A little lad walked by me on the corridor today completely oblivious to my existence, or that of anyone else around. He was, to use Mum's phrase, stuck in a book. And I mean stuck - so entirely immersed in the world of whatever story he was reading that this mundane one had disappeared for him.
Let me tell you, I deeply envied him. I enjoy reading fiction but my capacity for losing myself in a story has considerably diminished from the days when I was regularly admonished for losing track of everyone and everything around me. Mum, and Dad for that matter, particularly objected to me reading at the dining table, I suppose because I wasn't doing full justice to the food they had gone to considerable trouble to provide. But what does food matter when you're in the middle of a great adventure, eh?
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