Kids in the cub scouts
Again, can't remember the book series, but there were a series of books about a bunch of cubs scouts going on adventures.

Cub scouts went by the stereotypical names of

Nobby Clark (ringleader I think!)
Chalky White
Smudger Smith

I only read them because my Last names 'Smith' which co-incidentally I was nicknamed 'Smudge' at school.
They were very funny to read (from a 9 year old perpective anyway!)

Anyone know what they were called?
(a5972s, Fri 16 May 2008, 13:00, Reply)

Depenistration and pervy nuns
Two books.
"The Fog" by James Herbert, which I bought in my early teens. Ever since then, I've had an aversion to having my penis cut off by school caretakers with garden shears.
On an earlier occasion I had innocently bought "Merlin" by Robert Nye, which had somehow found itself in the teen fiction area of my local WH Smith. I was really into King Arthur and all that stuff and was shocked to find the book stuffed with knightly sex, shit-eating foxes, and whipping nuns. That's when I started keeping boxes of tissues beside my bed and started locking the bedroom door.
( FishNChimps Achtung! Spitfeuer!, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:53, 1 reply)

If anyone could help;
There is three books I read as I child which I can't remember the names of so wonder if anyone on here can help me?!

1. This one was about a boy who had a kite that took him away to an island where he had to battle against something? or rescue someone? Not much to go off I know!

2. This one is quite old I think, it's about the animal kingdom and a lion (i think) that lives on a mountain that is the ruler of all the other animals. The lion is dying so each chapter tells the story of how the lion met other animals on his travels, and they all come to visit him before he dies. One chapter that sticks out is the rabbits that ran on the beach, and one kept going into the sea and drowned!

On second thought, it might not be a lion who was the leader...

3. This one was a young childrens book, about a baby prince who was kidnapped by a lion in the night and his family chased the lion out of the castle.

Many thanks in advance for any help!
(gin'll fix it, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:49, 3 replies)

East of Eden
Anything by Steinbeck rocks, but East of Eden is just wonderful. This probably sounds a bit odd, but I genuinely felt a little sad when I got to the end of it, simply because I wouldn't have the pleasure of reading it for the first time again. There's not very many authors who can do that.

Haven't seen the film and not sure I'd want to - in most instances they're not a patch on the book. Charlotte Grey really pissed me off...
(splendid, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:46, 2 replies)

101 Days in Sodom by Marquis DeSade
If I had not read that I would never have imagined the fun you can have with poo and a hand drill.
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:46, 11 replies)

The Dice Man by Luke Rinehart
I may not be spending my weekends gambling on going to orgies, but it certainly stopped me giving so much of a toss. Now I approach life with reckless abandon, and things are much more fun :)
( SugarSpunSister Yeah, whatever, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:44, 1 reply)

I, Claudius by Robert Graves
This is the one book (well possibly 1984 as well) that i can read over and over again and never lose interest.

I read a seemingly similar book by some Norwegian sounding bloke a couple of years ago about the supposed early life of Julius Caesar but it wasn't, it was absolute pish.
(Harold's hip man!!, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:43, Reply)

Where to start!
- One of the first books I read as an adult was The Beach, made me want to travel more than anything else. Evoked such amazing images, when I saw the film I was horribly dissappointed - ruined the whole thing for me. If you haven't experienced either, read the book first!

- Along similar lines, my Mum gave me Starter for Ten after I had finished my first year of uni and I was amazed how much I could relate to it. The heartbreak of unrequited love and the aftermath of realising how vulnerable we can all be sometimes. Again, the film version was terrible.

- Flowers For Algernon. Fantastic book, really changed my outlook on how to speak/treat others. I consciously found myself being more patient and understanding. Highly recommended.

- The Kite Runner. Another great read, very sad.

Also, can't remember the name but there was a book about a boy who wrote to Morrissey after his parents had broken up?

I realise this isn't too funny so i'll throw this in;

About the age of about 9/10, I read Are You There God, It's Me Margaret? and was puzzled by this "G-Spot" that they kept referring too?! So naturally, I asked my Mum. Who, after going slightly red, told me i'd find out when I was older. I'm 22 now and still none the wiser! Cheers Mum.
(gin'll fix it, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:43, 1 reply)

Is The Sun classed as a book?
If so i looked at the pictures once.

