Ben Aaronovitch, Moon over Soho, Peter Ackroyd, Foundation: The History of England Volume One, Andrea Camilleri, The Shape of Water

The tent has arrived, the house is starting to take shape and the Christmas tree is now up. So happy in the new house, although until the books are recategorised I won't be able to sleep properly. All my shelves have been requesitioned for the kids' playroom, so there's going to need to be a trip to IKEA soon to get some more book storage.

Simon Sebag Montefiore, Jerusalem: The Biography, Peter Dennis, Pieter Plunker The Flying Tailor, Benerson Little, Pirate Hunting: The Fight Against Pirates, Privateers, and Sea Raiders from Antiquity to the Present, AS Byatt, Ragnarok, New Scientist, Does Anything Eat Wasps?: And 101 Other Questions, JRR Tolkein, The Hobbit, David Reynolds, America: Empire of Liberty, a New History

It's been a while, but we've been busy moving into the new place and although I've managed to find time for reading, I've not found time for writing about reading. We moved in five days ago, and everything is still in boxes. I had yesterday off to unpack, and by 14:00 had managed to unpack about half of the kitchen stuff; I'm going to be busy for a while yet.

I've just received a 5 man tent as a gift for 15 years' loyal service at CWW, and am very tempted to put it up in the Living Room before Helen gets home. The kids would love it, but she would kick my arse for not getting on with the unpacking. She sent a text this morning asking 'Where are the nappies?????'  They're in the bottom of a box, under a dozen other boxes, somewhere in the garage. Probably. Or maybe in the play room. . . .

Owen Jones, Chavs: The Demonization of the Working Class and Håkan Nesser, Borkmann's Point

The horrible pejorative title put me off reading 'Chavs' for a while, but it was a fantastic polemic about the demonisation of the working class from the '80s onwards, and how those who have suffered most are being blamed for society's problems. Scornful of both Conservatives and New Labour for not addressing the needs of those at the bottom. Almost a rallying-call too for what Labour needs to do to reconnect, although of course that would be going against the prevailing wisdom of tacking to the centre and appealing to the Daily Mail readers of Surbiton (and Woking) in order to win elections.

It's shameful that in all those years of New Labour so few council houses were built and that the gap between rich and poor widened. I know I'm biased, but surely a platform based on building more houses and public facilities would be a vote winner? We don’t have to betray any principles for that and it's a good idea - boost for construction industry, houses for people, bring house prices down by increasing supply. . . Even those with houses will have children that they can see being pricef out. And punitive taxation on wealth and second homes in particular too. Oh, for a left wing alternative. . .

'Borkmann's Point' didn't really grab me, despite Colin Dexter's praise. Maybe I've just read too much Scandinavian detective fiction recently. It's not technically set in Scandinavia, of course, it's in an unnamed northern European country which most resembles the Netherlands or Frisia, but has elements in common with anywhere from the Hanseatic League. I'll read a few more, mind.

I went on Freddie's school trip to The Lookout in Bracknell on Monday and had a whale of a time. Had so much fun looking after the kids and they really enjoyed themselves. Fred's teacher Mrs Taylor is my new hero; she seems to effortlessly control the class, keep them engaged, remains cheery and upbeat and does so much. The organisation was really impressive, and today I've been into Fred's class for an open day; each pupil has a book full of their work and pictures showing everything they've done; the effort involved must be huge. Well done to teachers and teaching assistants everywhere.

Norman Davies, Vanished Kingdoms: The History of Half-forgotten Europe and Erich Kästner, Emil & The Detectives

Two very enjoyable books that were rattled through; although the 800 pages of Vanished Kingdoms took a fair few sessions on the exercise bike compared to Emil & The Detectives, which I devoured in a spare hour while Helen was out tap-dancing. I'm full of admiration for the breadth and confidence of Norman Davies after his Histories of Europe and Poland, although his idiosyncratic history of the British Isles, with his thesis that there really is a common 'British' identity rather than English, Scottish, etc didn't ring true. He's very good at placing contemporary Europe in context, and pointing out that the current configuration is far from immutable; Belgium, Italy, Spain or the UK could all split up in the near future. The referendum on Scottish independence has just been agreed so is in the headlines, so it was a very timely read. Lots of commentators are talking about the break-up of the UK and seemingly unaware, as Davies points out, that the breakup of the UK has already begun when the Irish Free State was set up - we're already on the path to the UK dissolving.

