Since last summer, I’ve read (or in a couple of cases reread) the following books:

A Cruel Bird Came to the Nest and Looked In by Magnus Mills

Little Hands Clapping by Dan Rhodes

Room by Emma Donoghue

Autumn by David Moody

Fatso by Lars Ramslie

One of Our Thursdays is Missing by Jasper Fforde

The Forever War by Joe Haldeman

I Am Legend by Richard Matheson

The Damned Busters by Matthew Hughes

Plus all four books in Philip Reeve’s Mortal Engines Quartet.

However, not one of these did I read in the bath, and I can guarantee this because, quite simply, I never do read in the bath. Instead I listen to music or focus on battering my feet with a pumice stone (too much information?), plus I’m a shower man anyway, especially because I find it hard to fit in a bath comfortably, what with my unnecessarily long legs.

But today I enjoyed a lovely hot soak for Read In The Bathtub Day and became absorbed in an extremely highbrow work of literary fiction: the novelisation of Doctor Who and the Robots of Death from 1979 that I bought for 99p from Oxfam Books last week. Even though I’m reading this wonderfully ridiculous tale as opposed to watching it on the TV, I still hear Tom Baker’s voice in my head and see his long scarf and mop of unruly curls as he dashes down corridors in search of the killer automatons. And as long as he doesn’t burst through the door whilst I’m washing behind my ears, he can continue to do so to his heart’s content.

It was a lovely way to spend an evening, and I even included one of the plastic waterbirds from Rubber Duckie Day. *wack wack*


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