Never been a fan of new year resolutions. My philosophy is if you need to change something, change it. Don't wait for some arbitrary resolution start date.
Of course, I speak from a position of resolution failure, having gone down that particular road a handful of times before and never stayed the course. As a result, my only resolve thus far has been to never resolve again.
So, it was quite the surprise when I accidentally made a resolution on January 1st this year, and even more of a surprise that one week later, I'm still on track.
It all began when, over a very busy two-week period trapped at my desk, I somehow embarked on a full-blown addiction to chocolate, as evidenced by an appointment with the food of the gods at 9:15 every weekday morning. (9:15? Go figure.)
I'd be working away, totally focused on the task at hand, when suddenly, I was out in the kitchen, breaking off a row or three of some delicious hazelnut or plain dairy milk Australian-made Cadbury chocolate, many blocks of which I picked up on my last trip down under.
When I finally realised what was happening, I stopped to wonder if I might be in trouble - or, more importantly, if my stash of chocolate was destined for the endangered supply list.
Clearly something had to be done, and lo, a resolution was made.
Motivated by the fact that I was already taking a break from coffee (the coffee maker up and died on Boxing Day and is still unreplaced) and sugar and half 'n half (both of which I only have in coffee), I made the difficult yet obvious resolution to refrain from consuming chocolate - but only from Monday to Friday. Even resoluters need a reprieve.
By the way, that time frame was inspired by my friend Miriam who is already leading the way by making desserts a weekend-only option. Good one, Miriam!
Now, this has nothing to do with counting the calories denied - I'm way too lazy to bother with that! But given the circumstances and the original source of my addiction, I think that by restricting chocolate, as well as dessert, half 'n half, sugar and coffee to the weekend only (even when the coffee maker is replaced), I might be onto a good thing - for me, my wallet, and my chocolate stash.
I'm still not a fan of resolutions, but I have to say that I like this one, which, with a bit of resolve, has the potential to stay the course for the long term and steer me clear of 300 gm (at least) of chocolate, 2+ desserts, 10 or more cups of coffee, approximately 250 ml of half 'n half, and 20 or more teaspoons of white sugar every week. Imagine what that will equal in a year from now.
And despite my current success, I'm not likely to start down the "must make new year resolutions" road. However, if I think of any others that will save me money, not hurt at all, not require a lot of sacrifice, and perhaps inspire others to follow suit with their own consumer challenge, then it's quite possible I might at least consider the possibility - although I suspect I will need some chocolate to help in that consideration.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
"Tick tock!"
While watching Neverland on Space over Christmas last year, I was reminded of the famous line from Hook - the movie with Dustin Hoffman in the starring role. And for some reason, it inspired me to check all the clocks in our house and see what time they were tick tocking.
I started with the timer on the television, which said 7:16 pm. And compared to that, not one of the timing devices in our house, upstairs or down, has the same time as another.
In the kitchen/back room area, the stove clock, microwave clock and clock radio were out by +4, +3 and +9 minutes, respectively. In my office, the cardboard clock from Ikea was out by -2, the cell (mobile) phone by +2, and the computer by -4 minutes. (BTW, I thought computers got their time from the mysterious world of gremlin timekeepers that peddle their wares in little boxes somewhere in the universe. Or is that monkeys? Hmmm.) Upstairs, the clock radio was out by +25 minutes - how does that happen? Time creep, perhaps? Or our combined psychological powers driving the clock to tick tock faster so we can get up earlier in the morning?
Of course, the exactness of the time differences did depend somewhat on how quickly I got from one timing device to another, but you get the gist of the fact that time is out of whack in our place. And I got to wondering what it all meant?
Actually, it doesn't mean anything at all. Except for the fact that we have somehow, and apparently unbeknown to us, managed to survive very well thank you with a variety of time settings that are working together to successfully direct us to our respective commitments with plenty of time to spare. As far back as we can remember, we have not been late for anything - not for work, or movies, or breakfast, or meetings, or anything else we like to do.
So, the point of this blog? None whatsoever. Just an interesting observation about how time moves when you aren't actually watching it.
Now, back to work. Tick tock!
I started with the timer on the television, which said 7:16 pm. And compared to that, not one of the timing devices in our house, upstairs or down, has the same time as another.