'Emil & The Detectives' was a great yarn, I think I nearly cheered out loud when Emil foiled the thief. What a great read for an 8-11 year old, I'll be recommending it! 

Helen had a day out at the spa on Saturday so I took F&L into town. Hamley's in the morning, where Libby did her best to destroy the Lego statues and then the British Museum in the pm, which they loved. Not for the exhibits, which didn't register, but for the opportunity to run around an enclosed space. It's Book Week at Freddie's school this week, and on Thursday he is to go dressed as his favourite character from a book - he's chosen Asterix, which obviously makes me happy, bless 'im. Not sure school will allow him to take his sword in though

Catherine Wendy Bracewell, Uskoks of Senj and and Andrea Camilleri, The Terracotta Dog

'Uskoks of Senj'  was hard-going. I didn't give it the attention it deserved, but the shifting alliances between the Habsburgs, Venice and the Ottomans and the crazy and lawless frontier they created should have made for a really interesting book, but it just didn’t grab me.

I'm running the Windsor Half Marathon on Sunday, which will be the first big test for my knee. Hopefully I'll be faster than last year and can break 2h10.

'The Terracotta Dog' was much easier to read, an Inspector Montalbano novel which is flavour of the month at the moment as BBC4 are showing it. Our usual Scandi-appreciation society of the Hansom-Lugaros and the Falcone-Jenningses has migrated south for the autumn to wonderful Sicily. It looks so achingly beautiful, we've started having vague conversations about a big holiday there and hiring a villa. . .

I managed the Windsor half in under 2 hours, which made me so happy given that I was 2h20 last year and aiming for 2h10. First half-marathon under 2 hours though! Fantastic! Carter's Steam Fair was on Englefield Green so I went there afterwards to meet all the Sawyers. I was already dehydrated and exhausted from the run, and then scoffed Vimto, popcorn and nougat and then went straight on to the Octopus with Ella. I felt so sick afterwards, what an idiot

Ben Aaronovitch, Rivers of London

Very similar to Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere, as many reviews point out. Set in a supernatural London and written by a chap who works in the Covent Garden Waterstone's, as the very proud lady pointed out to me when I bought it. I now feel duty-bound to go back there to but the sequel. As luck would have it, it's right near to the fantastic Gelateria on New Row so I can have a decent ice cream and coffee too.

Maybe this weekend I can head up there as I need some new shoes and jeans. My current pair have been destroyed through all the rough and tumbles. Freddie caught me out last night. 'Daddy, please can we lie on our backs and look at the stars?'

'But we're inside , Fred'

'I know, it's just pretend.'

So I lie on my back and as I start to pretend Ursa Minor is on the ceiling, Freddie and his auxilary Libby dive bomb me and Freddie performs his favourite trick of popping on my face.

Alan Huffman & Michael Rejebian, We're with Nobody: Two Insiders Reveal the Dark Side of American Politics

Rather disappointing; all anyone wants from these guys, who are professional dirt diggers, is to dish the salacious gossip about public figures. This is no expose though, it's a romanticised version of their dull lives trawling through public records looking for inconsistencies and controversies. They're on the side of the angels  (the Democratic Party), and what they're doing is necessary in American politics where the stakes and the corruption levels are so high. Our political controversies always seem so quaint by comparison. No billion dollar wildlife refuge destroying town polluting scams here; just MPs claiming for moat cleaning and duck islands.

I read this as the authors appeared on the magnificent 'Daily Show', and that's where they were at their best; hinting about who they know things about and giving their opinions on public figures. They'd be great to go for a drink with, but the book is so tame.

Louis Kronenberger, The Extraordinary Mr Wilkes, and Magnus Mills, A Cruel Bird Came to the Nest and Looked In

Yet another biography of that fascinating man with little talent but trouble-making. A great wit and character, but all he ever wanted was to be as corrupt and venal and self-serving and consequently as prosperous as all the other place-men. His big mouth offended the king, and he rode the wave of popular resentment against the monarchy for his own ends. True demagoguery, and what great entertainment.

Every time I read the work of Magnus Mills his understanding of the workplace shines through; I wish I was able to write and analyse so eloquently. He charts the obstacles to progress, the inbuilt idleness, the importance of routine. . . I'll be going back to 'The Restraint of Beasts' before long.

