It’s the dreaming that matters.

More great recommended reads…

I took a reading holiday this week. Nothing heavy. Nothing challenging. No note-taking or quotation-jotting, just reading for the pleasure of it, for a little light escapism and, I hoped, a few laughs. It ended in tears.

My Grandmother sends her regards and apologises. Fredrik Backman.

My Grandmother Sends her Regards and apologises. Fredrik Backman

See, I didn’t even take a proper photograph but the rhubarb tart is apt as my Granny grew rhubarb against the rear wall of her coal shed. Every time she made a tart she would give us a stalk of raw rhubarb to dip in the sugar bowl while she recounted the provenance of her rhubarb stools (no laughing, that is the correct term!), and the secret of their remarkable flavour (horse manure) with all the pride of a Burgundian vintner.

‘There’s something special about a Grandmother’s house. You never forget how it smells.’

I did say no quotation-jotting, didn’t I? I couldn’t resist…

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