In the kitchen/back room area, the stove clock, microwave clock and clock radio were out by +4, +3 and +9 minutes, respectively. In my office, the cardboard clock from Ikea was out by -2, the cell (mobile) phone by +2, and the computer by -4 minutes. (BTW, I thought computers got their time from the mysterious world of gremlin timekeepers that peddle their wares in little boxes somewhere in the universe. Or is that monkeys? Hmmm.) Upstairs, the clock radio was out by +25 minutes - how does that happen? Time creep, perhaps? Or our combined psychological powers driving the clock to tick tock faster so we can get up earlier in the morning?
Of course, the exactness of the time differences did depend somewhat on how quickly I got from one timing device to another, but you get the gist of the fact that time is out of whack in our place. And I got to wondering what it all meant?
Actually, it doesn't mean anything at all. Except for the fact that we have somehow, and apparently unbeknown to us, managed to survive very well thank you with a variety of time settings that are working together to successfully direct us to our respective commitments with plenty of time to spare. As far back as we can remember, we have not been late for anything - not for work, or movies, or breakfast, or meetings, or anything else we like to do.
So, the point of this blog? None whatsoever. Just an interesting observation about how time moves when you aren't actually watching it.
Now, back to work. Tick tock!
Sunday, December 25, 2011
A Winnipeg Christmas story
Early one morning right before Christmas, I awoke to the sound of angels singing. I stayed quiet for a few minutes, searching the darkness for possibilities and letting my eyes adjust to the immediate surrounds.
“Nothing here to explain the sound,” I thought to myself, and began to settle back toward sleep. Then I heard it again. The sound of angels singing. Without further ado, and as quiet as a mouse, I climbed out of bed and went to the window.
Down below in the street, all was calm, all was bright, all was snowy, all was white. The only things on the sidewalk were tiny critter prints, and there was a gentle fog that barely hid the streetlights and neighbourhood decorations. Nothing out of the ordinary for this time of year.
I was about to give up and go back to bed when a car came into view. Now, I knew Santa usually arrived by sleigh, and even if he had changed his mode of transportation, he was a tad early, so this was clearly someone else. Confident that I would not be seen from my perch, I peered through the frosted pane and watched and listened for what I expected would come.
The car stopped right in front of our house, and a moment later, a man climbed out the driver’s side. Although inside the car was probably warm and outside probably not, he left his door slightly ajar, allowing the most beautiful sound to fill the air. “Oh, Holy Night.”
With our morning paper in hand, he walked all the way to our door and back again, accompanied by the sound of angels singing. When he climbed into his car and closed the door, I could still hear, not the angels, but him finishing off the chorus in the safety and solitude of his own company.
The silence that followed gave me pause for consideration.
I watched a lone squirrel scamper across the neighbour’s snowy drive, and then looked around our room, taking note of everything cosy and warm.
I couldn’t help but think how lucky we are to have a roof over our heads, protecting us from the cold, in a country where someone brings you a paper every morning. I felt truly blessed.
Like a cheeky Cheshire cat, I felt a yawn, a stretch, and then a grin coming on. I looked once more outside our window. Our wintry neck of the woods was still mostly fast asleep, but the sun would soon be up, the snow would stop, the moon would disappear along with the fog, and morning would stir us into our day.
I climbed into bed, and as I laid my head on the pillow, I heard a familiar sound — “Oh, Holy Night” — but it was neither the angels nor the newspaper carrier I heard singing. It was me. And with that realisation, I lulled myself off to sleep as winter waited patiently outside.
“Nothing here to explain the sound,” I thought to myself, and began to settle back toward sleep. Then I heard it again. The sound of angels singing. Without further ado, and as quiet as a mouse, I climbed out of bed and went to the window.
Down below in the street, all was calm, all was bright, all was snowy, all was white. The only things on the sidewalk were tiny critter prints, and there was a gentle fog that barely hid the streetlights and neighbourhood decorations. Nothing out of the ordinary for this time of year.
I was about to give up and go back to bed when a car came into view. Now, I knew Santa usually arrived by sleigh, and even if he had changed his mode of transportation, he was a tad early, so this was clearly someone else. Confident that I would not be seen from my perch, I peered through the frosted pane and watched and listened for what I expected would come.
The car stopped right in front of our house, and a moment later, a man climbed out the driver’s side. Although inside the car was probably warm and outside probably not, he left his door slightly ajar, allowing the most beautiful sound to fill the air. “Oh, Holy Night.”
