I have had the most mind-numbing boring nothing day ever, and, for reasons that i don't care to go into, held myself back from switching on and logging in. It's been a shit day and, for me, bedtime wouldn't come soon enough. Then, finally, i reheated some grub that i'd cooked earlier, poured myself the first of quite a few cold ones, and set out to finish my latest read.
I know that it would be nothing new to say that so often you can find yourself being drip-fed, being given just enough information, to keep you reading on. Red Herrings, White Elephants, plots and sub-plots, with a fair helping of what seems to be pointless dross/page-filling waffle then you get to the last few chapitres and suddenly you sense that maybe there was a point to it all and you can't read quickly enough.
Well? I just finished James Craig's " Never Apologise Never Explain " and now i shall go to bed happy.
Small print at the top of the cover describes it as an Inspector Carlyle novel, like, there is more of this stuff?
Detective stories are so not my thing, correction were so not my thing. Learning about myself all the time.
I can't believe how i'm feeling right now, happy dither...