Catching Up

I worked all weekend. Which isn't as bad as it sounds. We ran a marvellous conference about memoir and autobiography and it was exciting watching the panel sessions that we'd imagined take shape. I don't think there was a single poor paper and there were many outstanding ones. Nevertheless, I am now exhausted. I didn't think I was but the weariness has crept up on me. Last night I was asleep early with Mr M and tonight I'm already in my pjs and contemplating bed.

The prospect of bed is very tempting as, although I'd read a great deal in preparation for the conference, I added to the book pile beside the bed with some new purchases:

• A Certain Maritime Incident: The Sinking of SIEV X by Tony Kevin (because I really should know more about this horrific incident in recent history)
• The Little Red Writing Book by Mark Tredinnick (because I'm a sucker for writing books)
• Australia's Quarter Acre by Peter Timms (I can think of at least two family members who would be interested in this one), and
• Living Politics by Margaret Reynolds (she spoke so inspirationally about the need to get women involved in public life).

It will be a while before I read these though. I'm going to indulge in some non-work reading. A feast of chick lit. I prepared for it last week when I discovered two novels by Katie Fforde in a second-hand shop we visit semi-regularly. The shop is tucked down an alleyway in Fyshwick, opposite a building supplies storehouse that specialises in recycled materials. The books are light entertainment, romantic comedies set amongst English hedgerows and canals. All the kitchens have Agas (my dream stove) and all the women are fiercely independent. I'm going to indulge in the reader's equivalent of Days of Our Lives for a while. Relaxation for the mind.