Many books I have yet to find time to read. Why is it that whenever I feel in the mood to settle down with a book, someone/something always appears to kill the fun? Huh? Answer that for me, please. And why is it that it always happens the minute I flip the book open??
Questions of Taste
Émile Peynaud's Le Goût du Vin
Nixon in China
The Kissinger Transcripts
And still waiting on Amazon to send me Jonathan Nossiter's Liquid Memory.
I need a weekend of solitude this winter, sun light, my red armchair, and a bottle of good Côtes du Rhône. And no fucking interruptions!