HOT, HOT, HOT

It was as hot at seven in the evening yesterday as it was at seven in the morning. What a day. An incredible stillness throughout most of the morning and afternoon. Where did all the noise go? I'm reading a Tess Gerritsen novel Bloodstream. I thought it was going to be another of her medical thrillers but little more than a quarter of the way in and we're off in Stephen King territory. I like that. I check into Scott Pack's blog Me and My Big Mouth, along with Clare Christian's Girl Friday blog. Fascinated to see that he's picked up a copy of DH Lawrence's Kangaroo. It's his first venture into Lawrence Land and it's a good one to start with. Lawrence moans that it only sold 300 copies thus failing to provide him with enough money to live off. Or was that him in Kangaroo moaning about another book? My copy has long since been loaned and lost. I shall stop now since David Herbert is, and always has been, one of my favourite authors. Fyodor Dos is tops, of course. No one even comes close to Crime and Punishment, to name but one. Back to work Mr Writer. Sun's gone in so that ought to make things easier.