Freddie and I went to see Woking play on Saturday, his first game. Woking won 2-1, both Woking goals coming early when Freddie was still interested. He just about made it to half -time without getting too fidgetty, but spent the second half taking pictures of the crowd. Not much atmos, singing and activity at Woking to keep him occupied, unfortunately. Maybe we'll go to The Lane in a few years; I think The Stoop might be the next place to try. He did ask a lot of questions, most of which were difficult; 'Why are we clapping Daddy?'

'That was a very good cross, Freddie, it nearly connected.'

'What's a cross?'

'Oh. . . It's when one if the players hits the ball hard into the middle from the wing.'

'What wing?'

'Oh. . .  'the wing' is the side of the pitch.'

'Why?'

'Oh. . . It's just a description used for the sides of things sometimes. Like, erm. . . . Big houses. And prisons.'

Enid Blyton, Five on a Treasure Island

I read this reactionary old tosh as Ella is reading it and I wanted to be able to talk to her about it. Other than Noddy, I don’t think I've read any Enid Blyton. I'm being uncharitable, as it is entertaining and must be thrilling for children to read, but it has such a stultifying privileged mindset it can be jarring. The children all attend boarding school, the aunt and uncle own swathes of property including an island and a castle and yet are apparently poor, and Anne is such a frustrating character, not able to do so much purely because she's a girl. George balances that out to some extent, but still. . .

We've had an offer accepted on a house in Horsell, so we're busy sorting mortgages and dealing with solicitors at the moment. So much could still go wrong so we're just crossing our fingers and trying not to fall in love with the house until it's settled. . .

David Gilmour, The Pursuit of Italy: A History of a Land, its Regions and its Peoples, Arturo Perez-Reverte, Captain Alatriste VI, Pirates of the Levant, and Hywel Williams, Emperor of the West: Charlemagne and the Carolingian Empire

My holiday reading from the ile de Re. I did my usual trick of reading about one country while holidaying in another, leading my poor brain confused as to where I was and which particular language I should abjectly fail to speak. This time I was reading about Italy and the Levant in France rather than Hungary in Malta, Malta in Venice, Venice in Croatia or Croatia in Cornwall. What a good book the Pursuit of Italy was though, another reminder that our current seemingly immutable national identities in Europe are nothing but, and largely an invention of the 19th century, however strongly held they may be by some. How interesting to follow it up with one of the first exponents of a strong national identity in Europe after the collapse of Romanitas. The book makes the point that Charlemagne can be claimed as an inspiration by both the pan-Europeans because of his uniting of Western Europe under one ruler, and by French and German nationalists as a true [Germanic] Frank. Gilmour wrote about a similar situation in the Spanish Civil War, when the troops of Mussolini, who co-opted Garibaldi as a precursor to his Italian nationalism, were fighting against the Garibaldi Legion of Italian volunteers fighting Franco; on whose side Garibaldi would certainly have been.

Loved Alatriste, seemed very slow paced until the cracking naval battle with the Turks that the whole book built towards. Nice to see the Knights of Malta getting a look in too. The ile de Re was fabulous, we hired a triporteur to get the kids around, and it was just so cool cycling along sea walls from little town to beach to little town. I want to get one and paint it in camouflage and add RAF roundels so it looks like a Spitfire. Don’t think I'll be able to get that past Helen. . .

In the meantime, we've had an offer for our house and are looking at some properties tomorrow; we could actually be moving! Fred started school this week and seems to be really enjoying it, although he rarely offers any information. We're having a park reunion tonight with his nursery friends. . . .

Johnny Rogan, Morrissey & Marr: The Severed Alliance, Charles Palliser, The Unburied and Darrell Huff, How To Lie With Statistics

It really is Morrissey's world. A really interesting account, and explains so much about the relationship between the two, with Marr consciously recruiting Morrissey and allowing him to front the group and form the Smiths myth, and leaving when the time was right for him. Morrissey too comes across as depending entirely on Marr, almost an unrequited love - maybe his career since can be seen as one great effort to win Marr's respect and show he can do it all without Johnny. 'The Unburied' wasn't nearly as complex as The Quincunx, but still an enjoyable Wilkie Collins tribute. If only he'd set it in Bergen or Malmo rather than the fictional Thurchester, BBC4 would be filming it now.

