Opening my eyes again.

I rediscovered my love of reading earlier this year after a rather extended break during which I only read snippets from the odd magazine and the like, and links etc. on social media.

I don’t know why I had a break; there was no rhyme or reason to it, I just did and my journey to and from work was accompanied only by my music.

Then, one day I decided to pick up a book and start reading again.  I was tired of listening to music.  I was tired of missing important travel announcements and I didn’t want to ruin my hearing even more than I have done already.

And it was a joy.  A joy to physically hold a book in my hand, to make ready to turn the page when I had reached the end of the current one, to wonder how the story would end and to put my old bookmark to work again, looking after where I left off.

However, if you are like me, then I have a question.

How to you like to read a book?

Do you prefer to find (or even have) a peaceful, tranquil spot in your home where you can make yourself comfortable and lose yourself in your book?  Perhaps you just doss down on the sofa and take it from there, or do most of your reading on your daily commute as I do.  Perhaps you wait until you are in bed and read a few chapters before turning the light off.

Anyway, it’s subjective and we all have our own way of enjoying the pastime but I just cannot see how you can enjoy reading when you are walking.

How can you concentrate on the story, not to mention that you are in the bloody way of other people because you are not concentrating on where you are going and then tut at the people YOU have bumped into!  Oh, and I have lost count of how many times I have seen people almost get run over because they walked out into traffic or made friends with a lamppost.  Can you honestly say you are enjoying that book?  I am just wondering.

And, in case you are wondering, I chose to end my reading drought with The Spooks books by Joseph Delaney*.  Excellent choice for the young, and old Bints like myself.  I recommend them if you want to escape into a dark world of witches, boggarts and the use of salt and iron, and I care not a jot that some would consider me far to old to be reading that kind of thing.  I love horror stories so will go where I please!

 

*This is not an official endorsement, just a personal view and no financial reward has been received.

 

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From the library of…

I come from a family of bookworms.

I remember as a child being excited when getting a book token for my birthday and/or Christmas because it meant that I could then spend a long time in Goulden & Curry’s bookshop on the High Street, Tunbridge Wells, browsing through the childrens’ section and choosing several books that would then be wrapped in brown paper (yes! Actual brown paper tied with string!) for me to take home.

Then, sitting in the back seat of our car, I would lovingly untie the parcel and look at my new books and relished the adventures I would discover when I read them.

So, what books did I love to read as a child? Well, I have been thinking about that, and as I mentally trot through my book collection, I came up with this list, which is by no means exhaustive but these are the books I loved to read again and again as I was growing up.

1. The Hobbit – J.R.R. Tolkien. My uncle bought this for me and I loved it. I can’t remember what age I was when he gave it to me but I was still at Primary School and I was as fascinated with the beautiful cover illustration as I was the content which I devoured many, many times. I still read it.

2. The Family from One End Street – Eve Garnett. This and its two sequels (Further Adventures of the Family from One End Street and Holiday at the Dew Drop Inn), tells the story of the Ruggle family; a working class family living in a place called Otwell, thought to resemble Lewes, East Sussex where the author lived. Everyday adventures of working class folk told with sensitivity and love that I adored.

3. The Adventures of Sam Pig – Alison Uttley. Alison Uttley wrote many books about a little pig called Sam who lived with his brothers and Brock the Badger and I had them all! The story where Sam Pig fell in love, but had his love crushed had me in tears on more than one occasion!

4. Tom’s Midnight Garden – Philippa Pearce. Ahh, a magical story about a boy who because his brother is ill with the measles, has to go and stay with his Uncle and Aunt in a flat with no garden. One night he hears the grandfather clock strike 13 and upon investigation, he finds the back yard is now a magnificent sunny 19th century garden, and wonderful adventures ensue.

5. Winnie-the-Pooh – A.A. Milne. What more needs to be said? A true children’s classic and even Mr Milne’s poetry books are wonderful. If you ever get the chance, please do go and play Pooh Sticks on the wooden Pooh Bridge in Ashdown Forest, East Sussex, where the stories are based. I managed to beat my sister several times!

