Now contemplating the books I'm supposed to be reading at the moment. (I say supposed since I got side-tracked after work today by an issue that needed to be dealt with and, thus, haven't managed even a page so far.) The pile comprises: Gilbert White's The Natural History of Selborne; the second in Joseph Campbell's The Masks of God series - Oriental Mythology; the Collected Poems of James Merrill; Gerard Genette's Palimpsests - Literature in the Second Degree; and Connections 2014 in the National Theatre's annual collection based on their youth theatre festival.
Not a dud amongst them, but nothing utterly unputdownable either. At least, that's my excuse for something approaching neglect in the one area of human experience I think of as almost defining me.
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