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?
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