In The Bleak, Pointless, January

Happy new year! Happy new books! Happy frugal January living! Happy windscreen scraping! Happy thinking about a diet or face being cut in half by jeans waistband when sitting down! (That last one might just be me ๐Ÿ˜‰ )

I did very well for books at Christmas, not so much by volume, but by actually getting what I wanted. My daughter gave meย New Ways to Kill Your Mother by Colm Toibin, a look at how famous authors got on with their families, and Janina Ramirez’s short history of Julian of Norwich (as seen on TV, but probably sans the donkey). My daughter can be trusted to buy specific titles, as well as get me things she knows I want or that I use regularly. No weird, cheap, bubble bath I’ll just put in a raffle, but Body Shop or Lush things I like. My mum also gets good presents, but often gets a bit, erm, creative. And if there’s something worse than a cheap unwanted gift, it’s an expensive unwanted gift. So, when my mum asked if there was any specific books I wanted I was delighted, and asked for October, which I’ve wanted since Kaggsy reviewed it.

I also wanted a more academic book on those fascinating walled-up chaps and gals, anchorites, and following the book-chain which started with the 1914’s The Hermits and Anchorites of England by Rotha Mary Clay, which was then incorporated and extended (and probably made easier to read) in 1985 by Ann K. Warren inย Anchorites and Their Patrons in Medieval England, to this 2012 publication byย Mari Hughes-Edwards.ย I ended up asking for the newer book, andย hope it will encompass the lot.

 

 

 

 

While Googling those books I also came across the item below, which is rather alarming. Back when my daughter was small, I used to feel guilty if, when answering the door or hanging out washing, I put her in her baby prison (play pen). At no point did I think about sealing her in a room attached to a church, and passing in food and taking out waste through a little hatch. We do not do that to babies. Teenagers, maybe. And, some would happily do it to themselves if it came with wifi. But even then, unless a hoover could be passed through the hatch, the mess would be horrific. I truly hope somewhere there is a town called Anchor and whoever made this was thinking about babies of town. Yeah, that has to be it. Right?!

anchorite

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