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. . .

George R.R Martin, A Clash of Kings: Book 2 of A Song of Ice and Fire

The second in the series, and I’m rather enjoying them. Kev lent the third to Steve though, and now no-one knows where it is, so I may have to wait. Plenty of other books to be getting on with in the meantime. I’ve had to start doubling up on the ‘Books Inward’ Bookshelf of unread books that’s outside the bathroom, although there’s some stuff that’s been there for years like Robert Caro’s biography of LBJ in his Congress years and Christopher Hibbert’s biog of Wellington that may never be read. Libby can walk holding just one hand at the moment, and we spent yesterday wandering around Windsor with her making a bee-line for every dog or thing that she can post through a hole in another thing. Everything in Lib’s world seems to be divided into things that can be posted, things into which one can post things, and other stuff, with the third category resulting in a total lack of interest from Elizabeth.

Helen, Freddie and Lib went on an open-top bus tour of Windsor while I was running, and Freddie got very excited when they went over Albert Bridge, as he knew it from one of his lullabies, The Pogues’ ‘Misty Morning Albert Bridge’. Not the same bridge unfortunately, and he mystified Helen with his comment, but it’s nice to know he listens to the lullabies I sing. . .