So what else been happening? Well, we saw whales on Saturday, two enormous, breaching, playful whales just offshore. Yep. It was brilliant. They’re migrating at the moment and are really putting on a good show. I was naturally beside myself; I can’t get over being able to see whales in the course of regular life. It’s always slightly surreal. Then Saturday night I was supposed to go out with Llewie and a couple of boys, but I decided to have a quiet night in instead. I gorged myself on the book I bought earlier in the day: David Sedaris’s Naked. It’s a scream. I don’t think I’ve ever read anything that made me laugh out loud more than this guy’s writing. I couldn’t put it down. I read it in one greedy sitting, laughing, laughing, laughing – the man is hysterical. He’s got a new book out, I saw it reviewed in Saturday’s Spectrum, and I’m just going to have to race out and get hold of it immediately. That Sedaris is a non-fiction humorist just goes to show that life is so much stranger than fiction, and real people are so much more peculiar and surprising and full of comic potential than anything one could possibly make up. I can’t recommend enough spending some reading time with Sedaris – I actually needed to wipe tears of mirth from my eyes.
I bought Naked on Saturday because on Friday I started reading Tim Winton’s latest novel, Breath, and I was enjoying it so much that I became uncomfortably aware that I was galloping through it far too quickly. This made me panic a little bit, because it’s awful when it all comes to an end too soon, so I decided I needed a distraction. Something to wean me off the Winton. I thought if I started reading another book, I might make the Winton last just a little longer. Of course, it didn’t work out that way at all. All I did was plough through two books like my life depended on it instead of one, and now they’re both gone. Sigh. I do experience a feeling not unlike mourning once the final page of a fabulous book has been turned. I loved Breath. The first few pages are devastatingly good, and they’re merely a gateway to more of the same. He could just as easily have named it ‘Breathless’ – that’s certainly how the best of Winton’s writing leaves me.