.... to fall in love? That initial burst of joy, the wonder that this amazing person exists, the thrill of exhilaration as you realise that you just get each other. And then come the first nights together, when you can't bear to close your eyes to sleep because it means that you will be separated from your new love for eight long hours. You want nothing more than to be with them and all of a sudden everything else seems an irritation to be tolerated until you can wallow in being alone with your loved one again. Well, you may think me a hussy, but it is a feeling I experience quite regularly. Once or twice a year, in fact. Lovely Husband has come to tolerate it, even indulge it, although I'm not sure that he doesn't sometimes secretly get fed up about it.
At the moment I have fallen deeply, desperately in love with Dorothy Whipple. Not actually her, you understand, but her books. I have just finished "The Priory" (one of those beautiful Persephone editions, which shouldn't make a difference, but it does) and now will not be happy until I have devoured everything else she has written. Beautiful Girl understands this feeling. She sobbed bitterly after we finished the third book in Enid Blyton's "The Magic Faraway Tree" trilogy because "th-th-there's no Faraway s-s-s-stories left". At least I can tell her that, in about twenty years time, she's got Dorothy Whipple stories to look forward to.