One of those weeks… in which the black dog makes an unwelcome appearance.

It’s been one of those weeks. One of those crippling weeks. One of those weeks where if you saw me, well. You’d think all was fine. And on one level all was fine. I was breathing. I was making sure my family made it to places on time. I ate and drank and even ran. If I talked to you it was a pleasant relief from the inner mashings of my head and I was grateful.

I’ve been trying to work out if I am lying if I reply to the questions of how are you with ‘fine thanks’ rather than, ‘actually I feel I’m being chased by all of hell’s demons who seem determined to make me believe the lie that I am crap, useless and have no friends or worth on this world’. I’m not sure if it’s all that helpful to say those kind of things out loud or not. I certainly never know in those black dark horrible times how to articulate the terrifying feelings within. I convince myself I am full of self pity and that no one wants to hear about my self pity.

I’m not sure how helpful chatting about it might be. In the black hole days I seem unable to reply with any level of positivity. Having a conversation with me in those moods is exhausting. Everything is met with a wall of black. Just ask the amazing husbandface. In the past he has tickled the grumps away and refused to indulge my insane responses by laughing at me. I’m not sure that option is open to many people.

It’s been one of those weeks.

I’ve lived and breathed but inside felt the crushing horrible weight of the black dog. With the weight lifting slightly today I can see reasons: change at home, the eldest starting school – starting the transition in my life and his, a conversation about precious potential future plans playing on my mind- hopes and fears and what if’s swirling around, the fall out of returning home from adventures and life looking pretty similar to before we left, the lack of a new start feeling at this time of year and the hideousness of feeling like the husbandface and I were trapped in our separate perspex boxes unable to reach each other.

It’s been one of those weeks.

The clouds have started to break today. Conversations are happening, I had a lovely cycle in the sun and a chat that didn’t involve small children this morning, the sun shines in the sky, we have acknowledged our perspex boxes and a hand hole or two has been carved out so we can reach each other. We survived the first week of vague school routine and I’ve loved the walks to and fro getting me out in the fresh air.

So if you’ve seen me about this week then I’m grateful for human contact beyond my weirdo head. I’m sorry I don’t know how to say, ‘life is crap but thanks for asking’, to you. One day I hope I’ll get better at that, but I’m glad I had opportunity to talk about something not in my head, it was a much needed distraction and a help on the road to feeling a bit better.

It’s just been one of those weeks.

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What I’ve read, the July and August Edition.

I’m hoping this list will kick start me into reading properly again after a week of not reading much but a deeply irritating trashy novel on my kindle that my internal completer finisher won’t let me leave to one side. (Must deal with that at some point).

For now, here we go:

Jesus, Safe, Tender, Extreme- Adrian Plass.

Adrian Plass is one of those authors that generally has me in tears by page 3 of his books. I seem to recall this was no exception. I’ve read this one before and it was lovely to meander back through it over a couple of weeks. It’s a tender gentle read, a book of hope, a book that called me back to remembering that God is real, likes me and is at work in my life. It’s a book is free from cynicism about God, which for some reason I always find surprising and then deeply refreshing. Adrian manages to steer a beautiful path of hope and expectancy in the midst of acknowledging that we find God baffling at best lots of the time. It is a book that is real about the pain of life, the struggles and the doubts. It is also a book that whispered the reality of God’s love into my ear and left me wanting more of God in my life. I highly recommend.

SevenEves- Neal Stephenson

I don’t highly recommend this one. Unless you like long technical explanations of how things in space work. Husbandface said I should read it and like the loving wife I am I sat down to see why. Hmm. I can see why he recommended it. It was an awesome concept. The moon has broken into 7 pieces, the world is about to end in 2 years time due to the pieces breaking up and falling to earth. Earth has to respond. It does, people are sent to space, some go under water and some go deep underground. We know 7 women and some fertile eggs survive in space. We don’t know about the rest. 5,000 years later we join up with the species to see who survived. Bits of this were great but so much was boring explanation of stuff in technical detail that I really didn’t care about. I flick read it because of my completer finisher thing and breathed a hearty sigh of relief when I was done. Sorry Neal.

A Kind Man- Susan Hill.