6. Mrs Frisby and the Rats of NIMH – Robert C O’Brien. Love, love, love this book! It tells the story of widowed field mouse, Mrs Frisby, who asks for help from a group of former lab rats to rescue her home from being destroyed by the farmer’s plow. Along the way, we also learn the history of the rats’ escape from the laboratory.

7. The Famous Five/Malory Towers/St Clares books – Enid Blyton. These were my favourite of the Enid Blyton empire and I would read these over and over again. There has been much argument about Ms Blyton’s worth as a writer and about the quality of her books, but to me growing up, I knew nothing but the fact that I loved them and wanted to have midnight feasts in the boarding schools and enjoy lashings of ginger beer with the Famous Five (especially Timmy the dog!).

8. Paddington Bear – Michael Bond. I wanted to come from Peru and walk about with a marmalade sandwich in my hat! And of course, dear Paddington is the originator of the Paddington Bear Hard Stare that I love to do so well! I still have my original 1970’s plush figure and what a treat that was when I opened my present one Christmas (or birthday, I forget which) and saw that – of course, it was what I asked for.

9. Teddy Robinson – Joan G Robinson. Stricly speaking, these should not be on this list because I never had these books as a child, but they were regularly read to us at Primary School so I still include them here. Suffice to say that I loved to hear about the adventures of a cuddly, loveable but accident prone bear. When I found these in a second-hand book shop a few years ago, I bought them and enjoyed discovering Mr Robinson all over again.

10. Blackberry Farm books – Jane Pilgrim. For a short while, my Dad worked away from home during the week and we only saw him at weekends. To be honest, I don’t remember much about him not being there during the week when I came home from school, but I do remember him returning to us on a Friday evening and giving me another edition in this series of stories about a farm with animals that talked and interacted with the humans who looked after them. There are 25 books in the series and I still have them all, although they are rather tatty and some are falling apart now. Don’t care, won’t part with them!

I read many more books than listed here, but I think these were my favourites and ones that I kept going back to.

So, tell me, what did you love to read as a child?

What’s with the name?

OK, as this is my first post, I thought I would start with how and why I chose the title of this blog, just in case you were wondering like…

Let us start with the how.

I have wanted to do this for a long time now, partly because English language was about the only thing I could cope with at school (not that I am THAT brilliant at it), and because I always get ideas popping into my head for bits and pieces and I never remember to jot them down.  Unless I am writing poetry that is; then I am very disciplined and immediately write down the words that appear in my mind.

Anyway, I digress…

I come from a family of book-worms, and from as young as I can remember all four of us were reading something.  Every time we moved house, we would have to
have a set of shelves built to cover ONE WALL of our new lounge because we had so
many books!  Fiction, non-fiction, reference etc, etc.  You name it, we had it.

Also, as a kid, whenever I got a new book, I always wrote inside the front cover (in my appalling handwriting) `This Book Belongs To…’  and I wanted the title to reflect that.

As to the why?

I like alliteration and there is some of that of course and I put Bint at the end in reference to a very dear ex work colleague of mine who retired in 2010.  He has a love for the English language and he always called me Bint.  I shan’t tell you what I called and still call him as that would not be fair.  (Contact me for the answer… no don’t… no do, shut up!).

Him calling me that was never meant as an insult, though believe me we would hurl insults at each other at every opportunity, much to the astonishment of other colleagues who did not know our relationship.  Our favourite game was to substitute a word of a James Bond film with fish or cheese or anything; i.e. “From Russia with fish” or “On Her Majesty’s Secret Cheese” etc, you get the picture.  Sounds daft but our game would render us useless for a good while, as we doubled up with laughter to the point of crying and real pain!

Anyway, I thought that it sounded OK, and it is certainly better than some of the other ideas I came up with!