HTLWS is a great, mischieveous little book; Ben Goldacre's 'Bad Science' from 60 years ago. Should be required reading for anyone in our data-rich age. It quotes the prescient HG Wells: 'Statistical thinking will one day be as necessary for efficient citizenship as the ability to read and write.'

Libby can now say 'Teddy', 'shoes' and 'daaaaaaaa', 'daaaaaaaaa' covering everything that isn't Teddy or shoes. It's Freddie's last day at nursery today as he starts school when we come back from holiday. It's the end of a golden era of going to the park after Rabbits with Daisy and Finbar and Siddi. He looks so cute in his uniform. . . .

Arnaldur Indriðason, Jar City

This is the stuff. A long-forgotten murder, rape, violence, suppressed emotions, horrific discoveries, boiled sheep's heads, coppers with dysfunctional relationships. Perfect for a summer's evening. We've just put the house on the market in another attempt to move out; we've had a fair few viewings and even an offer, but it's £5K below our bottom line. We've seen a few nice places too, so let's see what happens. . .

Fred starts school in a few weeks, after our last holiday in term time to the ile de Re. I left his scooter at Brooklands at the weekend, so we went out last night to get him a new one; with just two wheels this time rather than three. He's zipping along. During the summer, we've got into the routine of going to the park after nursery with a little gang - his friends Daisy, Finbar, Siddi and their mums. It's so nice to see them all play together, it's such a shame it’s all going to end when they head off to school and leave nursery! I'm sure we'll soon settle into a new routine

Seton Dearden, A Nest of Corsairs: The Fighting Karamanlis of the Barbary Coast ('the Karamanli Bashaws of Tripoli in Barbary and their relations with the States, the Consuls and the travellers of the Christian Powers, 1711 to 1835')

There's quite a difference between the headline title of this book and the subtitle. It's rather unfair to print 'A Nest of Corsairs' on the front cover, with images of scoundrel pirates and derring-do on the Barbary coast, and then 5 pages in reveal that it's actually about Libyan Foreign policy in the 18th Century.  Quite dry stuff, and I didn’t take much of it in, beyond the occasional breathtaking aside from the author concerning 'the oriental mind', which appeared to cover everyone that lives east of Athens or south of Sicily. It was written in the 1940s though, so is maybe just of its time. I think it's the sort of attitude Edward Said was talking about in 'Orientalism', but that book is just as impenetrable as 'Midnight's Children' to me.  The trouble with all these books about Orientals is that they all look alike. . .

Arnaldur Indridarson, Silence of the Grave

Woo, Great Britain are up to 19 Gold Medals in this wonderful Olympics. I can now say I've raced with a gold medallist after Mo Farah's victory, as he's taken part in the last two London 10Ks I've raced in. He may have been storming past at the 8K mark while I was puffing along at the 2K, but it was still the same race. . . We've just put the house back on the market and have half a dozen viewings lined up - hopefully we'll have more luck selling this time. I've been able to flog all my Cable & Wireless shares due to the Vodafone takeover, so we have a wee bit of cash too, let's hope we're able to get a nice home to raise the kids in.

Silence of the Grave was really enjoyable, with the usual Scandi-noir elements of a dark secret from the past . The police did absolutely nothing though, it was a series of revelations to get to the truth. Quite different, but it's given me an appetite for more. It all now depends which particular books by authors with nordic names  I can get hold of in Woking Library or the Oxfam Bookshop. . .

Umberto Eco, The Prague Cemetery and WG Hoskins, The Making of the English Landscape

Umberto Eco is awfully clever, I think I missed most of the allusions and the significance in the book, about how the conspiracy theories that abounded in the 19th Century about Jews and Freemasons and the like were all the work of one man, a master forger, sewing confusion and acting as a double agent. Reminiscent of the dodgy WMD Dossier, and a worrying reminder of how easy it is to fool people into believing some horrific things. Read Hoskins again, but it really needs to be read with an OS map in hand. It would have been fantastic to sit with him and have him point out the many features that are obvious to him, but that the rest of us miss about bends in roads and field shapes. We did take F&L along to watch the cycling, it was an epic trek across Hoebridge Golf Course and the ridge above the water-meadows between Pyrford and Send Marsh, but we made it, and watched the peloton whizz past. The bunting is up, the only house on respectable York Road to bother; unlike the jubilee when all the posh houses had their flags out.

