Oh, that looks like a nice book...

I recently reported about my abhorrent lack of sleep. Well, it's driven me to edge. Not by the way of Class A drugs or anything - but by the way of literature. I'm absolutely devouring books. For the most part it's working - frivolous tales and the odd re-read of a Stephen King or something are helping to take my mind off things and send me off into the Land of Nod gently. Or it was working, until I picked up Alice Sebold's The Lovely Bones. Christ on a bike. I wasn't expecting that. Talk about devastation.

I won't give the plot away (what I'm about to tell you is in the blurb anyway), but it's about a young girl who was murdered, and she is telling her story from heaven while watching the destructive effects this has on her family as the years go by. I don't think I've ever been so completely captivated by a book. My Other Half actually woke up and came to see what was wrong as I was so inconsolable halfway through reading. I put myself to sleep with a headache from crying, I was so bad. But after discussing this little novel at work, I was glad to discover that I wasn't the only emotional wet sponge to be completely floored by this book.

And apparently, the film is due out next year. Great. I think perhaps I'll wait for the DVD to come out so at least if my face dissolves into my popcorn, it'll be in the privacy of my own front room. My friends will agree with me that none of us want a repeat of what became known as The 'Titanic' Incident. (My 15 year-old self was taken under protest to the flicks to see this crime against cinema by mates who loved Leo. While I'd love to say I wept over the shocking state of the script, I'm ashamed to admit that I sobbed so uncontrollably as the Strauss couple prepared to drown that my mascara streaked onto my t-shirt so I resembled a zebra, and a woman I didn't know came over and asked if I was alright when I started to hyperventilate.)

I've never had any poise when it comes to tears.

Lipstick Jungle or American Psycho...

New books. I love the smell of new books. Almost as much as I love choosing them in the bookshop. Examining the titles and poring over the covers; picking up ones that sound interesting or just plain bizarre; thumbing through the pages breathing in that first intoxicating aroma of the characters and storylines. Unfortunately, these days my bookshop of convenience has become the internet, and reading user comments and glancing at star ratings is du jour. Saying that, it's not so bad. There's still that thrill of new books arriving through the post and hitting the doormat, waiting for you to open them. And you can order stuff at work when you're bored and nobody is looking. Bonus.

I started reading Candace Bushnell's 'Lipstick Jungle' a wee while ago. I liked 'Sex and the City' but 'Trading Up' was a bit irritating...however I thought I'd give 'Lipstick Jungle' a chance as it was all pretty and girly and had a cocktail on the front, and also happened to come free with the copy of Cosmo I'd picked up in the supermarket which promised 'a great summer read' and had the intriguing guide to becoming 'a sex goddess in 9 steps' on the cover. I really shouldn't have bothered. The one-dimensional vacuous characters are like older, bitter, harsher and less amusing versions of the SATC girls. I just didn't care about the plot. There are only so many fashion shows and champagne parties you can read about. At least in SATC, it was funny. And the crap characters all have rubbish names. Victory Ford, anyone? Sounds like a commemorative car. So, I gave up after a few chapters and started reading my old friend 'American Psycho' again. But I've been itching for something new to read- new characters to love, so online I went.

Amazon's personalised recommendations always make me giggle. 'You once bought a cookery book, so you might be interested in this, 'Build Your own Garden Shed' - that kind of thing. Hmm. But this time they seemed to get it right, suggesting authors along the lines I was looking. Bret Easton Ellis was in my head. I loved 'American Psycho' so much, but haven't actually read any of his other stuff. And they looked appealing enough. After a few minutes of dithering I plumbed for 'Less Than Zero' and 'The Rules of Attraction.' Plus a DVD of Parenthood to take me up to the free delivery limit. Don't judge.

Sorted. New books to read by Saturday. Fantastic. I could do with a reading day. Wrong! Even though I was up early yesterday and listening out for the postman especially, I still managed to miss him. Turns out the flamin' doorbell is kaput and the little Royal Mail note pushed through the door says not to bother collecting my package from the depot for 48 hrs. Now not only do I not have anything to read - but 'Lipstick Jungle' is glaring at me from the shelf. It's my own fault. I shouldn't buy magazines for the free books. Particularly magazines whose covers proudly display bold statements like 'Climb the Career Ladder - Fast' alongside 'How to Knit Your Own Lingerie'.