Monday, February 8, 2010
Sometimes I reckon books are better than friends. They've never gone out to a nightclub and left their phone behind when you're feeling crap and want some cheering up. They never plagiarize your top secret unpublished novel (yes, it happened to me; never trust a woman who makes aprons in her downtime), and when you're sick of one, you can move onto another without feeling guilty.
That's what I did last night. I'd been wading through an impenetrable biography of Jean Cocteau - two pages a night, then zzzzz...it's all over. So I picked up a 1989 copy of Danielle Steel's Daddy I once bought as a prop for a shoot and hey presto - wide awake! Couldn't put it down. Danielle Steel rocks. Vivienne Westwood knows it; that wild fuchsia opera coat knows it...hands up who wants to join my Danielle Steel book club?
Cocteau fans need not apply.
Posted by Mrs Press at 1:32 PM