Andrew Wheatcroft, The Habsburgs

Mostly read on the train back down from Derby on the first sunny weekend of the summer, which up until now has broken records for rain. I've become slightly obsessed with the slugs and snails that are eating our flowers. Helen's been trying to get rid of the ones in the front room for years, but doesn't want to put poison down. I've been sneaking out with a maglite after dark each night and rooting around for the little shits. I started by squashing them on the drive, but there were so many it was starting to resemble a really nasty oyster omelette, so now I collect them in a bucked and hurl them into the wilds at the back of the garden.

Olympic fever has kicked in, it's all incredibly exciting at the moment with the first events on Saturday. I'm considering making bunting. It's more likely I'll be buying some cheap plastic stuff from Sainsbury's  half an hour before the Opening Ceremony. The Road race goes through Pyrford on Saturday, and we're considering taking F&L along to watch. They won't realise the significance, but it's nice to be part of such a wonderful event. It means trudging across the water meadows around the river Wey though, so I'm going to need to go out and scout the route; after all the rain a coracle might be the best form of transport.

Camilla Lackberg, The Hidden Child

More Scandinavian detective fiction featuring the far right and the legacy of the Second World War. It's not the first in the series, so many of the characters are already established, but it's set in a St Mary Mead/Ystad small town where everyone's related and has secrets. . . My second hand and charity bookshop browsing at the moment is limited to Detective Fiction; as many Nesbos, Nesers, Lackbergs and unspellable Icelandic authors as I can find.

Helen and I celebrated our 10th anniversary a few days ago. It still takes Libby a long time to settle and she's still breastfeeding, so we couldn't go out and had to make do with a takeaway from the Keralan restaurant in West Byfleet. So I got to be all obnoxious and pretentious about the correct way to eat Idly and Sambar. Libby is a terror at the moment, such good fun but she's worked out how to climb, and whenever she gets somewhere relatively high - a chair or the top of the slide for instance - she rocks madly back and forth to try and cause an avalanche. She also loves to pick up anything and hit Freddie with it, particularly in the bath where he cannot escape. She laughs manically while doing it too. It's so sweet to see her wandering along with her battleaxe or a plastic golf club swinging wildly in Fred's direction. Poor fella. Fred shows such restraint though. It would be so easy to retaliate, but he never does. He is so heavy now I can hardly lift him, and he can run so fast. I'm hoping that once my knee is working again we'll be able to go out running in the park together.

On the subject of knees, Ledley King announced his retirement today, which surprised no-one. He's only 31, but can’t train and has played so few matches over recent years. What a player, I remember his debut against Liverpool when he showed such potential. Still the holder of the quickest goal in the premiership too! He'd go into any Spurs Greatest XI; I wonder if any Spurs fan will ever be ready to put Sol Campbell in alongside him?

Robert Harvey, Liberators: Latin America's Savage Wars of Freedom 1810-30: Latin America's Struggle for Independence, 1810 - 1850

My understanding and appreciation suffered from a complete ignorance of South American geography, and now decent maps were provided. It was difficult to imagine the feats of Bolivar without understanding the terrain. The story of the Revolutionary Wars is told through concentrating on 7 liberators, all of whom appear to have shagged and duelled their way round Europe and South America, breaking off from liberating Venezuela to seduce the Spanish Viceroy's daughter and win a horse race before returning to the fray. Read like a Sabatini novel at times. Those bits I liked. I'm just about to finish Camilla Lackberg's 'The Hidden Child', so there should be a further update soon. I was tempted to skive off work for half an hour this morning to finish it, but I'm a conscientious sort and instead am writing this.  . .

In the meantime, every woman I know that doesn't normally read books is reading the awful, awful, Fifty Shades of Grey, a mildly pornographic wish-fulfillment fantasy for a woman who wants to be submissive and controlled. It started as fan fiction. I pledged to read it in return for a colleague reading 'The Awakening', a decent feminist novel exploring sexuality. Fifty Shades really is terrible though, the lack of decent editing as it was initially published online shows through. In the first few pages such dull cliches as 'pedal to the metal', 'the elevator reached terminal velocity' and 'I'm a monkey's uncle' are used, and one character has been described as 'tenacious' three times despite showing no evidence of this characteristic. It reads like Jean Teasdale from The Onion has written fan fiction on the characters from Sweet Valley High and Herr Flick of the Gestapo starring in an episode of Howard's Way. I don't know if I can continue.

