On a bench in The Grove after the rain an abandoned copy of Angels and Demons by Dan Brown. After the rain it is sodden and unreadable. Some may say, it always was. But then I have never tried to read it or its predecessor, The Da Vinci Code.
Sainsbury's is brimming over with pre-Christmas customers. It is almost impossible to push your trolley without bumping in to someone else who is bumping into someone else. Being English we say sorry. And they say sorry. Everyone says sorry. A cantata of polite, good humoured apology.
I read Code and found it was exactly the reverse of what it should have been: ad hoc rather than planned plotting. Read from this point of view alone its randomness was mildly hilarious. I then discovered the other book had entered our home by some route no one would admit to. My forensic intentions were exhausted after about twenty pages. Dr Johnson talked about establishing the precedence between a louse and a flea which always struck me as difficult given they are different species. In the case of Dan Brown it was easier: Angels was magnificently inferior to Code and I assumed Angels had been written first, possibly while Brown was recovering from very invasive surgery to his pituitary gland. I don't think I have anything more to say about these books (or Brown) and I trust I can rely on you not to bring up the subject again.
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