Is it just me, or is the fact that I am researching train time tables to New Jersey for someone who is actually in New York State seem a little absurd?

The internet makes you do unnatural things. You heard it here first.

The thing about reading books, even if you don't agree with the message, is that they seem to stay with you whether you like it or not. Today has started off as a moderate to fairly crappy day, heavy heart and all that, but since I've read the Secret, I feel guilty about even thinking today is crap because I should be positive thinking my way out of a funk. Knowing that I could be bouncing around on a self-induced high instead of feeling sorry for myself is not making me feel better either.

I mean, don't I have enough guilt as it is? Did I have to go and create more?

C'est le livre du moment

Lately my bookclub has been leaving me with a strange taste in the mouth, which is unusual for me as I tend to read everything including packets of cornflakes without the merest flicker of an opinion forming in my delightfully superficial brain. However, our latest book, The Secret by Rhonda Byrne, had me more than just tutting with concern. Reassuringly though, I wasn't the only one with misgivings.

When it comes to books, I need something that is witty, insightful and which makes me wish I had written that particular passage. My current book (started only last night) has all of these elements: Rock me Amadeus by Seb Hunter. This book also had J snorting with laughter. However, I don't know if I would recommend it to just anybody, after all, you have to be on the market for some self-deprecating quintessentially British humour with a musically savvy twist. In fact, I think the only candidate I know for that is my brother, who does like his music and who is very much of the self-deprecating humour type.

In other books, I have recently enjoyed The Road Home by Rose Tremain, whom I have admired for some time and whose novel Sacred Country still haunts me. When I try to tell people about her latest effort though, my attempts to make the plot seem interesting fall completely flat, so I need to take another approach when giving it a recommendation, just what kind of approach remains to be determined.

One book that I have to resist the urge to reread over and over again is of course Pride and Prejudice. It really is like an old friend to me, but it just seems a bit dull to give this book so much attention when there are so many out there demanding to be read. I'm particularly looking forward to getting my hands on the lastest Booker prize winner, Aravind Adiga's White Tiger.

On that note, I shall go pay my respects to Mr Amazon.

So where were we?

So you are reaching the end of your 6000 word translation project, and with 700 measly words left to go, you are dawdling all over the internet, plucking virtual daisies and humming tunelessly to yourself. Instead of, you know, finishig and moving on to something more interesting like eating lunch, doing some much needed planning or even just rewarding yourself with a half hour read.

Is this how everyone works? Or is it just me who needs an evil taskmaster with a vicious prodding device?

I am never drinking again