Slummy Reader

It’s an outrageous thing to say – but say it I will. There is a down side to getting crate loads of lovely free books whilst working for The Big W. I have discovered it. This very morning.

I finished reading The Secret Life of a Slummy Mummy in the bath this morning. I got to the last page and thought “Hang on there one cotton picking minute…I’ve read that line before” and then I cursed for a bit and all wet and sloppy and naked went to my new fabulous bookcase that Boo built for me, and my eyes scanned the shelves. Left and right. Right and left. And there, winking, smirking and batting its eyelids at me was the original proof I’d read back in February 2006. I thought I’d done a sterling job with the whole ‘keep the actual, ditch the proof’ exercise when I moved in to the new place. But no. One little duplicate got past my cataloguing obsession. Damn it. I’ve now wasted precious reading time that I could have spent on one of the other trillion books that I promised Boo I would read before he would let me buy any more…. and that includes a ban on buying the new Sophie Kinsella, Jenny Colgan, Veronica Henry and Cecelia Ahern!! I ask you! Could not be more pissed off if I tried. But you would think, would you not, that at some point before the very last page, I would have realised that I’d been down the Slummy Mummy route before? So is that an indication that I really loved the book and it felt new and fresh despite being a re-read, or an indication that I have, in fact, the brain of a goldfish, or much much more worryingly, an indication that I’ve read so much mummy lit that I can’t distinguish one from another…