Henning Mankell, The Pyramid

A Wallander prequel and yet more Scandinavian noir. After reading Forshaw, I've a wishlist on Amazon full of dark brooding authors with unpronounceable names and a mystifying support for Tottenham Hotspur (that may be just

Jo Nesbø though, for all I know Arnaldur Indridason or Camilla Lackberg could be Charlton Athletic diehards).  Ken Branagh's Wallander has just started again, and I'm badgering Helen to go to Scania for our next holiday. Fred has a settling in day at school today and H is going to see if we can skip the first week in September when he goes in for just 2 hours a day. Then we can get a cheaper holiday. How disgraceful of us. We're only just back from 2 weeks in Cornwall in the wettest June of all time, but I didn’t get enough sandcastle time and need more.

I've had to stop running for the past few weeks as my knees are absolutely shot. I think it's because of carrying heavy, heavy children for prolonged periods of time on holiday. I had to skip the London 10K yesterday because of it. I really hope this isn't permanent damage as I'd hate to have to give up running. I may have to go and see the doctor. . . 

George Rudé, The Crowd in History: A Study of Popular Disturbances in France and England, 1730-1848

Also Joseph Roth, The Radetzky March, Jonathan Haidt, The Righteous Mind, Hilary Mantel, Bring Up The Bodies (soooooooooo good) and Barry Forshaw, Death in a Cold Climate: A Guide to Scandinavian Crime Fiction

It's been a while, must do better. Writing now was spurred on by Robert Webb on R4 reading from his excruciatingly embarrassing teenage diary. Although now my life is tracked on the Facebook timeline, maybe this is surplus to requirements. We're in a strange lull in patriotism at the moment between the highs of the jubilee and Euro 2012 and the start of the Olympics next month. Apparently the torch will be passing through Bracknell next week. It appears most Londoners are dreading it and the traffic chaos they're gleefully predicting will ensure. Already lanes have been marked with 5 rings to show they're only for use by athletes, officials and rich people. Helen's been told to work from Farnborough for the duration.

We've just got back from Cornwall where I read Rudé, Roth and the gloriously misguided Righteous Mind, about why the Left will always be less likely to appeal to working-class voters than the Right. Haidt seems to believe that because that's true of some, it's true of all; when any glance at election results will show it's a third of the working class at a maximum, and there's nothing inevitable about it. The first part of the book is brilliant at describing why so many vote against their own interests, but them makes a massive mistake in assuming from this that conservative popularity is inevitable. Ah well.
 

George R R Martin, A Storm of Swords: Blood and Gold, Global Warming and Political Intimidation: How Politicians Cracked Down on Scientists As the Earth Heated Up by Raymond S. Bradley George R R Martin, A Feast For Crows

Also

Global Warming and Political Intimidation: How Politicians Cracked Down on Scientists As the Earth Heated Up by Raymond S. Bradley

George R R Martin, A Feast For Crows

Don’t know what’s happened here, have managed to go through three books without updating the blog apparently. Hope this doesn’t signal another lull, I was just getting back into it, and other than the guff on my Facebook timeline, it’s the only place I write down what’s happening in my life so I can look back on it when the kids are older. We went to Arundel Castle at the weekend as there were lots of displays of archery, swordfights and trebuchets. We weren’t sure how interested Freddie would be, but he loved it. We bought him a sword and shield which he hasn’t put down since, and swordfights are his big thing at the moment. I’ve ruined Helen’s Lakeland cake tin lid using it as a shield to fend off swipes from Fred’s wooden sword. The name he has adopted is ‘Sir Freddie the Peasant’, as we watched a little play by some mummers based on Robin Hood where ‘the peasants’ ended up winning. It’s probably too early to point out the oxymoronic nature of a knight also being a peasant to him, so we’ve let that one go. I’m Sir Daddy the Forgetful.