With our morning paper in hand, he walked all the way to our door and back again, accompanied by the sound of angels singing. When he climbed into his car and closed the door, I could still hear, not the angels, but him finishing off the chorus in the safety and solitude of his own company.
The silence that followed gave me pause for consideration.
I watched a lone squirrel scamper across the neighbour’s snowy drive, and then looked around our room, taking note of everything cosy and warm.
I couldn’t help but think how lucky we are to have a roof over our heads, protecting us from the cold, in a country where someone brings you a paper every morning. I felt truly blessed.
Like a cheeky Cheshire cat, I felt a yawn, a stretch, and then a grin coming on. I looked once more outside our window. Our wintry neck of the woods was still mostly fast asleep, but the sun would soon be up, the snow would stop, the moon would disappear along with the fog, and morning would stir us into our day.
I climbed into bed, and as I laid my head on the pillow, I heard a familiar sound — “Oh, Holy Night” — but it was neither the angels nor the newspaper carrier I heard singing. It was me. And with that realisation, I lulled myself off to sleep as winter waited patiently outside.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Why I love winter
In case you were wondering ....
It 'fit's in with my lifestyle. Plenty of opportunity to shovel and sweep, scrape the windscreens, walk in a wonderland, and stave off the results of too much eating, slothing and lounging.
It makes me feel more charitable. I think of those who find it more difficult to navigate the ice and the snow and the very chilly conditions. I think I'm actually nicer to people this time of year, and that sets the tone for the rest of the year.
It cleans everything up. Junk and rubbish left lying around, doggie poo that owners won't clean up, derelict in all its multiple forms, and people who should have curfews are somehow invisible, or white, and we forget about them - for a while, at least.
The clothes are amazing! Stylish coats, colourful toques, toasty-warm gloves, gorgeous boots, long comfy scarves, thick jumpers (sweaters), long skirts and fabulous pants. I'd wear them all year round if I could.
There's always the chance of a snow day. I've only ever been snowed-in once - and I chose to go outside to video and photograph the blizzard. Duh! Pining for a day or three when I can stay inside and do nothing except read, watch and relax.
Family back home think I'm nuts - but now they have a new reason. Well, it is hard for them to consider minus 30, or indeed minus anything, as fun and enjoyable when they are used to plus double digits for most of their year.
It makes me less homesick. It's the only season I don't experience back home, unless I head to the Snowy Mountains in August, so I know I am away from family and friends, and I'm somehow okay with that. Not so much in spring, summer and fall.
If there's enough of it often enough, then re-meeting neighbours in the spring is a wonderful surprise! Enough said.
It means Christmas is either coming or going. Personally, I like both. The anticipation and the festivities are thrilling, the opportunity to share good wishes with family and friends here and there is heartwarming, and the lamb roast on Christmas day is worth surviving all that rush. On the other side, the slower pace is appreciated, the return to work is welcome 'cause I got some interesting stuff on the go and am keen to get back to it, and the knowledge that there are at least three months of winter to go is exciting and exhilarating.
I get to say thanks ... to each and every one of you for so many reasons. Being my friend, my family, my colleague, my neighbour, my mentor, my partner, my sounding board, my whatever I need when I need it. You for me, and me for you. It works both ways, you know.
And with that, I wish a very merry Christmas to you and yours, safe travels wherever you may go, and all the very best for the new year.
And here's to winter in all its glory for as long as it deems us worthy of its blessings!
It 'fit's in with my lifestyle. Plenty of opportunity to shovel and sweep, scrape the windscreens, walk in a wonderland, and stave off the results of too much eating, slothing and lounging.
It makes me feel more charitable. I think of those who find it more difficult to navigate the ice and the snow and the very chilly conditions. I think I'm actually nicer to people this time of year, and that sets the tone for the rest of the year.
It cleans everything up. Junk and rubbish left lying around, doggie poo that owners won't clean up, derelict in all its multiple forms, and people who should have curfews are somehow invisible, or white, and we forget about them - for a while, at least.
The clothes are amazing! Stylish coats, colourful toques, toasty-warm gloves, gorgeous boots, long comfy scarves, thick jumpers (sweaters), long skirts and fabulous pants. I'd wear them all year round if I could.
There's always the chance of a snow day. I've only ever been snowed-in once - and I chose to go outside to video and photograph the blizzard. Duh! Pining for a day or three when I can stay inside and do nothing except read, watch and relax.
