The Christmas break and the New Year seem to have been taken up primarily by some wonderful reading, courtesy of fantastic presents from assorted family members.
Right up there among the offerings was Bill Bryson’s latest: The Road to Little Dribbling. Now, this is not an unbiased review. I am a devoted Bryson reader, and usually have one or more of his books somewhere nearby. I would be starstruck and ask for his autograph AND curtsy if the opportunity presented.
The only possible exception is probably his book on Australia – Down Under – and I feel that may have been because that’s exactly where I am. It’s much more fun to have the vicarious travel bug scratched and indulge in a bit of other side of the world laughter, instead of rolling your eyes in local superiority and going ‘Does he even know where that is?!’
Bryson’s language is a shared…
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