I started readin this book called "sick". I can't remember who wrote it but I bought it in a cheapo book shop in Greenwich. It was about a woman that locked up all her bad thoughs in an imaginary wooden box. Then she goes for a brain scan and has a
brain tumour in the size and shape of the box
QUOTE]
Oooh! I quite like the sound of that
I am currently struggling with the last book in the Red Riding quartet - I am sick sick sick SICK of corrupt policemen / Yorkshire Post reporters who all end up dead, or in love with a prostitute or an alcoholic (or all 3) and descriptions of screwdrivers disembowelling abdomens (with or without swan wings).
An inordinate amount of tedious repetition imo.
I realise everyone else just lerrrrves it