This was a gentle sad read. Short, beautifully written and fairly heartbreaking. That’s not a bad thing in my world. (I can’t remember much of the plot other than it was set in an industrial town post war? Maybe. Anyway, if you like gentle, sad, character driven books you’ll probably enjoy it)

Holding- Graham Norton

Small Irish Village, a body discovered, loads of different characters that are pretty interesting. Who does the body belong to and what secrets will be uncovered along the way type stuff. I liked it once I got Graham Norton’s voice out of my head reading it to me. (I love Graham but really). Worth it if you want a fairly light read amongst likeable characters.

15 Minutes to Wake the Dead- David Bracewell.

A collection of sermons from the vicar of the church I grew up in (St Saviours in Guildford). None of these were from the time I was there but they held similar patterns and themes. I was reminded of the reality of God all over again through them and that my faith goes deep back to the roots of who I am. I kept remembering moments with God at St Saviours when I was reading this. David was a passionate preacher, someone who was relational as he talked, not afraid to tackle big books of the Bible (I still remember him preaching through Revelation when I was in youth group and the big vision of God he gave us through it) but who also was deeply concerned that we would get it and know that God was at work in the day to day our lives. I loved being reminded of that and of some of the St Saviours people who still cropped up in his sermons. I think I owe much of my leading services style to him, he would always say at the beginning of each service that however we had come, whatever we were going through, whatever the day had held, God was here and was involved in our lives. I love that reminder. I love that acknowledgement of the crap of life and the one who is with us in the crap.

The House at the End of Hope Street- Menna Vaan Praag

I loved this novel. Set in Cambridge and following a student who has had her thesis stolen by her professor, she finds herself at a mysterious house at the end of Hope Street, a house that has given countless of influential women hope and a restart in life over the last 100 years or so. It’s a lovely read. The kind of book you find yourself going early to bed to get maximum reading time in.

I let you go- Clare McIntosh.

I know, I keep swearing off novels like this but I keep getting sucked in because they are so easy to read when exhausted. It wasn’t a great start with a 5 year old dying in a hit and run (I seem to remember holding much more tightly to son1’s hand for a couple of days after reading it…) but it was a fairly gripping read. I was genuinely surprised several times during the book and very annoyed by the ending but there you go…

Home- Jo Swinney.

A beautiful collection of essays on what home means. If you are or know any third culture kids I imagine they would absolutely love this book, it being written so well by one. It’s great for anyone though. I loved the mix of personal stories (especially as I think we are similar ages so the teenage ones felt pretty close to home, even if we did grow up in entirely different contexts) and reflections from David’s life on some of what home means in the Bible. It’s a very readable book, made me cry several times, gave me a much better metaphor for how husbandface makes me feel- like I’m home rather than just comparing the feeling I have always had around him to being like a comfortable pair of worn in shoes. Finding home in him feels like a much better way to explain it. I had to save it for the end of our motorhome adventure so I could start to want to return to our home here in Brighton. It really helped shape that returning feeling and made me grateful for our spot here on this earth.

Faithful Families- Traci Smith.

This is a brilliant book full of ideas of how to nurture faith and spirituality in family life. It helped us think through how we can encourage faith in the everyday, how we can help our boys and us be aware of the divine throughout the days, months and years. It’s made us think about how we can use the things we do each day as opportunities to be aware of God. There are so many ideas here for all different ages, times, seasons and senses. One we will be using over and over again.

My Family and Other Disasters- Lucy Managan

A collection of her newspaper column articles. I love her. A good gentle amusing read to dip in and out of.

Underground Airlines- Ben Winter.

The concept is: Slavery hasn’t been abolished in 4 of the US states, Lincoln was assassinated before he came President and the ripples of slavery not being abolished fully continue to the present day. It’s a fairly horrific and fascinating idea. The novel itself turns into a thriller set in this context, we follow a former slave and what his life looks like as he is involved with the underground movement to free slaves. I can’t tell you much more than that but it’s a book that is hard to put down and very hard hitting.

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The weekly roundup returns

It’s Friday.

It’s September.

We have been back from our tour of the UK for a week now.

At some point I want to blog about it all.

At some point.

It’s Friday.

We’ve been back a week.

This week we’ve been exploring, ever so slowly reestablishing, our routines of life. We’ve been working out how we live well back in a house, with easy access to tv and other distractions. We’ve been trying to work out what stays from vanlife and what might be ok to just admit was unique to life in a small box with not much stuff.

