The discussion about favourite authors (the ones we read, not the ones we worked with) came up in a conversation once, while we were driving back from lunch. It was the radio’s fault, probably; it was talking about the Big Bad Wolf book sale.
‘I like James Herriot,’ said Jenna, when Mei asked who hers was.
I drew a complete blank at the name. ‘I don’t think I know him, sorry.’
Disbelief radiated from both the passenger side and the back seat. I wasn’t sure whether it was because he was a very popular author, or it was because I was disabusing their notion that I was very well-read. I concentrated on the road instead.Continue reading “all creatures great and small”