Reading is such an innocent pleasure but it’s not one that comes easily. I love the idea of sitting on a park bench, looking out to the distant fields, breathing in the pleasure of the countryside – and reading.
The reality is that my attention is dragged away – well actually it goes without a struggle. A barking dog, children kicking a ball – all demand my attention and I know that no pages will be turned.
At home, on the sofa, what pulls me away? A wandering mind, relaxed by the comfort of that soft cocoon is soon imagining more than the author intended and my mind writes something the author never intended.
So now I’ve promoted my old recliner, transferred it from the spare bedroom into my office and it’s ready. The big question is, am I?