Sitting in this grey chair as the boys stare at the tv screen and I reflect on the week feels very familiar and routine like. Hoorah.

At times, this last week, I’ve felt like we were going backwards, returning to the sad exhausted days of life before we hit the road. Thankfully I’ve also felt happy and joyous at the beautiful world and city we live in. I’ve been a whole heap of emotions all expressed in an odd mix of jetlag and exhaustion.

The last month has very much felt like the summer teams I used to take to Poland and Bulgaria when I was a student worker. They were crazy intense times of spending time with 8 or so other people, all working towards the same goal and trying to love each other along the way. They were long times away from home which produced a strange kind of joy at only having one focus for those weeks. Internet and phones were hard to come by and so the people in the team became family for each other. There was something genius about the simplicity of those weeks. Something freeing about having such a clear focus of life.

The last month in the van has had that simplicity. It’s been intense but refreshing in so many ways because we’ve had just one focus, getting each other through the days. Nothing else has come into my head other than loving the people in front of me each day. I have no idea if it’s realistic to live like that back at home. I imagine life used to look more like that before fast transport and advances in technology made us far more aware of what everyone else in the world is doing. I’m not suggesting we go back in time I just wonder what our fast paced, ultra information world is doing to us.

I do think that the refreshment part of the trip was also due to it all being planned out. We had to make very few decisions about who to see and where to go.

I felt exhausted this week and maybe part of that was adjusting to life back in one place, aware of loads of different people and trying to work out where we fitted in, who to meet up with etc. I’m aware that my thoughts are full of wondering what people think of me, whether I made the right decisions about what to do and where to go.

I also seem to be more distracted from the boys at home. Maybe the closeness of everything in the van made me realise it was good to focus on the boys and having fun with them.

It is strange being back, part of me wants to run again but part of me is glad we have roots here. The more I run around our bowl of green, the more we munch on blackberries as we walk to the park, the more I see people I remember that we love our place, our spot on this earth. Being rooted is valuable.

Right now we are still in the world of working out what that rootedness looks like. It doesn’t need to look exactly like vanlife, but we can change some of the unhelpful patterns of life we managed to break in the van. (And as we come back we can change some of the unhelpful patterns we created in the van!) Returning has brought small changes to our life:

•We have exercised more and eaten better (something we found v hard in the van).

•We’ve slowly reintroduced tv but at a more sane level for all of us.

•My phone is now out of the bedroom at night and hopefully a bit less in my hand during the day.

•We’ve stuck with our aeropress for coffee as we use less coffee, it tastes better and creates hotter coffee than our filter machine.

•We’ve been getting outdoors loads and walking lots to help the boys keep up the walking legs they found on holiday.

•Quiet time from the van has occasionally found it’s way into our days, son1 loving nothing more than snuggling up in bed listening to Dr Seuss stories.

I hope we can continue with these changes as the weeks progress.

Husbandface is still sick. He has slightly more capacity for doing things, he cooks our meals now which is wonderful. But. He’s still sick. It’s been hard adjusting to not seeing him as constantly as we did in the van.

And there you go. A slightly disjointed beginning of lessons learned from 30 days on the road.

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Evening snapshot

We scuttled down to the beach after dinner. Son1 weaving from side to side on his scooter. Son2 singing as he ran barefoot along the road. I strolled behind sharing eye rolls and wry smiles with other parents, at the loons in front of me.

Across the bridge, past the car park and down to the river flowing into the beach. They splashed around, pouring out stones, up and down, up and down. I sat in the evening sun, blue sky above my face dotted with cotton wool trail clouds. The small ones shrieked with delight at crocs floating down the stream, stones poured down their backs and the feel of water on their feet.

I gazed at almost 5 and almost 3 and marvelled at their random play, their delight in the world around them, their growth over the last few years and the sense of progression in them. I looked at older children scattered around the beach near us, wondering what our boys will turn into, who they will be years from now, what they will make of their childhoods in the future.

As I sat I tasted something rare inside. I think it was contentment. A lack of sheer exhaustion from sleep deprivation. A knowledge that it is brilliant fun, sometimes, mooching around with my boys. An awareness that they are growing less all consuming in their need of interaction with me. A sense that we have made it through the early early years with them.

I can sit and watch them play and for a while they are happy, having fun, occasionally coming over to show me something cool or to give me huggles.

