In case you haven't heard, we're not getting a summer this year in the UK. Instead we have to listen to parents' reminisces of endless heatwaves in the seventies, when hosepipe bans were the norm and people covered themselves in vegetable oil, slowly cooking next to an egg that fried on the pavement, while dogs panted in the withering heat and children's ice creams slid down their fingers before they could eat them.
And so I'm off for a fortnight in search of a hole in the clouds that I believe sits above southern France. (All that sun and they hardly even play cricket.) Here's my reading pile thus far.
|Winner of this year's Edge Hill Prize|
|Debut thriller with great reviews|
|Dark Icelandic novel, recently translated|
by friend and colleague Lytton Smith
|Great cover and blurb alone saw me buy this|
|Rare bit of non-fiction|