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I bought a book at the weekend. I've already read one this year "Toast" by Nigel Slater so I thought whilst the iron was hot I might try and read another. I read rather too many books as an angst ridden teenager and I don't know now if I feel any benefit - afterall, look what happened to Sylvia Plath anyway.

It's called Harlequin by Bernard Cornwall and in normal circumastances I wouldn't have bought it but I did, £1.50 it was, hard back. I don't normally like historical novels but as I am open to new things at this time of year I carried it home in a brown paper bag and do you know it's rather good? I am up to page 50 already.

It's all knights, medieval and battles and stuff fit to bursting with testosterone - one could almost get pregnant from reading the prologue - but I intend to read the lot.

One thing I have been thinking this weekend - after watching a nasty programme about global warming - is how progress has made us worry about death. In my historical novel people die left, right and centre and they know they will be off to heaven and don't seem too concerned. The modern world has poured scorn on God, questioned creation and is now in a right old pickle about our imminent departure. I reckon we should all take stock, recycle ofcourse, switch to green energy suppliers, switch off the microscope and start going to church/temples/mosques. I do believe we are in the midst of a dark age and if we don't get spiritual life as we know it won't be all that worth living.