I sat in the golden sun and tasted the moment. Savouring a peaceful joy filled time with my beautiful boys.

(And it made up for the extremely grumpy hour we had on the beach earlier in the day when I was less content 🙂

Your correspondent. Thinking that maybe going home might not be so bad after all…

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Another one of those weekly round ups

IMG_0661It’s Friday lunchtime, the boys are watching Mike the Knight for the 100th time and for the sake of an old school weekly round up, here we go.

To be honest it’s been a pretty good week (all things being relative) in the life of Team Cunningham.

Husbandface is really low at the moment but it seems that things have levelled out at the bottom. Nothing seems to be getting worse, nothing seems to be getting much better either but there is at least a consistency in that. It remains a horrible horrible time and when I can bear it I cry out to God for some relief for him (the rest of the time it’s too hard to pray so if you pray please do on our behalf). We live in a known horrible landscape and there is a strange comfort in that.

This week I was reminded of the need to put on my own oxygen mask first, before helping my family with theirs.

And so I have read, I have run despite exhaustion and pain, I have attempted to remember that sugar doesn’t actually help my mental health anymore than my physical health and I have occasionally thrown some bootless cries to the heavens. I’ve also stepped away from my twitter account for a bit, the vast amount of craziness in the Christian twitter world was disturbing any notion of peace I had about the existence and care of God. I can’t live with two tribes telling me I’m either a raving liberal heading to hell or a raging fundamentalist who has no love. Of course no-one has told me either of those things but the implications are there and I can not deal with it all right now. I need to know that fundamentally God is nice and he likes me. I want to love Jesus more and more. I need to love and care of the people in front of my face and not worry about what the many tribes of the Christian world thinks about things. The rest can fit into place.

The boys and I have had a mostly harmonious week and although there is much sadness around we have had some fun too. Son1 had his last day at his lovely nursery, I watched as he and his friends took part in a hilarious ‘sports’ day and almost cried all over his amazing key worker at the love and care he’s experienced this year. I am so grateful. I have loved learning how to be his advocate this year, how to navigate him through his emotions when I’m not aware of what exactly has caused them and how to do the whole school gate thing. I’m as well prepared for reception as he is and for that I’m also very grateful.

We’ve been preparing lots for our motorhome adventure, putting lists together, buying maps and the reality is starting to sink in. My emotions range from uber excitement to wondering how on earth I will cope without the break that Nursery has been so helpful in providing for me in this odd world we live in at the moment. I’m a little worried about heading away from our support networks and community. But I’m glad we will miss things, I am glad we are rooted here and that there will be good things to come back to. I am so looking forward to catching up with old friends who know us and love us but who we don’t see enough of. I can’t wait for the possibilities of fun and for the boys to have more Daddy time on the road. We are so looking forward to bringing him on adventures. Knowing we are carrying our safe space around with us for him to retreat to when he needs to is a huge relief.

I have huge stack of books to enjoy over our adventure thanks to my Birthday happening this week. I’m enjoying being 39 so far. It’s not so bad being this close to 40. The middle of life might be ok after all.

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Right, Journey to Dragon Mountain is coming to an end, we have a sunny afternoon to enjoy with friends. There are sparkly moments in the gloom. There are Jewels glinting in the dark cave of life (I think this dragon mountain thing is affecting my brain) and I am grateful.

Your Correspondent, aware this blog post could have a different tone if it had been written at certain other points this week…

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Thoughts from the gathering gloom

IMG_0531It is Tuesday evening

Outside the rain gently falls on dry ground. Inside the dishwasher hums. The fridge murmurs and the house is still. The boys are asleep. Husbandface is out.

It’s just me and this quiet.

I sit at our table. A beer rests beside me and I munch on cookies fresh from the oven. The table bears the marks of son2’s earlier breakdown over pouring milk over his cookie, despite being told not to, realising it was horrible and my refusal to give him another one. I smile wryly at the small tired boy whose eyes closed almost as soon as his head hit the pillow tonight.

I sit and contemplate the gathering gloom of a cloudy evening.

It’s been a strange few weeks. I haven’t wanted to write any reflections here, mainly because I had no reflections. We’ve lived and breathed. We’ve shouted and sighed. We’ve despaired and longed for night as soon as we have awoken each morning. We have laughed and rejoiced. We have worried and been confused. We have been tired. Oh so tired. We have been worn out and spent. We have hated our life and we have looked around in awe at the grace gifts in our gaze.