It changed my life because i'd never seen those pictures before.
(A Hospital Carpark, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:41, Reply)

I spent the last four years with fairly severe M.E.
With about enough energy to make the odd cup of tea. Apart from my fantastic wife & kids, the thing that got me through was a very large pile of very silly books, thanks to the wonders of Cornwall Libraries. I couldn't read anything remotely serious, as my brain would shrivel up after about 5 minutes.

I started on Terry Pratchett. Once I'd read everything by him, I read everything by Tom Holt, Jasper FForde and several others, plus a heap of childrens books.

I'm almost better now. Coincidence? Non!


PS Tom Holt is actually the funniest author evar. 100% FACT
(teasus likes tea, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:38, Reply)

Not me but I do know Muppets who read the "Da Vinci Code"
and believed every word of it. Personally I just want to reach out and twat them one the stupid cnuts. It's fiction for fucks sake!!!!

Its got about as much truth in it as noddy & Big ears

/rant
( Big Ian has stopped changing his sig, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:35, 8 replies)

A Year At The Movies : One Man's Filmgoing Odyssey
Its by Kevin Smith (writer and performer for MST3K) who watches a movie once a day, for a year, in a cinema. He hits the multi-plexes, goes to Cannes, watches a movie projected onto a wall of ice in Quebec.
I am a complete film nerd, but this book made me realise that was ok, and that films can be appreciated as an art form by the common man.

I am now attempting to write a book about the best films you probably haven't seen. I found a girl who shares my love of cinema, and a little clique of friends who are willing to travel the country with me to hunt down the perfect screen.
(bobman500 enjoys a grope as much as the next fella, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:34, 1 reply)

The BFG by Roald Dahl gave me nightmares for life.
Yes I still have nightmares about that book!
Why did the BFG have to be an ugly old man? It could have been a lovely foxy lady with big breasts :D
(Miggyman, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:34, Reply)

The Jack Reacher Series and the Beano
All the Jack Reacher Books by Lee Child. They are detective action thrillers, nothing special or metaphorical about them, not earth shattering or society influencing, just balls to the wall action and intrigue. The main character is an ex military-police man mountain, tough as nails, smart as a smart thing. Takes no shit.

It's hard to think of the series as life changing, but the more I think about it the more I realise how much it has influenced me over the last few years.

The strong visual action imagery made me realise my appreciation for a good action scene. I could visualise these scenes so well that I wanted to see them on the big screen. I would often say to myself "You could film it like this, tracking shot here..." or "That actor would make a really good Reacher...".

I started to dream of being able to make a film myself but always presumed it just too big a dream to achieve. I am past university age and have a house and bills to pay. Not an environment to just go and learn film.

The outlook of the main character, morally correct, but usually responding violently to anyone being immoral, helped develop my otherwise cripplingly shy attitude into a take no crap attitude. Although I don't (usually) beat up or kill some I don't agree with I now realise I don't have to accept the point of view of the person shouting loudest. I am allowed to express my differing view too instead of sitting in silence.

Coupling this newly found attitude and the love of envisioning film I decided my supposedly un-achievable dream of making films shouldn't be so un-achievable. So I found a small local course, and with people from that have formed a small film company. We are just making short films and experimenting at the moment, but it is a good start and I am making new friends and having fun.

It may have happened anyway as I gained life experience, but I can't help thinking a simple crime thriller with a strong and likeable main character influenced me to take life by the horns.

I recommend the books as just a thumping good read too.

The Beano
At about the age of 8 I was struggling with reading and writing. Not sure why, I think I was just not finding it interesting. I remember my parents were getting quite desperate with me.

I recall being told to read a book for five-year-olds out loud to them before I could go out to play. I struggled horrendously.

Then I got bought the Beano. I think it may have started because my dear Nan bought me an Annual for Christmas one year.

I didn't realise it at the time of course, but looking back now, it helped my reading and writing skills a lot. I went from under-achiever to over-achiever very quickly.

I think it was because I didn't realise I was reading when I was reading the Beano. I figured it was just a comic. The constant onomatopoeia of "Tee-Hee"s and "Ker-Bang"s helped me appreciate the sounds that words make and structure of them and how syllables work and how different sounds can be written.

I feel I owe the Beano a lot and have a special place for it in my heart. I think it may have kept me afloat at school. I sometimes wonder if I may have gone down a more destructive and darker route due to failing grades and academic frustration.

A lot of the above sounds like I'm taking the Mick, but I'm not. I'm deadly serious...

