I bought this fabulous collection of Roald Dahl books at a bargain price late last year; it was meant to be reading material for the daughter, but I ended up reading them first. Had a go at Boy last night and this morning, then Going Solo on the train in the afternoon. Danny, the Champion of the World is on the list tonight.
Reading them brings me back twenty years, to the childhood days in primary school. Nostalgic, and it is magical how every re-read made me relish every sentence and marvel at the simple, yet captivating style he wrote in. It makes me glad that I have had the good fortune to read his works, especially his autobiographies, and to be drawn into a time from long ago, when the world was a simpler and less connected one, where eccentricities prevailed, and conformity was less prevalent. Of course, it wasn’t always a good thing (read: canings), but it was definitely a more fascinating one.
Sometimes, life is just about simple joys like being able to read a good book.