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’.
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’s not my kitten… It’s pages are too REPETITIVE.
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.