Reading with Tanglewest

Odd to think how old patterns repeat. I’m sitting in the front room with Tanglewest who couldn’t sleep; she’s reading a Gerald Durrell book. Bhavana and I have agreed to institute a reading hour before dinner and the bizarre thing is that I’m in a house crammed with children who all love reading. Raymond’s eating Tintin books like biscuits; Eleanor shouts for her Tiger Who Came to Tea. It may not be Rancho Escondido but it’s remarkably civilized nonetheless. The weather’s been blisteringly hot, though Donmouth being what it is the heat is invariably answered with a dose of haar. All in all rather pleasantly Californian illusion. Wonderfully, this is Scotland and we don’t have Ku Klux Klan rejects littering the streets, buffoon politicians whose only professional credential is their equity card, or endless landscapes of arid suburb linked by writhing, stinking gridlock. I do miss the burritos and the hummingbirds.