Surreality

Ever have that feeling you're adopted? Sometimes it's less of a feeling, more of a vain hope. In many respects I'm too much like my parents to pretend they picked me up from a church doorstep an hour after I was born. Although when I was about eight, I did go through a phase of pretending this, and telling my friends, and claiming my name was Perdita - the lost girl.

I am thinking of pretending this again, based on the conversation we've just had.

"You still like books and reading, don't you?"

Yes, I do. (Does anyone stop liking reading, I wonder?)

"There's a book we were thinking you might like. You said you liked that book about the place up in Yorkshire at Sutton Bank, and we thought of another one you might like".

Well, could be interesting.... cautious curiosity.

"It's by a lady dad knows. And she's from Yorkshire. So you'd like that."

Hmmm. Possibly.

"It's about butterflies. Someone in the shop said it was good".

"Yes, and you like supporting Yorkshire so this is a Yorkshire book. And it's by a lady dad knows. She writes a lot of books, they have names in from right round Sheffield".

Scared, now. Buying a book on the strength of that? Hmmm.

I unwrap the scary, parent-recommended, lady-that-dad-knows book.

It is The Peppered Moth, by Margaret Drabble. In case you hadn't already guessed.