Family back home think I'm nuts - but now they have a new reason. Well, it is hard for them to consider minus 30, or indeed minus anything, as fun and enjoyable when they are used to plus double digits for most of their year.
It makes me less homesick. It's the only season I don't experience back home, unless I head to the Snowy Mountains in August, so I know I am away from family and friends, and I'm somehow okay with that. Not so much in spring, summer and fall.
If there's enough of it often enough, then re-meeting neighbours in the spring is a wonderful surprise! Enough said.
It means Christmas is either coming or going. Personally, I like both. The anticipation and the festivities are thrilling, the opportunity to share good wishes with family and friends here and there is heartwarming, and the lamb roast on Christmas day is worth surviving all that rush. On the other side, the slower pace is appreciated, the return to work is welcome 'cause I got some interesting stuff on the go and am keen to get back to it, and the knowledge that there are at least three months of winter to go is exciting and exhilarating.
I get to say thanks ... to each and every one of you for so many reasons. Being my friend, my family, my colleague, my neighbour, my mentor, my partner, my sounding board, my whatever I need when I need it. You for me, and me for you. It works both ways, you know.
And with that, I wish a very merry Christmas to you and yours, safe travels wherever you may go, and all the very best for the new year.
And here's to winter in all its glory for as long as it deems us worthy of its blessings!
Friday, December 16, 2011
Going off the rails
The past week has been interesting, to say the least. Busy, busy, busy, and we are still nine days out from Christmas. My shopping is essentially done and the lamb roast is still a mere temptation, but my rule of no late mid-week nights, or only one if absolutely necessary, has proved to be my undoing and sent me completely off the rails.
No need to go through each day, but suffice to say it got out of control on Monday and went downhill from there. Too many meetings, too many appointments, and three very late nights that left me craving for anonymity and my "no" voice.
It wasn't so much the "do" list that did me in, but the accompanying, or perhaps more exactly, the resulting failure to eat - properly, and in some cases, at all.
Before I go any further, let's be clear. I'm not a fan of diets, and I eat lots of chocolate, love desserts, and consume coffee on a regular basis. But, I have made a concerted effort of late to eat more fruit and veggies, and drink more water and tea. Yeah, I know; sounds boring already.
Anyway, as the saying goes, you don't miss something until you go without ... or, whatever. And I have to say that living on fries, lattes and Maltesers - not all at once, but the easiest fast-food options available at the time - made me miss oranges, apples and blueberry tea more than I could have imagined.
So, today, being a Friday free of anything on my schedule, saw me back on the rails - especially after I caught up on some of that long-lost sleep. And I feel quite rejuvenated, inspired even, and happy to be missing that interim menu of little substance and only relatively short-term joy.
It's okay to take a different track every now and then, just as long as there's a plan for recovery. For my money, the best thing about going off the rails is living to tell the tale and then getting back on. In fact, I think it should be a periodic requirement - a gift that allows us to consider ourselves with as little judgement as possible.
Can't want to see what the silly season brings and how I navigate my way through it. I have high hopes for success, as long as no one gives me fries, lattes or Maltesers.
It is too early to cook up that lamb roast, honey?
No need to go through each day, but suffice to say it got out of control on Monday and went downhill from there. Too many meetings, too many appointments, and three very late nights that left me craving for anonymity and my "no" voice.
It wasn't so much the "do" list that did me in, but the accompanying, or perhaps more exactly, the resulting failure to eat - properly, and in some cases, at all.
Before I go any further, let's be clear. I'm not a fan of diets, and I eat lots of chocolate, love desserts, and consume coffee on a regular basis. But, I have made a concerted effort of late to eat more fruit and veggies, and drink more water and tea. Yeah, I know; sounds boring already.
Anyway, as the saying goes, you don't miss something until you go without ... or, whatever. And I have to say that living on fries, lattes and Maltesers - not all at once, but the easiest fast-food options available at the time - made me miss oranges, apples and blueberry tea more than I could have imagined.
So, today, being a Friday free of anything on my schedule, saw me back on the rails - especially after I caught up on some of that long-lost sleep. And I feel quite rejuvenated, inspired even, and happy to be missing that interim menu of little substance and only relatively short-term joy.