We have longed for escape, planned for escape and sit on the verge of escape in two weeks time. We have looked to the future with fear and anxiety. We have got through the days. We have drunk beer and watched tv. We have drowned the pain in wine and chocolate. We have run and cycled and got drunk on nature and endorphins again and again. We have had faith. We have prayed. We have rejected and felt like there is no-one watching over us. We have clung and we have felt abandoned in the cold night.

We have prayed with friends, we have connected with others. We have felt alone, so so alone. We have remembered we have been loved. We have been touched and held and cared for. We have been loved. We have been forgotten. We have been heard. We have been misunderstood. We have been unsure, unconfident, unlovely. We have felt the stirrings of hope. We have known deep despair.

We have lived and breathed through these last few weeks.

We breathe through each day. We know nothing of the future, how we will live and earn money in a few months time? We have big decisions that feel too big too make. How do we make them? What governs our choices in this time of uncertainty? Should I get a job? What job would I even get when I have little experience except in a very specific, hard to find jobs that exist in it, line of work. Should we move somewhere more affordable? Should we move so I can find a job in this narrow field of work? What about our community, our support networks, our friends who are family, our roots that go so deep? What about Son1’s lovely school he is breezing through the transition into because we have worked so hard at being in this one place? What about our love of this place? How much do these things feed into the basic need to have shelter, clothes, food and relationship?

Trapped in an airlock we wait for the pressure to equalise somewhere. For suits to enable the space walk or pressure to enable the return to some kind of life through the inner door.

Stuck in the fog. Not knowing which way the steep drop on one side is or the bog on the other, or if indeed they are there at all.

Thirsty in the desert not trusting which way the true oasis lies or which way the mirage fools us.

2 weeks time we get in a big van and run. To something different. To each other. To a search for a bigger reality than our circumstances. To set sail and to live with each other even if we never make it to see any horizon in the distance.

Yesterday I read this:

“We have an idea that God is leading us to a certain goal, a desired haven. He is not. To God the question of our getting to a particular end is a mere incident. What we call the process, God calls the end. God’s purpose is that you depend on him and his power now. God’s purpose is that you see him walking on the waves.

No shore in sight.

No success.

Just the absolute certainty that it is all right because you see him.” (Oswald Chalmbers)

I don’t really know what my faith looks like at the moment. I feel a bit like a house torn down and I’m trying to work out if the foundations are sound so rebuilding can start. I want know what lies beneath the rubble. Whatever. I like the sound of the above. No shore in sight. No success. That seems like life right now and I long, oh I long to know some certainty that seeing Jesus is enough. That seeing Jesus will help us in this storm. No matter how long it goes on for.

I know the pat answers, the it’s ok because God is in charge, is probably doing something amazing, will maybe use this in the future, is doing good in the midst of it and so on. They are easy to trot off and yes they might be of help. BUT. Sometimes, well lets face it, most times we just don’t know. We can’t say with certainty why any of this stuff happens. We live in a beautiful but crappy world. I think looking for meaning in all of this might just lead us down the rabbit hole of insanity.

Maybe we don’t need more meaning. Maybe we need to see Jesus.

To meet the One who holds us, who has walked this confusing road before and who stands in our storm. Not making everything ok or less confusing but just being here. Calling our names.

Tuesday group happened today (it is Tuesday after all) we looked at the weird confusing events of the resurrection. The fear of the body taken away. The confusion of what, where, and how that enveloped Jesus’ friends and the joy that over took them when they realised it was really him. There was no need to fear anymore because here he was, back and as confusing as ever. But still. He was back with them.

I love Mary’s encounter with Jesus at this point. The guys have headed back to town, tomb empty, confused at all they have seen. Mary’s grief seems to be too strong. She cannot cope. She cries and cries and through the tears chats to some angels who simply ask why she is crying. It is too much. ‘They’ have taken her Lord. It is too much. Through the pain another voice asks why she is crying. Again she expresses her longing for the Lord. One more word is enough.

Mary.

Rabboni

I wish we knew the intonation of their voices. However it was said, it is the voice that calls her name that turns her tears of grief to those of joy. It is seeing her Lord and hearing him say her name that brings the wonder into the pain.

