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. . . 

Max Egremont, Forgotten Land: Journeys Among the Ghosts of East Prussia, Alan Bennett, An Uncommon Reader

Was convinced I must have read Forgotten Land already, but it wasn't on my shelves!  The groundwas  covered in Norman Davies' Vanished Kingdoms and Anne Applebaum's work though, so maybe that's why it seems so familiar. Managed to avoid straying into a romantic yearning for a lost Prussia while explaining the motives of those that do. A bit chilling in places when reminded that there are still Germans who refer to the old DDR as 'Mittel' rather than 'Ost' Deutschland. It's interesting to speculate on what the future holds for the Russian half of East Prussia; ethnically mostly Russian now, but an enclave with Belarus and more in between. Will it stay in Russia? Move towards Germany? Become an independent Republic of Kant?, 'An Uncommon Reader' was a cracker; I read it in one session on the exercise bike laughing out loud when the Queen asks the Cabinet if they've ever read Proust.

Just getting ready for Christmas at the mo; after his birthday and all the parties Fred has been in a present and party cake frenzy since late November. In the last entry I said he didn't seem that interested in story books, but Helen bought him some Horrid Henry which he has loved. 

Rose Tremain, Merivel: A Man of his Time, Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett, The Spirit Level: Why Equality is Better for Everyone, Clive King, Stig of the Dump

Merivel was a nice bit of throwaway historical fiction set in the Restoration. A class up from Simon Scarrow. Naturally I agreed with every word of The Spirit Level, even the  bits I didn't read or didn't understand, because it reinforces my prejudices about inequality being a BAD THING. Similarly, all the rebuttals of it are WRONG as they are politically motivated. Obviously I'm joking to an extent, but it does show how little we use facts (or I do anyway) to form our opinions, and how much we use them to back up already formed prejudices. Luckily of course, Reality has a Liberal Bias. Stig of the Dump was fab, wish I'd read it when I was 8 when mucking about in rubbish dumps and making camps and hunting squirrels would have been the best way to spend a summer holiday . Have tried to interest Freddie in a book rather than a picture book, but he doesn't seem ready yet. Also of course, I so rarely do his bedtime as Libby is so insistent on me looking after her. Apparently she spent all of yesterday telling Helen that she liked everyone except Helen. 'Like Bea. . . Like Daddy. . . Like Luke. . . Like Gemma. . . Not Like Mummy, Mummy not sleep with me, Daddy sleep with me'. Helen bribed her with chocolate last night to stay in her bed. It worked, and I had the first whole night's sleep in my own bed for weeks. The precedent has now been set. . .

Arthur Conan Doyle, The Return Of Sherlock Holmes, Ken Livingstone, You Can't Say That: Memoirs , Simon Scarrow, Sword & Scimitar, Tom Fort, A303: Highway To The Sun

Some easy reads for a change! Nothing about Habsburgs, Scandinavian murders or cartographical inspiration. Reading Sherlock again made me think of all the classic detective fiction I have never read - nearly all Agatha Christie's, Maigret, Peter Wimsey. Maybe that'll be a them in the future. There's still a load of Inspector Montalbano to read though, and I promised myself to read more Van Veeteren. . . Maybe it is time for a Kindle so I can read while putting Libby to bed! At the moment I'm in the room with here for up to an hour. I don't mind as I can sing songs to her and browse the internet, and sit down for a bit. I do wish she would let me sing something other than the Thomas & Friends theme tune or 'The Wheels On the Bus' though. I'm not even allowed to riff on a theme. Any deviation  from wheels/round, wipers,swish, mummies/chatter, daddies/say "don't do that" is immediately met by a forceful 'NO!' from Lib and any hopes of her settling are gone as she sits up ramrod straight to protest the indignity of being forced to listen to incorrect verse.

Ken's memoirs were as subjective as you'd expect, but politically I can’t think of much where I disagree with him other than Foreign policy. I'm not as ready as him to accept the Spanish claim to Gib, the Argentinian claim to the Falklands and the Palestinian claim to the Holy Land; but that probably reveals my Little Englander tendencies rather than being an internationalist. On everything else - economics, education, transport, health. . . I'm with Ken, a s shining example of an electorally successful unashamedly populist unashamedely left wing politician.  'Sword & Scimitar' was set in the Great Siege of Malta, and was formulaic tosh. I went to see Simon Scarrow talk at Woking Library and found him very engaging, so thought it might be worth a read. The Great Siege is crying out for a great novel or, even better, a great film. Finally, the A303; an ode to a road. It was a fun read, but seemed incomplete; the A303 starts nowhere just outside Basingstoke and finishes with a whimper as a side road in Somerset. All the way through it seemed as if it was the story of part of a journey rather than the whole journey from London to the south west. Maybe the A30 for a companion piece?