An intolerably dull childhood
May 8th, 2008I’m really sorry, I don’t know what is happening to my paragraphs.
I realised as I published that last blog that I should probably have mentioned that while I had never really written, I had always read. This fact is primarily due to the intolerably dull circumstances of my childhood. Every summer we were dragged to
Not only were we dragged on a beach holiday, but to make the choice even more perplexing my mother was scared of the sun. I mean we were slip-slop-slapping each night before bed. I think we were on the beach at around 7am and off the beach by 9am then on again at about 4.30pm. Anyway, the point is that this left us with long stretches of time to fill with nothing to do but talk to each other or read. Naturally, we read.
In those long stretches of hot days we sat inside and we read and we read anything. We read our Christmas books and then each others Christmas books and then our school books for the following year and then we read those again and then while my sister started on my school books for the following year, I read what mum was reading and the Berocca bottle and the pasta pack. And then, after this intense period of reading, we went to Portsea for 2 weeks where we never picked up a book (but had a fabulous time).
I am going to try and put a photo of me signing a book at the launch up. In the foreground you will see the very beautiful cover image Elise Hurst (the illustrator) presented to me on the evening. I can’t wait to have it hanging above my desk.
I had a number of other photos for you but they all seem to be about the size of those Nike posters that cover three storeys of an inner-city building.
K




