Hurrah, I have at last conquered my ‘I am not worthy’ fears and am feeling very zen.
I was ambling around in Sainsbury’s yesterday and came upon the book aisle. There was a time, I dimly recall, when book aisles sometimes contained novels but it seems that the only bang for your buck available these days are biographies and autobiographies.
Since I wasn’t feeling much interested in reading any more of Tony Blair’s nauseatingly embarrassing memoirs (sometimes Tone, and as it turns out, definitely in your case, it is better to keep your mouth shut and be thought an idiot than crack open your pencil case and confirm it).
Stephen Fry, hmmmm possibly, but nope, didn’t really feel drawn to it at that precise moment, have mentally added it to my Christmas list though.
Katie Price, well denial is the only sensible approach to that literary fiasco. How can we be living in a world where Pointless-Pricey is a best selling authoress, it just beggars belief.
And then I i-spied it: the exact paperback adventure that I needed; Eat Pray Love (now a major motion picture starring Julia Roberts).
Coincidentally, I saw the lady that wrote it being interviewed on Breakfast the other day and I remember thinking at the time that she seemed like a jolly nice person. Then, like some kind of sign from above or something, there was her book sitting right in front of me. I had to shove Katie Price out of the way to get to it but hey, that’s true of most situations these days isn’t it.
I am not completely done with the nice lady’s book yet but am on the last few ‘tales’ (if you’ve read it, you’ll know what I mean and if you haven’t, well you will when you do). It would be fair to say though, that I haven’t so much read this book as drunk it. Every question that I have ever asked myself about my own life is both raised and answered in the space of 348 short pages and at £4.99, it was on sale. That, my friend, is what I call value for money.
I am confident that my newly discovered feeling of at-oneness-with-the-world will allow me to smile beatifically through the direst challenges as I proceed forward on this journey called life and would like to thank Elizabeth Gilbert for the twin gifts of tolerance and peace that she has kindly bestowed upon me.
Dog just turned up covered in oil and mud minus the Teenager who was definitely accompanying him when he left.
It is with genuine inner calm and tranquility that I realise, and through peacefully gritted teeth that I reluctantly admit; it appears that I may, possibly, have gotten the wrong sodding member of the family chipped.