Off to another planet, despite avoiding the Sky

There was football on TV last night. That's not unusual; if there's no football there's always horse racing, or cricket, or golf, or tennis or athletics - you get the picture, we've got Sky.

It's OK though, we've actually got Sky+ and the programming means I need never miss an episode of a series I might like to watch. But here's the thing: I really can't be bothered - I'd much rather read a book.

Not to educate myself, or to be thought of as well read, just for pure enjoyment. I rarely remember a book once I've finished with it, but while I'm reading it I'm on a different planet (sometimes literally).

As a child, I lost myself in Enid Blyton's Famous Five and Secret Seven. Did I feel patronised by these middle class children with their Mummy and Daddy; mummy in twinset and tweed and daddy with his pipe? Not at all: I rushed along with them on their jolly outings, as they rode their bikes and had thrilling adventures in underground tunnels and castle dungeons, and had picnics with lashings of ginger beer and sandwiches.

Do you remember at school having to read aloud in class? Tall as I am, I was seated at the back of the room and had to keep my finger in the page that was being read - in flat, monotonous tones by my fellow pupils - as I raced several chapters ahead. History bored me, but I devoured the life stories of the kings and queens of England and France, as told by Jean Plaidy.

And later, finding romantic authors like Jane Austen, sophisticated and sly, and the easier-to-read Georgette Heyer, whose witty machinations inevitably end with the hero clasping the wilful-but-innocent heroine to his manly chest on the last page.

I've walked the mean streets of New York in the next century, my police cop heroine wearing a coat of butter soft leather and dividing her time between her poky police office and the mansion owned by her multi-billionaire ex-con husband. I was devastated when Isaac Asimov died and I realised I'd read all his novels. His robots series made a fortune for Will Smith, though the film didn't touch the real books, but then look what happened to Philip K Dick and his beautifully crafted short story when Arnie smashed his way around in Total Recall. In fairness, however, they don't always get it wrong. Who could forget Colin Firth and that wet shirt and clinging breeches...

My current favourite series is set on the Discworld, a world carried on the backs of four giant elephants which themselves stand on the back of a giant tortoise as it travels through space. Who could resist a continent which includes witches (Nanny Ogg and Granny Weatherwax), wizards in an invisible university, and a city governed by a Patrician who came top of his year at the College of Assassins, which is policed by a 6ft 4in carrot-headed dwarf who is probably the hereditary King, whose captain is an ex-alcoholic married to a duchess who breeds dragons? What a rush!

So, have you read any good books lately?

PS: Over the weekend I came across the following campaign by RNIB for all books to be available in large print and Braille www.rnib.org.uk/righttoread

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