Michelle Paver, Dark Matter

A book in a day, it's been a while since that happened. It was only a wee novella , but it kept me gripped through my cycle in the morning and then finished off in the evening while Helen was out at dance class. A ghost story set on Spitzbergen, and written as a journal, so had the immediacy and shared paranoia of Dracula, with the villain of the piece barely appearing, but lurking as a presence.

Freddie is getting more and more confident with his cycling, we go out exploring at night at the weekends now, and our journey back from Gemma's is getting more and more convoluted. Each route or part of the journey has a name: 'St Andrew's Passage' if we go through the council offices, 'The Magic Raindrops' if we go along Victoria Way (there's a sprinkler permanently turned on causing a tiny burst of rain for a second or two), 'the York Road Hideout' if we go through the new development between The Sovereigns and the railway and 'Morrisons Madness' if we go past Morrisons and over the canal on the footbridge. . .

If I take him to school in the morning, we race between the bridges - Bedser Bridge, the 'BAC' Bridge (after some graffito on it), the Tall Bridge and finally the Barn Bridge (The Bridge Barn Bridge?) . It's the best part of the day.

Anne Applebaum, Iron Curtain: The Crushing of Eastern Europe 1944-56

I'm sure I wrote a very dull essay on this subject once. It's more of a case study of East Germany, Poland and Hungary than the whole of Eastern Europe, but very interesting and wide-ranging. I really enjoyed Anne Applebaum's books on her travels in Eastern Europe after the collapse of the Iron Curtain, I'd love to go back and read it again. There's a whole bookshelf full of unread books in the study though, including some real corkers; Caro's biog of LBJ, some Hilary Mantel, the Inspector Montalbano novels, Morrissey's newly-published autobography, Peter Hennessy's 'Having It So Good' and hundreds more. Also, if I were to embark on an Eastern European Travelogue, the last volume of Patrick Leigh Fermor's has just been published, which would also mean going back and reading the first two. . .

Reading may have to take a back seat though for a few decades; We went to the hospital on Friday for a 12 week scan, and we are expecting another child in May. No idea how we'll cope, either financially or physically, but my parents managed with three and so do Steve and Jess. At least we have the space for another now. Helen is convinced it's a boy, as it feels like Freddie did, and Freddie would like to call the baby 'Starwars' if it's a boy. He's very excited by it all, but Libby doesn't get it yet. She seems quite affronted by the suggestions that there is a baby in Mummy's tummy, when it's obvious to everyone that Baby (her dolly) is there in the buggy.

Ella, Amy and George were christened on Sunday, and Ella kindly asked me to be her godfather. That's 5 godchildren now, not bad for an atheist wastrel.

Oszkar Jaszi, The Dissolution of the Habsburg Monarchy, John le Carré, Our Kind of Traitor

Most of both of these read on an epic train journey from Woking to Cardiff for Paul Shah's out-of-season 40th Birthday celebrations. The Severn Tunnel was shut, so 3 rail replacement services, hour-long waits at Bristol Parkway and Shrewsbury and lots of time for reading. I'm far too old for the carnage of Cardiff After Dark though, I serendipitously met up with Clay in the station car park and whined about my longing for a comfy chair and wine rather than shots and loud music and vomiting in chip alley.

David Peace, Red or Dead

A fictionalised account of the life of Bill Shankly. Took a while to get into the repetitive rhythm used to convey shankly's single-minded obsessions. Sometimes descended into lists of fixtures and scorers and there's a danger of being taken in by the emperor's new clothes, but I loved it and it kept me gripped, even more so than The Damned United. Given that Peace's football novels are meant to be his weak link, his other work must be pretty special. It's on the wish list. . .

Libby's had chicken pox recently and got used to me sleeping on the floor in her room to comfort her, which is now standard procedure! If I try and move she shouts 'Daddy Sawyer! Daddy Sawyer!' until I'm back in my place. She won't let me call her anything other than Libby or Elizabeth at the moment. A few days ago I called her 'Boo', and she indignantly declared. 'No! not boo! Libbymarysawyer!'

