Peter Ackroyd, Tudors: A History of England Volume II (History of England Vol 2), Philip Roth, Portnoy's Complaint, Philip Parker, The Empire Stops Here: A Journey along the Frontiers of the Roman World, PG Wodehouse, Lord Emsworth Acts For The Best

I'm full of snot and cold at the moment, and have been since Christmas Eve, which has affected the family enjoyment of the period. Poor Helen has had to cope with the kids as I've been useless and laid up in bed for large periods. The kids seem to have had a good time of it though, with Scalextric being Freddie's new obsession (will it overtake Lego in the long run though?). Libby is still a real handful, so physical and always jumping at me, climbing over me or generally launching herself. She does it to Bibs too, which is worrying, and I spend too much time telling her to be careful of her little brother. 

Karl Ove Knausgaard A Death in the Family: My Struggle Book 1, Patrick Leigh Fermor, The Broken Road:From the Iron Gates to Mount Athos, Paul Kingsnorth, The Wake, David Crystal, Spelling, John Updike, Rabbit Run, James Falkner, Marshal Vauban and the Defence of Louis XIV's France, Robert Merle, The Brethren, Roger Crowley, City of Fortune: How Venice Won and Lost a Naval Empire, CJ Sansom, Dominion, Patrick Barkham, Badgerlands:The Twilight World of Britain's Most Enigmatic Animal, Agatha Christie The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, David Abulafia, The Great Sea: A Human History, Max Adams, King In The North: The Life & Times of Oswald of Northumbria, Georges Simenon, Pietr The Latvian

Ouch, far too long left again. Work has been very stressful and three kids are keeping us v busy. Nearly all the reading has been done on the exercise bike in the gym at work. None of the non-fiction stands out, but A Death in the Family, Dominion and The Wake were cracking reads. Was a bit worried that Knausgaard might be a bit emperor's new clothes, as he appears to be a writer beloved by writers rather than readers, but despite it being a Seinfeldesque 'book about nothing' it kept me reading. Dominion was set in an alternative world where Britain surrendered in WWII and is now led by a fascist government under (who else?) Beaverbrook.

Since that last paragraph, a further 3 books have been read with no commentary, one largely on a flight to and from Dusseldorf for work

George Eliot, Middlemarch, Simon Winder, Danubia:A Personal History of Habsburg Europe; Francesca Simon, The Lost Gods, Graham Robb, The Ancient Paths: Discovering the Lost Map of Celtic Europe, Alan Beechey, This Private Plot, Alan Johnson, This Boy, Hakan Nesser, Woman With Birthmark

Middlemarch took forever to read, shamefully. Billy, or 'Bibs' (as Libby accidentally called him and which seems to be sticking) is taking up most of Helen's time with feeding and comforting, so I don’t have much time for reading left after looking after F&L and trying to keep the house tidy. The rest were read on holiday in Harcombe Bottom, when I rediscovered an appetite for reading. It has slowed right down since returning as have fallen back into the old routine. The up side of this is that I'm getting exercise again following two weeks of cream teas and cider.

Incredible to think that the last time I wrote the World Cup hadn't even started and Bibs was only 4 weeks old. That seems like a lifetime ago now. Helen saw a newborn yesterday and Bibs looked like a monster baby capable of devouring it whole. There has to be a limit to baby-led weaning though.  The World Cup seems to have sparked an interest in football from Fred, and he spends his waking hours in either his Woking shirt or his Tottenham shirt, The last couple of nights I've come home to find he's drawn Tottenham badges, one including a monster representing Arsenal. We often play 'Name 5', for example 'Name 5 islands' or 'Name 5 types of tree'. He doesn’t seem to like naming 5 Tottenham players though. He always gets Hugo Lloris, and sometimes Andros Townsend and then 'Eric. . . Eric'. Which could be Lamela, Dier or even Christian Eriksen

Libby absolutely has me wrapped around her finger. I'm still in the spare room as Bibs is in with Helen, and Libby wakes up in the middle of the night and hammers on the door to be let in. She then  climbs into bed and twists, turns and rotates until wake-up time. Just like her Mum, there is often a punch to my eye or a haymaker to my neck, or a kick in the ribs too. And then she tells me she loves me and gives a big hug and all is forgiven. She's so confident too. All holiday she was going up to strangers with her standard bellowed greeting 'I LIBBY!  WHAT YOU CALLED?' WHAT YOUR DOG CALLED?'

Harper Lee, To Kill A Mockingbird, Phillip Parker, Northmen's Fury: A History of The Viking World.

Billy's 4 weeks old now, and hasn't stopped feeding for about 4 days, poor Helen. I've been looking after F&L when not working, and we've been having a wonderful time of it. Lots of cycle rides, football and lego. Libby has developed a tendency to tell anyone she encounters that her friend Lauren has a trampoline, and Fred managed to cycle all the way over to Guildford on Saturday, which makes me very proud. I bribed him with £1 for every mile he cycled!

