Turning into my mother?

I would have to list reading as one of my top three pleasures in life and having, kicking and screaming, reached middle age, I had thought I was pretty sure of my likes and dislikes when it came to selecting my book of choice for the bedside, but how very wrong I was.

As many of you know for 3 days of the working week I am a teaching assistant in a local school and can often be found during the dinner hour with my nose buried in a book in an attempt to take a bit of time out before facing the rigours of a classroom bound afternoon. On one such day last week I realised I had forgotten my reading matter and grabbed the nearest abandoned book from the staff room and headed for the sanctuary of my car.

I turned the faded, 1970's offering over in my hands and was swept back to my childhood and the image of my mother's bedside table where there was a steady stream of such books with their wide eyed women and dark brooding men sprawled across the cover. My expectations were not high...

However, within the first couple of pages I was hooked. I had never read historical romance and certainly nothing by this particular author as I considered it 'my mother's domain'! So, whether it is the result of the mounting excitement I am feeling before attending the impending Festival of Romance or sheer pot luck, I guess this is an apology to Catherine Cookson and a timely lesson to never say never.

I will certainly be finishing The Girl and looking out for any other Cookson titles that may cross my path!

H-J