Poor Libby has conjunctivitis and manky ears at the moment due to a perforated ear drum. Also, Jess has just sent a text saying George has chicken pox, so it could be Libby will pick that up too now; since Helen went back to work a few weeks ago, Lib has picked up so many infections and nasties; it’s meant I’ve been able to spend some time with her though, which has been lovely. She’s been threatening to fully walk for a while, but she really seems to have it now; yesterday she walked the whole length of the house unaided. Twice a day at the moment we have medicine sessions; clean Lib’s ears and eyes, antibiotics for the ear infection, olive oil in the other ear to clear the wax and eye drops in both eyes for conjunctivitis; Fred has to have the eye drops too. It’s tough; Libby squirms and screams every time and is so strong. I think she’s going to grow up to be a mercenary.

William Dalrymple, City of Djinns: A Year in Delhi

Written in the early ‘nineties, and describes an India so different from my experience - an economic backwater, loads of bureaucracy stifling the country, no young and thrusting middle class. Although, for all I know that’s still true of Delhi today, I’m just used to a very different India that’s not representative of the whole. A great read though, particularly on recent Indian history and the awfulness of partition.

Helen went back to work after maternity leave yesterday. It’s a necessary economic evil, unfortunately. Lib doesn’t seem to mind at all, she’s settled into nursery fine. However, Lib and Fred were in the bath yesterday when Helen came home, and Libby couldn’t control here excitement when she heard the knock on the door. It was like she’d had an electric shock of ‘MUMMY!!!’ Then half an hour later she threw up all over Helen, so couldn’t go into nursery today. One day in, and Helen has to take a day off to look after a sick child. It’s such a beautiful day, it’s tempting to think Helen engineered it. I didn’t actually see Libby throwing up after all, I just rushed upstairs when I heard the commotion and there was Helen, Lib, our bed and the remote control all covered in vom. It could so easily have been staged. . .

George R R Martin, A Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow

Read most of this on the train up and down to Derby for Mothers’ Day. Helen, Freddie & Libby went up on Friday, so I had Friday and Saturday to myself. Friday evening I weighed up making a giant crème egg with an easter egg and some fondant, but in the end just sat in with a massive bag of popcorn and bar of chocolate and watched Trollhunter, I’m such a Scandinavian groupie at the moment, like all Guardian readers. I can’t stop listening to First Aid Kit either. Saturday I was going to go for a run, but it was raining and I had toothache, so that didn’t happen. Went up to the Hajj exhibition at the British Museum and jumped the queue. It was full of Islamic Cub packs who were initially dumbfounded by the statement that early pilgrims travelled across the desert in ‘caravans’. Then down to the London Review of Books Tea Shop for a lesbian-prepared veggie lunch with fairtrade coffee while doing the crossword, followed by a browse through the books. Then found a pub near St Pancras to watch the Rugby (A Welsh Grand Slam!), and then an early supper in Carluccio’s before boarding the train with a good book and some Gs & T. What a perfect day for a ponce like me. F & L had a fun time in Derby, Libby is staying on her feet longer and longer, and Freddie and I just tore around the house playing catch, Hide & Seek and Musical Chairs. I tire long before he does.

I can’t stop reading these books now. It’s nice to have something to talk to Kevin about and I do actually care about some of the characters, particularly the dwarf Tyrion Lannister. The Stark kids and their pet wolves wandering from peril to peril across the continent is getting a bit tiring now though, hopefully they’ll all find each other soon and that’ll be an end to it. I expect not.

James Charles Roy, The Vanished Kingdom: Travels Through the History of Prussia

This was a strange book. It was a Christmas Present, but I was after Norman Davies’ ‘Vanished Kingdoms’. It’s written by an American author, but was more of a travelogue than a history. The historical sections could have been cribbed from anywhere, and it almost seemed to be more about the author’s journey of discovery than anything else. At one point one of his interviewees mentions the Memel, and the author explains he had never heard of the Memel. Well, why do you feel qualified to write about the history of East Prussia then? Would someone who had never heard of the Rio Grande be qualified to write a history of the US? Some who had never heard of the Pyrenees write a history of France. Grrr.

Fred seems to have moved on from steam engines now to Cars, from the film ‘Cars’. He does a pretty passable American accent for Lightning McQueen and Sally Porsche. The little toys are a tenner each, so we’ve bought a bulk lot, which are now under the stairs for distribution in return for medals. The current rate of exchange is 6 medals per car. In the meantime, I’m left with a massive box of wooden engines at the bottom of my cupboard. Let’s hope Libby likes toy railways. . .