I found an old Agatha Christie upstairs and I gave it to herself saying that she might like it. It lay around on her desk for ages but the other night she had nothing else to read and she picked it up. She is completely hooked. I remember how much I loved Agatha Christie when I was about her age. I am delighted for her. And for us because there are loads of them out there and they might last her a bit longer than the My Sister the Vampire books.
Then, when I went in to turn off the boys’ lights, Michael was reading a Spongebob book and Daniel was methodically working his way through stories of T’choupi, the world’s dullest mole. “What are you doing?” I asked. “I’m teaching myself to read in French,” he said.
