I Remember Nothing by Nora Ephron

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When I heard Nora Ephron had written another book my first thoughts were ‘About time!’. It’s been nearly two years since she wrote I Feel Bad About My Neck, a reflection on growing older and how cheesed off she was with the whole process. That’s no time at all if you are a busy working person, as Ms Ephron is, but if you are a fan and you’ve read everything else she’s written at least twice, it feels like a lifetime.

New books by your absolute favourite authors are a joy, I used to feel the same elation and excited anticipation about being able to afford another Enid Blyton book when I was younger (despite the rubbish written about how she was too populist….what rot, as she might have said). Pocket money, holiday cash and the odd note slipped to me from a generous relative would all be saved up so I could nip down to the book shop and buy another episode of  Malory Towers or The Famous Five.  The only reason I skipped happily off to boarding school when I was 12 was because I’d read the entire series of St Clare’s novels and was convinced the whole thing would be a wheeze packed with adventure and excitement with a bit of education squeezed in when there was time (it wasn’t).

This attachment to favourite authors has not dimmed for either middleagedad or myself as we’ve got older. He still get’s a sparkle in his eye when a new Scandinavian police procedural is published, despite having a bookcase full of them and my heart skipped a beat when I saw Nora’s book was ready for reading. I had to have it shipped in (via Lorna, thanks honey) from America as it is not out here yet (why?) and I’ve even bought it in hardback, which always hurts, but I don’t really care, as I know I’m going to enjoy every word.

I felt much the same when India Knight’s book came out (that upset the Christmas present buying/feature writing/household maintenance schedule late last year) and there’s Linda Grant’s new one coming from Amazon…Have you got any favourite authors you feel the same about?

PS, Nora’s book is fab, BTW, more reflections on being older, on her life and her love affair with journalism, cracking.

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