Some books really ought to carry a social embarrassment warning. David Copperfield for instance…nobody told me how sad it is…I’m talking about a tear-jerking, ugly-faced crying, true-life movies level of sad. Reading it on the train home yesterday evening I was blubbing into my scarf. I wouldn’t mind but the girl sitting in front of me was reading Should Have Got Off At Sydney Parade which is obviously at the opposite end of the scale: red-faced, wheezing, can’t-catch-my-breath-except-to-snort-like-a-pig funny.
We must have looked a right pair.
