Having left my brain in storage at St Pancras Station for a while I've been finding it difficult to focus on reading for any length of time.
However, there I was the other week in the middle of a fortnight off work when I picked up a book.
I inhaled the book in a matter of days and then followed that up with another two books almost before another week had passed.
The next thing I need to learn to do is remember what the contents are of the thing I've just read... Hence I'm not going to review any of them (there are plenty of very decent reviews out there that are easy to locate), or at least not beyond saying that they were all very interesting.
First up was Exercised by Daniel Lieberman. This book demolishes a number of myths about exercise, including those that it can prematurely wear bits of you out. I now understand that I'm worn out for other reasons but we won't go into that here.
Second was Amusing Ourselves to Death by Neil Postman. Flawed in a number of ways it does contain a compelling argument that our media presents an impression of considered discussion of complex topics while actually delivering fairly soft entertainment.
Third was I Wanna Be Yours, the autobiography of Professor, Doctor John Cooper Clarke of the parish of Salford. He documents his early years in microscopic detail almost to the point of the flavour of the dirt you would get from under your fingernails after putting your hand down a grid*. He didn't say any of that. It was very funny. He played Bernard Manning's Embassy Club probably at around the time that me and a schoolmate's brother conjured up some idea of getting into the building after closing time, we hid in a bush and watched some dodgy dealing take place by occupants of two large and flashy cars. No names, no pack drill. We eventually wandered off and probably got up for school bright and early the next day. I note that my schoolmate's brother still lives at the same address as he did then as a child, apart from the 4 years he spent inside for being part of a heroin dealing gang. Which is what most of the last quarter of the book goes into great detail about, Dr JCC and his interest in heroin. Give it a name: the life of the junkie. With money disappearing into his arm and the constant need to perform to supply the habit. He's all clean now though.
This last one may have rattled on a bit but still doesn't count as a review.
* A grate, or drain, as known to those elsewhere.
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