Fred has competed in his first running race too, he did a 1K at Alice Holt as I was there for a 10K. He seemed to really enjoy it, and I want to encourage it without pushing. I'm so proud of him for how he manages to cycle back through a busy town every day with only the occasional wobble. He's getting fast though - and tall. He really does look like an amalgam of Gareth, me, Steve and Kev. I still get confused and call Kev 'Fred' whenever the two of them are in the same area.

Barry Cunliffe, Europe Between the Oceans: 9000 BC-AD 1000

Fernand Braudel was namechecked quite often, and his spirit was ever-present in this sweeping history of a continent over 10,000 years. The Roman Empire just a blip, much more emphasis on 'pre-history' and the thriving cultures and communications links that pre-date classical civilisation and were based on the three 'oceans'; the Med, the Atlantic and the North Sea/Baltic.  We've just got back from a week on the Isle of Wight, staying just outside Newport on the Medina. Obviously I'm now a sailing expert having spent nearly 48 hours on a boat last April, so was confidently striding round the harbour giving my valued opinion to all. We spent an awful lot of time at a lavender farm, which was a beautiful spot, like Cold Comfort Farm at the end of the novel.

Fred and I built a Lego X Wing Fighter as our holiday project; obviously it’s been smashed up and fallen apart and we've lost Jek Porkins' blaster already. For the last couple of nights I've been using  the Star Wars Lego to act out Ep IV as Fred's bedtime story. Pretty sure Helen wouldn’t be happy If I bought/assembled a couple of AT-ATs and Bespin Cloud City out of Lego to enact The Empire Strikes Back. My story would really have benefited from a Lego Death Star though. . . .

Michael Chabon, Telegraph Avenue

'An Oakland Middlemarch'. Took me a while to get into, but was hooked by the end. The opposite of 'Kavalier & Clay', which I was immersed in from the start and then came to an underwhelming and rushed conclusion. Gran's funeral was on Wednesday, so it's a bit of a strange time, but we've been able to formally say 'Goodbye' now.  The kids were too young to be involved, so it would be nice to do something like plant a tree or dedicate a bench that they can attend and have something to remember Gran. 

Marc Morris, Castle: A History Of The Buildings That Shaped Medieval Britain

Gran passed away last week a few days after she left hospital to go into a Nursing Home. Have seen lots of Mum and Dad since just so we're all together, and Dad seems to be coping ok. Gran left a notebook full of the story of her life, which is heartbreaking. It begins 'If only I'd been born a boy'. Her Father wouldn't look at her when she was born apparently, as he only wanted a boy. How very sad. I've said I'll transcribe it after the funeral. M&D asked for us to put together some memories for the funeral, these are mine:

As children, it was wonderful to have grandparents so close by and to have them as such an integral part of our lives. We were so very lucky to have Gran there when we were growing up. We loved having Gran babysit us, and playing Monopoly or Knockout Whist, or endless rounds of Newmarket with her. Once a week we would go to 13 Hatch Lane after school and it was always a treat. We'd have biscuits from the green biscuit tin, play in the coalshed, the greenhouse and the garden and then a wonderful roast dinner with the best roast potatoes  followed by perfect custard for pudding. Gran would start each meal by declaring 'What do we want?', to which the enthusiastic response was 'Clean Plates!' We still use this at family mealtimes today!

 We'd spend Saturday mornings with Gran and Ben too playing in the park, or on Ben's allotment behind the village hall, or collecting conkers from the vicarage garden. When we went into school on Monday we would have to draw our  favourite thing from the weekend and those Saturday mornings always featured.

Gran and I appeared in the local paper in 1977 having planted a tree on Moor Lane, which in later years was pointed out whenever we passed it. It's wonderful to think that a sapling we planted 35 years ago is still there and thriving amongst all the change in the village. In recent years we've always consulted Gran when we need gardening advice and her love of flowers and nurturing plants has been passed down to her great grandchildren who love to be out in the garden, getting dirty digging and weeding.