Apparently it’s snake season in Hong Kong. So The South China Morning Post informed me.
Despite having found a traditional snake shop hidden away in Central, I have never really though of Hong Kong as a place for snakes. Australia, yes. We have more than our fair share of venomous creatures, and I once sat on a red-belly black when nine months pregnant (another story). As we’re always telling visitors here, everything in Australia wants to kill you. But Hong Kong is a city of high rises, not snakes.
I live surrounded by books. The photo above is of my bedside table, just to give an idea of what I’m currently reading – plus I also have a ridiculous number on my ipad. Quite often I have books piled on the bed-head as well. One morning my kids will come in and find me buried by the books, only my feet visible. There are worse ways to go.
On rebuilding last year most of our things were stored in the little house. Now we’re planning to demolish it and build a granny flat for my Mum. So, in we go and clear the place out. The little house is comprised of two rooms, a hallway and a bathroom, all of which are full. We literary have to take a box out before we can take a step forward, take out what we can reach, a few more steps forward… it’s been a great chance to declutter. The skip we’ve hired is rapidly filling (which is a tad embarrassing, considering we decluttered when we built last year. Apparently.) As we pull out the flotsam and jetsam of our lives we bring out some books. Boxes and boxes of them. Like an archeological dig, the deeper we go, the more interesting the discoveries. Books we’d forgotten about. Books we remember but haven’t seen in so long. Old friends greeting each other after too much time apart.
I stumbled into reading this book. My first introduction to Moriarty was hearing my husband laugh as he read Big Little Lies. When our kids were younger he had been head of the local school’s P&C. A school very much like the one Moriarty describes. With much the same parents. Truly Madly Guilty has moved from the school grounds to tree-lined suburbia. Essentially the story revolves around three married couples. Everyday, ordinary couples – and as always with the everyday, they carry their secrets and failings, believing no one else can see them. As the opening epitaph states: Music is the silence between the notes (Debussy). The novel revolves around what is said, and not said – and when the little things aren’t spoken about, they grow to assume profound significance. Continue Reading →