Reading paper things

I am trying like mad to finish off a few books at the moment, and not having much luck. I just can't get into them with sufficient vigour to kill them. I am a voracious devourer of books - good books. Give me a good book, and I won't pay attention to anything until it's done and dusted. But the current crop just aren't gripping me. Hence the higher than usual volume of scribblings on this blog.

I am trying to read one on scurvy (funnily enough, it is called Scurvy), but I doubt I am past chapter 2.

Keeping to the nautical theme, I am 70% of the way through another book called Compass, which funnily enough, is on the development of the compass.

Apart from those two, I am occasionally dipping into the diaries of Bob Carr. For those of you who live outside Aus, he was the Premier of our state until just recently. Not the Prime Minister of the country - just Premier of NSW. Yes, we have a completely useless level of government called 'state government', sandwiched in between the federal type and the local ones.

Bob writes a good diary, but it is nothing like the diaries of Alan Clark - they were an absolute hoot. Then again, Bob is a non-drinking vegetarian type, so the book lacks all the sex and booze that Clark packed into his life. Still, I had to live with all the decisions that he made (and some of them had a big impact on my work life), so it's good to get his perspective on why he did certain things.

Besides, how can you hate a leftie that leaves politics, and then gets a job that pays a packet with Macquarie Bank? He's joined the ranks of the serious faaaat cats now. All he needs is a top hat to complete the picture.

I was reading a few other books, but everytime I put them down, J would tidy them up (ie, put then back in the bookshelf). I am the type of person that likes to have 10 or more books on the go at once. Some of them can be a bit heavy going, so it's essential to flit from topic to topic to keep the brain awake.

Trouble is, I don't think I have 10 unread books left in the house. Might be time to re-stock at Amazon.

Shit. I just looked at the bookcase and found "Mass Listeria", by Theodore Dalrymple. I bought it and read it years ago, but pulled it out to re-read the other day. J has squirreled it away again.

Hell - "Who killed channel 9" is on the shelf under it. I started that last month and then it vanished. And "The making of the industrial landscape" is right next to it. I think I might have found the equivalent of the lost sock drawer.