Length? It's the Beano's Fault
(stubbledchin, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:30, 3 replies)

Jane Eyre...
Before I was about 10 years old, pretty much all I used to read was Enid Blyton-

Famous Five
Malory Towers
Faraway Tree
Five Find-Outers and Dog
Put 'Em Rights
Secret Seven
Barney Mystery Adventures
St Clares
Six Cousins
Amelia Jane
Mr Twiddle
Mr Pink Whistle
Mr Meddle

The list goes on and on, and when I'd read them, I would then re read them (perhaps occasionally breaking away to read the "My Naughty Little Sister" series..)

ANYWAY,
due to a fear of her 11 year old daughter's robotic re reading the same material and thus becoming narrow minded and possibly adopting a sexist and racist outlook...(NOOO Enid, I refuse to believe it!!)... my Mum firmly prized me away from The Blyton and introduced me to Jane Eyre..

This book took me out of the formulaic and fantasied world of Blyton's and totally opened my outlook and broadened my horizons in the world of literature- it encouraged the rewards of a 'challenging' rather than 'gloss-over' read- leading me to take on and appreciate a vast and varied array of novels (and get a grade 'A' A Level in English Literature... ;) during which we were assigned Jane Eyre to study)

So thanks Mum!

Although I am still tempted to go back to Blyton just for comfort and 'gloss-over' reading...






Length? Her serial novels were a favourite, but was also quite partial to the short stories..
( awayfromthenumbers, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:28, 3 replies)

Just the one
I have just this week finished my English degree, and the one book that I will take away, dogeared and battered and reread to buggery is "Behind the Scenes at the Museum" by Kate Atkinson. It was one of the very first books I read for my degree, and it just brought out so many emotions-I laughed, I cried, and I got so, so involved with it. Every time I had to read an unenjoyable book for my course (which was quite often) I would go back to this book afterwards and just remember that reading on my degree wasn't always dull or annoying or just too bloody long and hard.

The best bit, however, was lending it to my Grandma to read and her confessing that, while reading it, she'd had to keep a notebook with the characters and their relationships scribbled down so she knew who was who. Bless.
(The Who Bird is eating Jaffa Cakes on, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:28, Reply)

which pretentious twunt
thought up this weeks subject then?

_{ah...bollocks}
(The Goat www.cuttingthroughthematrix.com, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:24, 7 replies)

One, Two, Three... Away!
This isn't a book that changed my life per se, but it is a series of books that I remember, even now, as being instrumental to developing my love of reading.

Unfortunately, no-one seems to remember this chap:

(Image removed for CHCB's sanity... It was Roger Red Hat. He was playing in front of his house, with a ball. His dog was there.)

One million points go to the person who can correctly identify this hero of late 70's/early 80's children's literature!
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:18, 5 replies)

Cosmopolitan, Glamour and More magazines.
Once you've filtered through the tripe, the celebrity bitching, the 'this person is too fat', 'this person is too skinny', and 'this person looks like crocodile dundee's handbag' as well as the real life articles, you get to the sexy bit.
The sex tips are good, you can learn a thing or two about clitoral hoods, certain positions hitting the right spot and so on, but these seem to be on a loop. There doesn't seem to be alot of variety to the g-spot/clitoral stimulation stuff.

But I particular I love the sexy stories, much better than actual porn, they're nicer, usually with a tiny bit of story and romance thrown in, and they're woman friendly too.

But damn me, it's hard to wank while reading.
Watch out for paper cuts, people.
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:14, 9 replies)

O whistle an' I'll poo myself me lad....
Common to many life forming experiences this happens back when I was but a little Chutney of 7 or 8.

Now I have always been a visual minded sort. People say never judge a book by its cover Pah! Cobblers, I have always picked books to read solely based on the cover artwork. Often with disastrous results but at other times to my utter delight. Well this one-day as but a young Chutney, I saw a book in the young adults section of my village library. It must have been misfiled. I remember the cover vividly, A lurid acid green purple sky, split by lightening, was the backdrop to a terryfying face, a mask of terror, skin rotting blood running from the eyes. This was an 80s video nasty in badly airbrushed book cover form. Above this visual feast, was the title picked out in silver foil gothic lettering; The Ghost stories of M.R. James.

I simply had to read this.

I approached the nice lady with at the desk with my Northumberland Libraries junior ticket clutched in my hand. I handed her my selection, but imagine my horror when she stopped halfway through sorting and frowning said “Oh pretty hen I don’t think this is a book for you” Holding up the at the same time this aforementioned gore feast.