It's okay to take a different track every now and then, just as long as there's a plan for recovery. For my money, the best thing about going off the rails is living to tell the tale and then getting back on. In fact, I think it should be a periodic requirement - a gift that allows us to consider ourselves with as little judgement as possible.
Can't want to see what the silly season brings and how I navigate my way through it. I have high hopes for success, as long as no one gives me fries, lattes or Maltesers.
It is too early to cook up that lamb roast, honey?
Friday, December 2, 2011
Why I eat my lunch out of a saucepan
For starters, let's confirm a few things. It's porridge, or more precisely, porridge with banana. And yes, it is lunch, not breakfast, although, to be honest, I could eat porridge any time of the day or night, especially if it has banana in it. And not simply on the top, but cooked right along with the porridge. Got that idea while dining at Stella's in Winnipeg - they used to put the banana on the side, but now it's cooked in and, I have to say, is stunningly delicious!
But I digress.
So, why do I eat my lunch out of a saucepan?
1. Easy peasy. Thirty seconds to gather tools and ingredients, three minutes to cook. And if I can do it, anyone can.
2. Less washing up. The saucepan is the only item of note, other than the measuring spoon (which technically only needs to be rinsed) and the eating spoon (which definitely needs to be scrubbed clean for the benefit of future users).
3. Consistent temperature. If you pour porridge from a warm saucepan into a cold bowl, you end up with 'Mama Bear temperature' porridge. And if it's not good enough for Goldilocks, it's not good enough for me. This method guarantees Baby Bear temperature.
4. Time on a budget. Quick and easy to go from stove top to couch, which is where I usually eat my lunch.
5. Budget on a budget. Banana $0.40, milk $0.12, porridge $0.07, water $0.01, satisfaction of a meal well cooked ... priceless!
6. Left hand knows what the right hand is doing. The left hand always holds the saucepan handle, leaving the right hand to operate the stirring spoon, the remote, and the eating spoon - in whatever order is required.
7. Virtually spill proof. Medium-size saucepan, enough porridge for one. So unless I trip on the way in, there is no danger of spillage en route from kitchen to living room. However, from saucepan to mouth is a different matter entirely.
8. High "Mmmm!" factor. Nothing more needs to be said - or added.
No, I'm not the only person in the world who eats out of a saucepan, nor the only one in our house. But I can tell you that once you go down that proverbial road, you, too, will be hooked on the perfect combination of fast, easy, cheap and delicious.
And that, my friends, is why I eat my lunch out of a saucepan.
But I digress.
So, why do I eat my lunch out of a saucepan?
1. Easy peasy. Thirty seconds to gather tools and ingredients, three minutes to cook. And if I can do it, anyone can.
2. Less washing up. The saucepan is the only item of note, other than the measuring spoon (which technically only needs to be rinsed) and the eating spoon (which definitely needs to be scrubbed clean for the benefit of future users).
3. Consistent temperature. If you pour porridge from a warm saucepan into a cold bowl, you end up with 'Mama Bear temperature' porridge. And if it's not good enough for Goldilocks, it's not good enough for me. This method guarantees Baby Bear temperature.
4. Time on a budget. Quick and easy to go from stove top to couch, which is where I usually eat my lunch.
5. Budget on a budget. Banana $0.40, milk $0.12, porridge $0.07, water $0.01, satisfaction of a meal well cooked ... priceless!
6. Left hand knows what the right hand is doing. The left hand always holds the saucepan handle, leaving the right hand to operate the stirring spoon, the remote, and the eating spoon - in whatever order is required.
7. Virtually spill proof. Medium-size saucepan, enough porridge for one. So unless I trip on the way in, there is no danger of spillage en route from kitchen to living room. However, from saucepan to mouth is a different matter entirely.
8. High "Mmmm!" factor. Nothing more needs to be said - or added.
No, I'm not the only person in the world who eats out of a saucepan, nor the only one in our house. But I can tell you that once you go down that proverbial road, you, too, will be hooked on the perfect combination of fast, easy, cheap and delicious.
And that, my friends, is why I eat my lunch out of a saucepan.
Monday, August 8, 2011
On the shelf
Occasionally I notice in the paper important people talking about the books they are currently reading. I think I'm important, although obviously not as well known as the people being asked. So, I decided to start up my own occasional post about books I am reading and why.