The World cup kicks off in a few weeks, and Fred and I have been collecting stickers. Kev & Jo have been too, and we've just sent off for the last few. An old colleague at work has also been collecting, but was worried that he'd be found out if we were spotted swapping at work, so we’ve been having clandestine lunchtime meetings in his jag in the car park to rummage through each others' swap pile. Pride and dignity is no match for an elusive sticker of Thibaut Courtois or the Uruguayan Team.

'To Kill a Mockingbird' is one of the books I bought recently that I should have read. Next up is Middlemarch, and Midnight's Children, Portnoy's Complaint and Rabbit, Run are all now sat on my 'Books In' shelf waiting to be read. I loved it. Atticus Finch is a wonderful, idealised man, although much more conservative (or realistic?) than I realised.

Charlotte Higgins, Under Another Sky: Journeys in Roman Britain, Joseph O'Neill, Netherland, Alan Bullock, Ernest Bevin: Foreign Secretary 1945-51

Was reading the last in the list when William Robert Sawyer was born! Not at the actual point of birth of course, as that would show a casual indifference to the birth of our third child, but the book was in the hospital with me, and I did sneak a few pages between contractions. Helen set a precedent by picking up her copy of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman's 'Good Omens', so I felt it was ok for me to follow suit. So Volume III of Bullock's Bevin joins Marina Lewycka's  'A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian' and Trevor Dean's 'Crime in Medieval Europe: 1200-1550' in a very special trinity of books.

Young Billy is doing well, feeding ok and giving Helen just about enough sleep. We were quite shocked that the grandparents weren't at all keen on the name though; they're perfectly happy with William, but my Dad and Helen's Mum in particular were dead set against Billy or Bill.  Freddie's friend Luke has just had a little brother called Ben, and when his mum suggested that the new arrivals were 'Bill and Ben', Helen's mum was very quick to correct it to 'WILL and Ben'.  If Bill had been a girl he would probably have been a Matilda, which also turned out to be anathema to all four grandparents and Helen's brother. 

Freddie & Libby have been very good with their new baby brother. Well, to be fair, Libby has been very good and taken an interest (she’s perhaps slightly over-possessive – MY BABY! GIVE HIM ME!); Freddie is just vaguely aware there is another presence in the house. It’s possible that until young Billy can kick a ball or discuss Star Wars he’ll remain off Fred’s radar completely.

Fiona McCarthy, William Morris: A Life for Our Time, Ferdinand von Schirach, The Collini Case

EP Thompson's biography of Morris concentrated on the political element, but McCarthy offers a much more rounded picture. She speaks very highly of EP Thompson's work though, and credits him with reviving awareness of Morris' politics when he was in danger of being seen as a nice artist and craftsman for the middle classes rather than a radical, or, as McCarthy prefers to describe him, a  radical conservative. Obviously I'm now on a Morris kick, planning trips to the Red House and Kelmscott, critiquing everything in the house to make sure that I either know it to be useful or believe it to be beautiful, and looking for antique prints of the frontispiece to 'News From Nowhere' on eBay.

The Collini Case was translated from the German by the legendary Anthea Bell, and was a legal procedural that received great reviews for uncovering a shocking loophole in German law that meant war criminals could not be prosecuted. Everyone involved had missed the implication of the clause at the time, which is almost understandable given the innocuity of it; the author publishes it at the end and the banality of it is chilling.

Russell Shorto, Amsterdam: A History of the World's Most Liberal City, Susanna Clarke, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, Charles Emmerson 1913:The World Before The Great War, Bernard Cornwell, The Last Kingdom

Russell Shorto's book  wasn't a History of Amsterdam, it was the story of certain periods of Amsterdam's history - the Golden Age of the 16th and 17th Century and then the 20th Century. The Napoleonic occupation was hardly mentioned, for example. I wanted to know more about the origins of the city too, but was disappointed.

The two novels were comfort reads - Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell  is still an enchanting read; I wish Susanna Clarke had written more! I sent it to a bibliophile work colleague in exchange for The Secret History, and she is working through it at the moment . Bernard Cornwell, by contrast, seems to produce a book every time he leaves the house. This one was from the period of the Danish invasions, and I'll need to read more from the series. Of course, that's also true of all the Scandi-noir, the Montalbano novels, I've not read any Georges Simenon yet and I've recently been given the complete works of Agatha Christie. Maybe I'll have to change my non-fiction/fiction ratio.

On Monday I went to a talk given by Charles Emmerson at Woking Library, who was a bright fellow. As happened with Simon Scarrow, someone asked my question before I was able to, being so shy and english. It concerned his speculation that in 1913 the Ottoman empire could have been on the verge of resurgence rather than inexorable decline.  Apparently my questions are always the obvious ones! It may also qualify as the dullest way to celebrate St Patrick's Day yet devised.

