I have a little secret, it’s a literary crush of the most unsavoury kind. No, it isn’t 50 Shades of Grey. It’s worse.
I fear a question. It goes something like this: “An English teacher? You must read some good books,” says random person at the other half’s Christmas party.
“Well, yes, I do, mostly children’s books, I love them,” I reply.
“I’ve just finished Swimming Home, one of the Booker shortlist,” she says.
“Oh,” I reply, “I’m currently 39% through Calypso’s romantic romp around Venice…” and it’s out. My secret crush on chick-lit romantic fiction.
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