaside resorts like Blackpool and subsequently tar everywhere north of the M25 with the same brush, but for me, it feels like home in a way the south never will.
If there’s one teensy, tiny silver lining to the big, black cloud that is delayed trains, it’s more reading time. I’ve read some truly cracking books over the past three months, and inevitably not all of them could be included in this post. As such, honourable mentions go to: The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead (an immensely enjoyable read and a worthy winner of the Pulitzer), Agatha Christie’s The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (the definition of a literary masterpiece) and The Rosie Effect by Graeme Simsion (a truly heart-warming and hilarious page-turner).
Six months have passed since my first update on life ‘Down South’, and that means only one thing: it’s time for the second. I’m putting pen to paper – or fingers to keyboard – a little later than usual this weekend, as it’s been all go chez moi. Open House London took place this weekend, and Laurence and I decided to make a day of it. We took a rooftop tour around King’s Cross (the area, not the station), whizzed up to Landing Forty-Two at the Leadenhall Building (à la the final five in The Apprentice), learnt about arms smuggling at Custom House, ventured underground to see Billingsgate Roman Baths and visited the opulent Clothworkers’ Hall. I also took up running earlier this year (primarily as a means of getting in shape ahead of the West Highland Way), and spent this morning running round Jesus Green in the rain doing the Decathlon Sports Series 5k.
The UK’s fifteen national parks are an eclectic mix of landscapes, ranging from heather-clad moorland, rolling hills and craggy fells to expansive lochs, wooded valleys and sandy beaches. They’re home to our highest peaks, our deepest lake and miles upon miles of trails for everyone to enjoy. Oh, and millions of sheep (of which the Lake District’s hardy Herdwicks are by far the cutest). I’ve visited six of our national parks to date – some on multiple occasions, others just the once – and each of them holds a place in my heart.
Once a fortnight, or thereabouts, I head over to my local library, re-usable bag in hand, to stock up with a fresh pile of books for my commute. (When you devour two or three books a week, it’s hard, if not impossible, to justify paying £7.99 for a book that you’ll finish in a couple of train journeys.) True to form, I’ve read a lot of crime fiction over the past few months – but I’ve also squeezed in a (token) classic (which reminded me why I usually avoid them, sorry F. Scott Fitzgerald), crossed a few books off my lengthy TBR list and finally got round to reading The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time.