Ben Wilson, Decency & Disorder 1789-1837, Susanna Clarke, The Ladies of Grace Adieu

'Decency & Disorder' was a history of 'the Age of Cant', and the transformation from the bawdiness of the Regency period into the self-improvement and piety of the Victorian age. I should have paid more attention, it wasn't a book to be read while on the exercise bike.

Reading 'the Ladies of Grace Adieu' again was a bit of an indulgence, but just reminded me of how great a writer Susanna Clarke is. They’re filming an adaptation of 'Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell' for the BBC at the moment - may have to read it again. Some time ago I outlined Fred's bedtime routine, so thought it was time for an update.

In the week, I normally have to put the kids to bed myself as Helen hasn't got back from work. Around 18:30 I start introducing the idea of having a bath, which does not go down well with either Fred or Lib. I run the bath and then start cajoling. Oddly, at this stage I'm too tired to remember that saying 'I wonder who will be the first in the bath?' triggers their competitive instinct. Hot cross buns and salami wraps are dropped to the carpet half-eaten and they both rampage up the stairs to be the first there. Unfortunately, this brings a whole new raft of problems, as whichever of them is a) helped to undress first and b) is helped into the bath first provokes the other to cry in outrage at the unfairness of it all. Fred can, of course, undress himself, and takes delight in flinging socks and pants around the upper floor of the house. Often, rather than going into the bath, either of them will use the opportunity to run round the house nekkid showing their bum to the world. Once in, Fred will complain that the bath is too cold and Libby that it is too hot. So I have to pretend to separate the bath water into hot and cold ends. Libby then requires 2 different types of shampoo to be dribbled onto her left hand, her right hand and her tummy. She will then attempt to wash Freddie's hair with some of the soap once she has worked it into a lather. She's rather rough though, and this will make Fred cry.

Eventually, one will declare they wish to get out, and instantly the other will shout 'NO! ME FIRST!' and they will jostle each other for position. Fred's normally first out, he gets a cursory dry and then runs around while I dry Libby properly. I have to snuggle her in her towel and declare this to be my favourite part of the day or she gets miffed (it is also genuinely my favourite part of the day). Once dry, pyjama trousers have to be put on by lifting at the waistband with the hems still held in place by the toes, so the child is hoisted into the air by their pyjama bottoms. This happens AGAIN! AGAIN! A few times before my arms give way and we clean teeth.  Then we all go into Libby's room. I inflate the airbed while Fred brings his pillow, water and blanket into the room, and selects a story to read.

We read Fred's story while Libby climbs all over us paying little attention to the detail. Once done, Freddie sometimes reads Libby a story (and then she pays attention, bless her), or makes one up, although it often lacks a convincing narrative and tends to be about characters performing neologisms based on their name, eg 'One Day Upsy Daisy upsied herself into bed, then the  Pontipines ponted themselves into bed, and then, and then, and then! Iggle Piggle. . . . Iggled himself into bed!' After that, Libby gets two stories, although this MUST NOT be taken for granted. After the first book I make her answer a question, like 'tell me the names of 5 colours' or 'name all your cousins'. Whatever I ask her she answers 'UmmmmmmEllaAmyGeorgeCiaraAoife' at first, on the stopped clock telling the right time twice a day principle. Then she says 'I lucky?' while nodding her head and she can then pick a second story. We seem to have got over the recent Mr Nosey obsession. Last week when I suggested we read a different Mr Men story other than Mr Nosey for a change, she screamed in my ear; 'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! WAN' GREEN MISTA MAN! NOT RED MISTA MAN! NOOOOOOOOOOO!'

Once completed, the lights go out, with Freddie on the airbed. Fred normally falls asleep within a few minutes, but Lib has a number of delaying tactics she uses with immaculate timing. Just when all is calm and it looks like she might be settling, I hear 'Wan' music. Wan' twolittlemeninfyingsaucer'. She is allowed one song on the iPad. Once finished there'll be some grumbling, but she settles. Then, a few minutes later, it may be

'Wan' song'.

'Which song would you like me to sing?'

'Don' care.'

'OK. [singing] 'They're 2, they're 4, they're 6, they're. . '

'NOOOOO! Not wan' Thomas, wan' bus!!!'

'[sighing] The wheels on the bus go round and round. . . '

After a few verses, Libby starts to settle again until;

'Wan drink. Wan milkandwater.'

She has both in her room, so she sits up and has some of each, doing her very best to splash herself so she can claim 'Daddy! Sleeveswet!' and have a change of pyjama top.

After that, Libby starts to settle again. Until:

'Daddy. Need poopoo. Need weewee.' This normally happens twice, and involves, obviously, getting out of bed and going to the loo. We have to look at the poo in the bowl and give it a suitable compliment before flushing. Then the washing of hands, with Libby again doing her very best to splash herself so she can claim 'Daddy! Sleeveswet!' and have a change of pyjama top.

