Kindling love

Come on Kindle light my fi-yah

As a general rule, I don’t like things that are too new or different.

I’m not sure if this is because my family was the one who waited until cassette tapes were no longer in circulation to get a DVD player, but sometimes I find myself overcome with a touch of that irritating take-me-back-to-the-good-old-days-when-kids-were-happy-to-play-with-a-doll-made-from-a-corn-cobb disdain for electronics (the internet and my iPhone will forever be exempt from this).

After years of resisting, my lovely mother offered to buy me one, and – oh my, you guys – has anyone else got a Kindle? Am I late to the party? What a marvel of modern science.

All fun and games until someone gets malaria.


Currently, I live on a tropical island.

And yes – it’s just as you are imagining:

Each morning I am woken, from my ocean-suspended tree house, by a monkey butler handing me a Malibu rum cocktail in a glossy coconut shell. With a tiny umbrella. And a crazy straw. Yes, he is wearing a Hawaiian shirt. Yes, so am I. This is the uniform of Tropical Island. Yes, all Tropical Islands are the same as Hawaii, because Hawaii is the Boss of Tropical Islands. I daintily sip my drink, do some calming yoga, then swing on a vine down onto a giant floating clam shell, on which a troupe of friendly dolphins cart me off to work.