Shattered I returned to pick a replacement, why was life so unfair? Reflecting upon the duplicity of adults to package text in such a wonderful cover and deny it to such an appreciative reader. I realised that I had wandered into the little visited “Speaking books and tapes section” at the back of the building. Chance upon chance Looking up I spied an anonymous double cassette box, the cover showing some dull sepia photograph of a wood panelled drawing room and a stone fireplace. Above this diorama of dullness in very conservative Times New Roman type the title "The Ghost Stories of M R James” The very same book! My mind raced. Could it be, would she notice, Dare I even try?

Dare I did, and returning to the desk she smiled and took the ticket out and handed that brittle plastic cassette box right back to me without a second look at the title, I was victorious!

Running home I dug out my faithful battered sony mono tape player & headed out to the back garden. This being a summer of days past I had erected my older brothers single man army surplus khaki tent on the lawn. Clambering inside the baking interior, I sat there in among the smell of cut grass and mouldy canvas and pressed play………

90 minutes later, you would have pulled back the flap of that little tent to find the very air inside brown with fear. I hadn’t moved, I suspect I had barley even drawn breath. Every fibre of my body was locked in terror. Some English worthy of the stage voiced this series of stories. A deep sonorous, Vincent Price of a voice, and as it had narrated that final tale on the tape “O whistle an' I'll come to ye, my lad
” I swear it is the closest, that I have ever come in my life to having a heat attack. The final minutes turned my bowels to water, When that tape ran out and the play button clicked I swear you would have believed me possessed as I dived from the sweltering interior of that tent and dashed pell mell out of the garden if only to convince myself that I wasn’t going to die at the hands of some fell beast.

Twenty years later I am old enough to own a copy of this marvellous book, and I still dip into it on winter’s nights. Every time I do I am reminded that M R James was the greatest English writer of ghost stories, and the extreme of fear you can suffer in a garden pitched tent on a beautiful summers afternoon.
( The magic of chutney Shakes it like an Instagram filter!, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:13, 2 replies)

Oscar Wilde's - The Critic as Artist.
The scene -
a hot summer day in an English park.

The cast -
Him - 16, 6'2", insecure, skinny, bad haircut.
Her - 21, tall, beautiful hippy/goth art student.

Scene 1.

Her ''The Critic as Artist'? I read that last year and found it fascinating - what do you think?'

Him 'I love it - it certainly challenges some of my preconceptions about art and the role of the critic'

Her 'I couldn't agree more, have you ever read...'

The two talk for hours in this manner, laughing, smiling until eventually sometime near sundown - they kiss.

Scene Two

- the following morning, her bedroom. Windows are open, a light breeze and sunshine pour into the room gently ruffling the net curtains over her head as she fellates the young man (for his very first time.) At the point of his orgasm he smiles and looks to his side, where the face of Oscar Wilde stares back from the cover, passive and non judgemental.

Scene Three - The present day. The young man is grown up and sits in front of a computer thinking of the girl who he has not seen in 21 years. With some trepidation he types the words 'Angela - if you are reading this I have to own up to something. I never read Oscar Wilde until after that day. I was only carrying it around because I was into The Smiths'.

Scene Four - He looks out of the window and wonders if in some way he has unburdened the load of guilt that he carried through the years and whispers a gentle prayer that life has been good to her; then goes to youporn to search for a girl who looks remotely like the beautiful Angela of 1985 and unburdens another load.

Fin
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:13, 1 reply)

Henry Miller's
Tropic of Cancer.

Probably the best book written in the English language, and totally filthy to boot. h00raj henry.
(jennymnemonic, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:12, Reply)

Other peoples lives
My ladyfriend is an Ossie, thats Ossie, not Ozzy - she's from the former East Germany and so in a roundabout way her life was changed by 'Das Kapital'.

My little bro's missus just had a little girl and called her 'Sheherezade' so her life's already been changed by 'The Arabian Nights'.
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:08, Reply)

The big book of mischief
The below happened when three or four months before my 16th Birthday.

It must of taken at least an hour to download the txt file from my incredibly crap dialup internet connection. It took about the same time for my dot-matrix printer to print out the 50 odd pages, but, I had it. I had the big book of mischief. This summer was going to be fantastic.

