I am in love. The passionate, endless kind of love that takes place in my bed each evening.
I’m talking about my latest must-read book. You know the books that don’t come along often enough? The ones that seem like steel in your magnet hands? The ones that keep you up well past midnight as you greedily flick the pages like a truffle-hunting pig?
Whoa, my heart-rate just quickened at the thought of it.
My glorious friend Amanda bought me The Game of Thrones for my birthday which was a remarkable act of prescience on her part because I’d been meaning to find out what all this cool kid fuss was about.
I’d known precious little about the books (or indeed the worldwide phenomenon HBO television series of the same name) beyond that it was a little bit Lord of the Rings-ish (the writing style of which I didn’t particularly enjoy) and maybe there were some swords and stuff and probably a throne.
So here I was with this 780 page beast of a novel in my hands (which comes with a blooming chart of the character names) and I opened the first page and it sucked my whole gosh darned face right into it. I didn’t surface until, by my best estimate, 2015.