At this moment, I am juggling two books. The first is Bill Bryson's "I'm a Stranger Here Myself - Notes on Returning to America After 20 Years Away". Interesting that it was originally titled "Notes from a Big Country" when it was released in Britain.
Published in 1998, the book is essentially a collection of articles written for The Mail on Sunday's Night and Day supplement during the 1990s, and discusses Bryson's views on relocating to Hanover, New Hampshire, after spending two decades in Britain.
Most people refer to Bryson as a "travel writer". Not such a surprise given his other books, most of which involve travelling in various places. Nevertheless, I prefer to think of him as a real-life revealists - someone who notices the odd and the entertaining and shares it with us in a very revealing way.
My fascination with Bryson began many years ago when I was asked to review "In a Sunburned Country" for the local paper. His humour, wonder and unflagging curiosity caught me off guard, and revealed an Australia that was simultaneously familiar and foreign to me - surprising, given that I lived there for 35 years!
When I came across this current title for a pittance in a discount bookstore, I simply had to find out if all his writing would get me laughing, or only the one about my homeland. Yep, Bryson is one funny guy!
The other book on my shelf is a Aussie read called "Stiff". A fast-paced, fresh and funny murder thriller, Shane Maloney's debut novel "... pokes fun at almost everything, revelling in words that showcase ludicrous events and behaviour" (Library Journal). Main character Murray Whelan's wry social commentaries and ironic observations are natural and hilarious, and surprisingly normal, given everything that's going on.
I have to admit that the only reason I picked up this book is because I saw the fabulously brilliant David Wenham on the front cover. Seems two of Maloney's books have been turned into major telemovies, with Wenham in the lead role. Whatever my reasons, I'm so glad I did because so far, this book is a rollicking ride!
By the way, I'd like to take a moment here to thank Maloney for his "rich, ridiculous and tawdry" voice (Melbourne Age), which kept me riveted and sustained, and distracted me from total boredom during several hours recently spent in a walk-in clinic.
Not sure what I'll read when these two are done, but "Let the Right One In" by Swedish author John Ajvide Lindqvist definitely looks promising, and Maloney's second book "The Brush Off" is a must.
Anyway, that's what I'm reading, in case anyone's wondering.
At this moment, I am juggling two books. The first is Bill Bryson's "I'm a Stranger Here Myself - Notes on Returning to America After 20 Years Away". Interesting that it was originally titled "Notes from a Big Country" when it was released in Britain.
Published in 1998, the book is essentially a collection of articles written for The Mail on Sunday's Night and Day supplement during the 1990s, and discusses Bryson's views on relocating to Hanover, New Hampshire, after spending two decades in Britain.
Most people refer to Bryson as a "travel writer". Not such a surprise given his other books, most of which involve travelling in various places. Nevertheless, I prefer to think of him as a real-life revealists - someone who notices the odd and the entertaining and shares it with us in a very revealing way.
My fascination with Bryson began many years ago when I was asked to review "In a Sunburned Country" for the local paper. His humour, wonder and unflagging curiosity caught me off guard, and revealed an Australia that was simultaneously familiar and foreign to me - surprising, given that I lived there for 35 years!
When I came across this current title for a pittance in a discount bookstore, I simply had to find out if all his writing would get me laughing, or only the one about my homeland. Yep, Bryson is one funny guy!
The other book on my shelf is a Aussie read called "Stiff". A fast-paced, fresh and funny murder thriller, Shane Maloney's debut novel "... pokes fun at almost everything, revelling in words that showcase ludicrous events and behaviour" (Library Journal). Main character Murray Whelan's wry social commentaries and ironic observations are natural and hilarious, and surprisingly normal, given everything that's going on.
I have to admit that the only reason I picked up this book is because I saw the fabulously brilliant David Wenham on the front cover. Seems two of Maloney's books have been turned into major telemovies, with Wenham in the lead role. Whatever my reasons, I'm so glad I did because so far, this book is a rollicking ride!
By the way, I'd like to take a moment here to thank Maloney for his "rich, ridiculous and tawdry" voice (Melbourne Age), which kept me riveted and sustained, and distracted me from total boredom during several hours recently spent in a walk-in clinic.
Not sure what I'll read when these two are done, but "Let the Right One In" by Swedish author John Ajvide Lindqvist definitely looks promising, and Maloney's second book "The Brush Off" is a must.
Anyway, that's what I'm reading, in case anyone's wondering.