I know this Jesus. I know he knows our names and I long to hear him more, to see him so we can gingerly walk on in the fog, so we can wait patiently in the airlock, so we can drink deep in the desert.

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What I’ve been into May/June edition.

I really dropped the reading mojo in May. It was a pretty horrible month. Husbandface briefly returned to work until being signed off again worse than before. I think I had a long cold that didn’t shift and reading got pushed to the bottom of the pile. We finished the month well but my reading hat didn’t quite make it back on. June was slightly better but I am still struggling to read anything of any weight or depth.

I ploughed on with some fun young adult books and some thriller by numbers to keep me reading at least.

Here’s my somewhat patchy list for the last couple of months.

Boys Don’t Cry- Malorie Blackman.

I really enjoyed Noughts and Crosses last year and so thought I’d give some more of her work a go. I liked this book even though something in me thought I shouldn’t. Who knows why. It’s about a teenage boy suddenly lumbered with his own baby he didn’t know anything about. His interaction with the small one and his growing love of her is what makes the book special. I’m fascinated by how my boys are going to grow up and read this with one eye on that and enjoyed a book about a baby. Cos you know, I’ve had babies. I know some of what that’s like. Anyway. A fairly good read.

Chasing the Stars: Malorie Blackman.

This one was more of a sci-fi love story which was ok. I’ve read better young adult science fiction (still can’t beat Monica Hughes for that) but it was alright. I liked that the love story wasn’t a neat nice happy la la la thing but it wasn’t enough to really make me really love the book. But I read to the end so it can’t have been that bad. (Wow I should really write reviews for the Guardian Review section.)

The Highly Sensitive Child- Elaine N Aron

This is a brilliant book. It seeks to help those with highly sensitive children appreciate them and learn how to parent them well. It’s helped me understand myself, husbandface (we are both fairly highly sensitive ourselves) and how to love and appreciate better the sensitivities of our beautiful boys who are both highly sensitive in their own ways. I wish I possessed more articulation than Tuesday night with a glass of wine in me will allow. BUT please do read this helpful article.  I found this book really helped me stop and think about the ways we maintain the boy’s boundaries and helped me appreciate them for who they are. I love understanding that they are affected by noise and smells, that they will need time to process, time to wait before launching into situations and will be massively emotionally affected by things other kids might take in their stride. It’s been helpful to know my kids aren’t abnormal, just a different kind of normal and helpful in understanding that for my own reaction to things. Obviously I haven’t become a perfect parent as a result of reading this book but it has helped lots. It has helped me be slightly more patient with son2’s meltdown’s over tiny amounts of water splashed on him or son1’s grim reactions after noisy days at nursery. Definitely worth a read if you are at all aware that your child or you might fall into the 20% of the population who are highly sensitive.

Walking Home – Clare Balding

I had to put this book down several times to stop myself seething with envy that she got to walk in all these amazing places whilst my smallest weirdo moaned about walking down the road. I SO want to do what she has done and walk all the amazing footpaths and chat to interesting people along the way. I loved this rambling ramble about rambling. Loved it.

Commonwealth- Ann Patchett.

Urgh. I wanted so much to like this one as I have all the others I have read but I barely finished it. It was only the insane completer finisher inside me that made me keep reading. It’s ok. It’s just not as amazing as some of her others. Sorry Ann.

Into the Water- Paula Hawkins

I know, I swore off the thriller crime by numbers thing last time around, but… It was surprisingly good. Better than the Girl on the Train, which I read too close to Gone Girl last year to be all that ok with another, ‘here’s another hideous marriage that is hiding awful things you will only know the truth about at the end of the book’ genre… Into the water is a bit different and fairly gripping.

I See You- Clare MacKintosh.

Meh. It kept me reading but it wasn’t as well written as the Paula Hawkins one and was kind of annoying in the keep you guessing to the end thing, plus random sub plots for no reason. A quick read though. That’s good right?

When the Floods Came- Clare Morrall

A really good dystopian read. Interesting view of the future and very interesting with lots of themes of who can we really trust and how do we know we can trust them. I liked it lots.

So there you go. Not much of merit there but a few good reads along the way.  All but one of these were books from our local library.  I think I need to scour our shelves again for books I want to read but haven’t got around to just yet.  I’m also hoping our motorhome adventures, coming up in 21 days time, will give me time to read more and space to read deeper rather than mere quantity.

What have you been reading this month?

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