This may be my new favourite YA book. That’s not to say it doesn’t have it’s issues, but once I started I couldn’t stop reading. Sadly, only the first two books have been released, adding this to an ever-growing list of unfinished series that I hold dear to me.
I’ve always been good with snap decisions. I’ll mull over something for months, years even, but once I’ve decided on something, that’s it. It’s been a while since I made my mind up so firmly – I’ve moved cities, changed jobs and moved house, but the last of those was 18 months ago.
Okay, so I might be about 4 years behind the rest of the world (maybe 5…) but I just finished the second series of the BBC adaptation of Robin Hood.
*Spoilers follow*
I’ve seen six seasons of Supernatural in less than a month (to be fair, it was the Christmas holidays, with rubbish weather – no work, no family in town – what else was I meant to do?) So after all that amazing-ness, I am now conscious that there are limited episodes left for me to watch and so am trying not to watch season 7 straight away. I’m not certain how that will turn out since I have very little self control, but we’ll see.
Most people I’ve met have that one teacher who inspired them.
Most teachers I’ve met want to be that one teacher.
I was fortunate to have more than one, but in particular there was an English teacher who I had very early on (I was third form, so about 13) who I still remember simply because the things he taught me, stuck. I still use them.
The first sentence of this book drew me in.
Then the next three lines… well, there’s just no explaining it. Here’s the opening, in the narrators very own words..
The first thing you find out when yer dog learns to talk is that dogs don’t got nothing much to say. About anything.
“Need a poo, Todd.”
“Shut up, Manchee.”
“Poo. Poo, Todd.”
The bad grammar, the dog talks, and it’s talking about poo.
Following on my from my last post, I’ve been catching up on Dexter. I’m way behind on this show (currently halfway through season 4). And then it went and killed Lundy and pretended to kill Deb.
I have a pet peeve: characters who “die” only to be revealed as not dead later on in the narrative.
This is a relatively common trope and can be done to excellent effect. My issue is that after reading 4 1/2 books of A Song of Ice and Fire, it is now impossible for me to consider a character dead unless there is a body, casket, and a funeral. Even then, in George RR Martin’s universe, there is room for doubt. Let’s face it, he’s ruined this trope for everyone.
I promised pictures of Victoria Street Market that I’d taken with my camera, and here they are:
As the Ruin Falls 