As a child, I read books a lot.
I always had my head in a Roald Dahl or Dick King Smith book.
Even to the day, I visualise ‘George’s Marvellous Medicine’ when I devise dinner from whatever is in my fridge.
So there was actually a time that I could finish a book in less than 6 months.
Some time in 2013 BC (Before Child).
There was also a time that my OVERTIRED snot-filled peanut could take in more than what my Mum calls a ‘pink book’.
Pink Book: Literature where the front cover features a city sky line or beach, a lady with a suitcase or umbrella, and a title in a pink swirly font.
Having said that, I did read a lot of that chick lit tripe Before Child.
But I did also read books of more high-brow subject matter to balance it out.
Why I only read 2 books on average per year these days:
1. When it comes to my reading habit nowadays, I’m lucky if I can read two books cover to cover in a year. Obviously, that does not include the twice nightly ‘We’re going on a bear hunt’ or multiple daily reads of ‘That’s not my kitten’.
That’s not my kitten… It’s pages are too REPETITIVE.
2. My eyes just won’t stay open by the time I have made dinner, finished work off, checked Twitter for the umpteenth time, tidied the toys away and watched TOWIE on catch up.
That said, last year was a high point for me. I managed to read all of the McFly Autobiography in a week whilst on holiday.
There. I said it. McFly. I was aged 33.
So for now, I will continue to read my 2 pages per night of this bad boy, and ignore the unread books gathering dust on my bedside cabinet.