After a very careful study of each section I decided that the most valuable use of time would be to make some explosives. I found a section called “grey powder” which seemed easiest to make. I quick wander into my dads green house and I had found the oxidant fertilizers which made the core ingredients.

After following the recipe exactly I was left with a small dish of runny paste – the book said to leave the paste to dry to a powder somewhere warm over night – I choose on top of my radiator. By the morning the paste was powder. I was getting very excited.
Now making the fuse was even easier – just run some cotton in the paste and leave it out to dry too. I just needed to make the container for the “Bomb”.
I found a plastic case that you used to get camera film in. I poured in the powder, which half filled it, slit a small hole to run the fuse in and taped the lid down hard.

My very first Bomb was ready.

On walking to high school we past a small common and I decided this would be my ground Zero. With a crowd of sceptical friends surrounding me I placed the device in a squirrel hole and lit the fuse. I had barely run four foot when the fucker exploded. And my god it went off. It ripped the small squirrel hole to whole large enough to put a football in. I was covered in wood chips. The crowd cheered. I instantly became a hero – considered dangerous – I was a bomb maker.

Straight after school I ran home and had about 3 hours of bomb making before my parents got home. I had told the entire school that I was going to make enough to blow the tree up and was under a lot of self induced pressure.

“How much to make” I thought – well the last lot made a hole, but, this time I want to blow down a tree. I will multiply the amount of ingredients by 10. Just to be safe.
After empting the fertilizers into a large bowl and mixing well – plus making a far longer fuse – I poured the mixture onto some old newspaper.

Now it took all night to dry out the small batch. This mound was clearly going to take a long time. My parents would also be a little concerned to see a mound of white powder drying out in my room. I needed to speed up the process and decided that setting the oven to 100 degrees will not do it damage, but, will speed up the process something.

I watched it for a few minutes and went upstairs to watch TV






My left ear had the largest ringing - my right ear had stopped working. I could not see as the picture above my bed had smacked me in my eyes. I stumbled downstairs to see what damage had been done. The oven door had been blown clean off the oven, through the tile and plasterboard wall on the opposite side of the kitchen and straight through my dad’s fish tank.
There was not a single uncracked tile. The ceiling was black and burnt. The kitchen was completely fucked up

I was completely fucked.
I was COMPLETELY fucked.

My mum went apeshit when I spilled coke on the carpet. I have just blown a hole in their fucking house. Panic took over, I went to the cleaning cupboard and found a Mr Muscle can and a duster. Christ knows what I was thinking, but, I furiously scrubbed the walls and ceiling of the black smoke stains.
The doorbell went
It was the fire brigade
I was completely fucked

The fireman practically barged in and inspected the mess. As there was no fire they decided to use the half hour they stayed to rip the piss out of me. By the time they left I was just a broken shell of a 15 year old boy. The last comment they made before they left was “the police will be here in a minute”

Unfortunately for me though – my mum got home before the police. I could have done with the police protection really.

I am sure that most parents will, at some point, come home to a wrecked home. Maybe the child left the tap running and flooded the floor. Maybe they had a party and some wine got spilt. Perhaps they got mud on the carpet.

I had blown the oven up. Sent the grill about a foot through the cupboard above. Blackened the walls. Broke the Tiles. Burnt the work top. I had put a two foot hole in the kitchen wall. I had smashed a fish tank, killed two fish and ruined a carpet. I had wrecked the downstairs elecrics. I had really fucked up.

As you can imagine – my parents went stir-mental-apeshit-scary-daggers-lock-that-waste-of-our-DNA crazy on me.

The very next day I was marched to the local co-op and forced at mum-point to apply for the job opening. I was told that I had to account for every ten minutes during the summer holidays. If i was not working at the Co-op i was working for my dad.

It took me 6 months and about 500 hours to earn the money to pay for the repairs. I worked my arse off to make sure that I paid back every single penny.

The big book of mischief taught me to think things through first. It taught me the value of a pound. It taught me about hard work and it what it can achieve. It taught me that work is rewarding. It taught me that plasterboard walls are not too strong. It taught me that my dads right hand was fucking lethal.

It also gave my parents a story to tell - which they do - at every single occasion.

Beat that for life lessons learnt
( KISS.ME.WHERE.I.POO Signed the sex offenders register on, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:08, 18 replies)

Bloop bloop
I suppose many books have changed/influenced my life.

