Book club yesterday with a review of a book that didn’t get much praise from our assembled readers. I will not mention the author or the novel. Others may love it. As is often the case, the less we enjoy a book the more far ranging are the conversations about it. The day after a bookclub meeting I allow myself some free choice reading. The book at the top of my pile should have been read in late December on my flight from Hong Kong to London. I started reading but fairly early on we hit turbulance . It occurred just after supper was served and was so disruptive the cabin crew could not move to clear up the supper trays and drinks. No book reading for a couple of hours as all passengers had to keep their hands on the supper trays and their minds on not needing a wee.

So here I am nearly three months later starting my gifted holiday read again.

Being a holiday read it has fascinating book marks. Airline tickets from Hong Kong and a beer mat from Bermagui Beach Hotel.

Our stay at the Bermagui Beach Hotel was every woman who enjoys an Australian Drama’s Dream. And I love  Australian Dramas.

Our stay at Bermagui had a tiny drama of its own when I had a naked encounter with a Sting Ray.

First name to spring to mind was Steve Irwin, an Australian Naturalist who lost his life to a Sting Ray. Once the danger was past I may have given some thought to calling out the fictitious G.P. Dr Blake, famed for his small town, Ballarat, Mysteries.

I think I could have languished quite happily in a genuine turn of the century hotel  while he puzzled over an English Naturist in almost a copy cat event. Although had I had any sort of life threatening injury the 9 hour journey he would need to drive would have probably killed me.

Of course all I was actually suffering from was an over active imagination in the most idyllic spot.

Books have a habit of encouraging an over active imagination. Bookmarks less so, but today I am reading about the Dreaming Spires of Oxford while pondering the absolute delight that was a small town hotel in New South Wales.  Oh if only those walls could have talked.

Far better to read a book on an Australian Hotel balcony dreaming of the past, but better to read anywhere rhan not to read at all