I’ve come to dread the commute to work. More specifically, I’ve come to dread the nerve shredding boredom that comes with a half hour journey, on a train full of smelly people, where you can’t get a seat.
I’ve tried many things in order to pass the time. The Ipod is good, but there’s only so many times you can listen to the Linkin Park/Jay Z album, Spineshank, and Offspring before you get bored.
Also, you can’t sing along without people looking at you funny with their smelly wee faces.
I’ve tried a handheld device out of Argos that’s got 20 or so Mega Drive games on it. It worked for a while, but there are a few problems.
- Not all of the games are good.
- Thirty minutes is not long enough to complete your average 16 bit era game, be it Platformer, RPG, or Shoot-Em-Up.
- I can’t scream out ‘BASTARD’ when that ginger cat eats me for the millionth time in Flicky.
Not all of the games are good.
Now, until recently, reading was off my agenda. I finished, and graduated from an English Lit course at Glasgow Uni in 2007, got myself a shiny degree, and now work for a Local Council, living the dream.
The problem is that for five years (four year course plus a repeated second year, because I’m thick) I had to read books as a chore, not for enjoyment. The other problem was that most of the books were ones I couldn’t stand. Have you ever had to read a book called ‘The Awakening’? Don’t: my copy is currently propping up my desk.
However, a couple of weeks ago I decided enough was enough, and I picked up a book, determined to start reading again (or rather to read something that wasn’t ‘Marvel Zombies’). I soon discovered that half an hour was the perfect amount of time to digest a chapter or two. This slow, measured approach to reading ensured that I was able to enjoy the process as I once had, and also meant I could avoid eye contact with the smelly people.
I’ve now finished that book, and I want another one. I ask you now to recommend me something. It can be anything, with the following exceptions.
Anything by Stephen King
Nothing against the man, but the book I read was one of his. I liked it, I might read another, but for now, I want something different.
Harry Potter
I’ve read them, the last book was rubbish, and I’m 24 years old.
Anne Rice books
If any of you hear that I’ve started reading these, you have permission to stab me, and keep stabbing until my legs stop twitching and you feel like you’re stirring lentil soup.
The ‘Twilight’ series
Fuck you, and MotherFUCK your sparkly gay Vampires
Romance novels
I have a perfectly good relationship. Why the hell would I want to read about a dysfunctional one, let alone the same dysfunctional relationship as all the other ones.
- Girl cannot get boyfriend, life is horrible, woe is her.
- Girl spies boy that she likes.
- Oh, I think he likes me.
- Oh, maybe he doesn’t, although I’ve got no proof of this.
- Oh wow, he does like me!
- Oh shit, I felated his cat, videoed it, and sent it to him. He now hates me!
- Oh wait, he doesn’t hate me, he wants my babies.
- We’re living the domestic dream, although the cat won’t look me in the eye if I’ve been drinking.
Bollocks to that, we keep Richard Curtis around for a reason.
Chick Lit novels - I’m an empowered career girl, who lives in London. I don’t need a man, I’m too busy breaking the glass ceiling, and watching the assorted works of Richard Curtis.
- Oh god, he’s so dreamy.
- What do you mean we’re both up for the same job?
- What do you mean I engaged in mutual masturbation with his goldfish?
- Never mind, I’m now pregnant and I’m more than happy to let him have the job and raise my sprogs in traditional domestic bliss. Who cares how hard I’ve worked, I’ve got a man and children, and It's fucking bliss.
So, with these very reasonable exceptions in place, get suggesting.