When I was younger (12-14) I was really influenced to gravitate towards studying history by reading such books as: The 12 Caesars (Suetonius), The Civil Wars (Caesar), The Annals (Tacitus), The Persian Expedition (Xenophon). Quite probably highly pretentious I know, but I was a rather geeky kid who lived in a house full of books like that.

As I got older such books as Catch 22 (Joseph Heller), A Clockwork Orange (Anthony Burgess) and the Flashman novels were a distraction at difficult times in my life.

Recently, have read Night by Elie Wiesel, Prisoner Without A Name, Cell Without A Number by Jacobo Timermann, Shake Hand With The Devil by Romeo Dallaire, Life and Fate by Vasily Grossman, all of which have, to varying extents, helped with the various problems I've been facing.

Next up to read is Facundo by Domingo Faustino Sarmiento, although I might (in fact probably will) get lazy and read it in English rather than the original Spanish.

I don't understand people who don't read. I read all the time when I was younger, and still read a lot now. The books above (only a selection from what I read) were there when there was nasty shit going on at home. I don't know what I'd do if there were no books in the world (or Tea for that matter).
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:08, Reply)

Storyteller
Any kiddies of the mid-80s remember this collection? I think there was around 26 issues that came with a cassette. They had lots of classic stories like the Wizard of Oz, some of the Grimm tales, Wind in the Willows etc.
There were two tales that I suppose changed my life, n that they scared the shit out of me and began my life-long succession of strange and lucid dreams.
The first was actually a story from Maori mythology. About a fisherman meeting a large serpent and mer-man. I think it was the pictures in the magazine more than the story itself that affected.
The second was a poem called The Troll. The poem was fairly disturbing for a five or six year-old, but it was a combination of the frankly deranged, atonal, dirge they played as background music on the tape and the picture in the magazine. It still makes me shudder.
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:06, 1 reply)

1984 and Brave New World
Combine them and you have the state Britain is in today.

Also Justin Sullivan of New Model Army's lyrics are very culturally relevent - particularly A Liberal Education, Smalltown England, Grandmother's Footsteps, I Love The World, Archway Towers, Master Race, and Here Comes The War.

Erm ... hummus? What?
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 16 May 2008, 12:03, 2 replies)

Grr
While trying to think of which books to add to this QOTW one of the dumb ass receptionist dolls came into the office, so I thought I'd see what she liked to read (other than the obligatory celebrity lives magazines that haunt our canteen). She came out with the following reply:

"Oh I don't like reading books, I tried it once and it dosen't interest me"

What the hell? There isn't a single book out there that would have anything of interest to you? Is your attention span that short that you cant read anything that dosent have a picture to help those two brain cells inside your head draw up a decent mental picture?

Grahhh

Anyone who uses this answer needs to be stoned to death with water damaged old penguin books.
(mon bison powered by magnets, Fri 16 May 2008, 11:54, 7 replies)

every single book that i have read...
has changed my life in some way. i find it hard to understand people who don't read! i'll read pretty much anything although you will not find much sci-fi in my collection

sadly, the internets has become a bit of an addiction in recent years and my reading habits have suffered. despite this addiction, i still buy books - i bought 9 books in the last week - they have been added to the ever increasing pile of 'books to be read'.

i have started reading again in the last few weeks and i'm determined to get through as least one book a week - that will make some space to add more books to be read.

in the last week, i've been reading 3 books - 'the long way down' by nick hornby is finished, very close to the end of 'the cupboard' by rose tremain and i've started 'the a to z of judith lucy' (the autobiog of an aussie comedienne). they should be wrapped up the end of the weekend and then i'll start some more.

favourites? um...

authors: kurt vonnegut, george orwell, dorothy parker, rose tremain, marion halligan (aussie author), graham swift, ian banks (no m), nick hornby, bill bryson, mr tolkein

specific books: the drifters/james michener, pillars of the earth/ken follett (i bought the sequel last week!)

guilty pleasure genre: true crime (with pictures)

well, it's not quite 9pm on friday night here in sydney, there is bugger all worth watching on the telly and i've spent enough time on the net for the evening - i think i'll go to bed and read some more :)

edit: how did i miss mr vonnegut in my list. his books definitely changed the way i think about the world. pure genius. he introduced me to the concept of taking a flying fuck at a rolling donut! it is a phrase i use as often as i can.

i'm still here at the computer and i have a rather impressive shopping list - the local 2nd hand bookstores will be loving this QOTW.
(chameleon61, Fri 16 May 2008, 11:47, 3 replies)