Back in the room, Libby starts to settle again until:

'Daddy! Wan' toy! Where Babymarysawyer? (her baby doll) Where Lion?'

I'm wise to this now, so have them ready and to hand. There is a gamble, as she may go off-piste and request a different toy to sleep with, but she doesn't appear to have picked up on that yet, and normally is placated by Babymarysawyer and Lion.

Eventually, I'll hear the snoring start and know I can sneak out to tidy the house and then collapse into bed. But sooner or later she wakes up and wanders in to our room pleading 'Daddysleepinmyroom?Not mummydaddyroom!' If I'm lucky, Fred's already moved himself into his own bedroom, if not, there's no airbed and it's the floor for me. . . 

Harriet Harvey Wood, The Battle of Hastings: The Fall of Anglo-Saxon England, Jo Nesbo, The Bat

Short, accessible and a good read. How nice to read a book by someone who in the introduction declares  she would unashamedly have been on the side of the Saxons at Hastings! How much use a female academic would have been in the shield wall is moot, of course. 

'The Bat' is the first Harry Hole book, he's only 32, bless him! Still a raging alcoholic picking fights though. Set in Australia, where Wallander also visited. Helen and I went up to Nordicana a few weeks ago, a festival of all things Scandinavian. We got far too excited at seeing bit-part actors from Danish political dramas in the flesh. we even attended a cinnamon bun bake-off while we were there. .  

Christopher Clark, The Sleepwalkers: How Europe Went to War in 1914, Donna Tartt, The Secret History

Due to the centenary, there's an awful lot of stuff around about the First World War at the moment; silhouettes of tin-hatted Tommies standing mournfully in a muddy field are everywhere. 'The sleepwalkers' is meant to be the best examination of how on earth Europe managed to implode in 1914, and is very good at debunking the various German expansionist/Naval rivalry/Russian designs on the Balkans explanations in favour of there being no great design or conspiracy, just dysfunctional diplomats sleep walking towards hostilities despite no-one wanting it.

'The Secret History' was leant to me by a work colleague, and came with excellent reviews 'Truly deserving of the accolade Modern Classic', apparently.  I wasn't that gripped by the fairly common tale of spoilt college kids forming a clique, accidentally murdering someone and then attempting to cover it up. It's the same plot as 'I Know What You Did Last Summer'. 

Charles Palliser, Rustication

Charles Palliser appears to have wound down a bit after the Quincunx; his more recent novels have been much shorter, although maintain that High Victorian, Wilkie  Collins feel. Kept me reading, although as always I was clueless about the plot twists and who'd done what to whom . In the meantime, Libby has a new favourtie song which has become our mandatory song in the car. To the tune of 'Tottenham, Tottenham, no-one can stop them', she sings 'Tottenham, Tottenham, Nobody Bum Bum.' Fred joins in enthusiastically. They may be lost to us already. . . . 

Russell Shorto, The Island at the Centre of the World

 A history of the Dutch settlement of Manhattan and the surrounding area before the Duke of York marched in and took it (or it was taken on his behalf while he mooched around Greenwich). It seeks to explain how it was the multicultural, polyglot community of New York that sets the template for America rather than the intolerant monoculture of the puritans, the accepted birthplace of the US. Quite convincing, although I may have to revisit Albion's Seed to see how it fits in. Any excuse to reread that is alright with me though.

Robert MacFarlane, The Old Ways: A Journey on Foot

Countryside porn for the suburbanite. Totally aspirational wish-fulfillment about a simple, more spiritual life tramping the ancient byways and tracks of our world. Lovely to read, made me sigh and want to be outside on the chalk downs, or sailing into rocky Hebridean inlets. The car has been written off, just waiting to hear from the insurance company. As  result we need to get a new car, which means I am temporarily forced to care about cars again for a period. 'Yes the Alhambra has everything we need, but is very pricey and it's a diesel so not suitable for short runs. On the other hand the Zafira is in our budget, but has a terrible reputation'. I just don't care. I know I should do as it's going to have a big impact on my life, but it's just so terribly dull. I gamely went along to a few showrooms and now will hopefully be able to outsource all further research to Helen's Dad. . . 

Jonathan Phillips, The Fourth Crusade: And The Sack Of Constantinople, Håkan Nesser, The Mind's Eye

Back on home territory; a book about Byzantine History and a Scandi-Noir novel. Read in the Twixtmas lull, after having ditched the car into a river on Christmas Eve. I didn't appreciate the extent of the flooding between Chobham and Windlesham; it was dark and as I came over the bridge on Burnt Pollard Lane I went straight into the halebourne, which has burst its banks. Waiting to hear about the damage to the car. . .