The Unlikely
Pilgrimage of Harold Fry was very moving, and a few times even caused what
Freddie calls 'Goosepingles' to appear. The story of a retired Middle Englander
who receives news from someone who affected his life profoundly twenty years
previously that she is dying. He cannot think of what to write to her that
expresses his feelings, and so rather than post the terse 'sorry' letter he has
written, walks straight past the postbox, then past the post office, and then
keeps on walking to the other end of the country to see and save Queenie
Hennessey. Along the way he has time to think about his life, his regrets and
his relationship with his family. At the same time, so does his wife at home.
I'm not doing this justice at all, but it was a wonderful book. Swords From The
North is one of the few books concerned with Harald Hardrada. He must be due a
biography, but looks like there are very few resources to draw on, so fiction
is the way to go. How strange it seems that someone whose name is so well known
is so unknown. Tom Fort's The Grass is Greener was a reread, based on my
current lawn obsession. Since reading the book, there's been a heatwave that
has meant the grass hasn't grown, it has instead been bleached into straw by
the sun and is dying on its erse. The rubber paddling pool even managed to burn
its kidney-shaped outline into part of the lawn somehow.
We went camping in
the New Forest for the second time this
weekend, and this time it was dry and hot rather than wet and freezing. The
kids loved it, although it was stuffy in the tent. Next time we'll take more
mozzy repellent and also some decent tent pegs - the ground was concrete. Any
excuse for a trip to the camping shop. It's so hot I've been thinking about
emptying out the summerhouse, inflating the airbeds and letting Freddie sleep
out there. Now the holidays are about to start maybe we'll give it a go!
