I Went To The Top Of Vesuvius

It Is Important To Know The Stories And Histories Of Things, Even If All We Know Is That We Don't Know.

Outside The Leaves On The Trees Constricted Slightly; They Were The Deep Done Green Of The Beginning Of Autumn. It Was A Sunday In September. There Would Only Be Four. The Clouds Were High And The Swallows Would Be Here For Another Month Or So Before They Left For The South Before They Returned Again Next Summer.

My Father Is From Newark In Nottinghamshire And My Mother Is From The Very North Of Ireland. They've Ended Up In Scotland, Where My Father - Well, Both Of Them - Will Always Be Seen As Having Come From Somewhere Else.

A Game One Of My Sisters Will Play With Me In My First Year Of Being Alive Is Called Good Baby, Bad Baby. This Consists Of Being Told I Am A Good Baby Until I Smile And Laugh, Then Being Told I Am A Bad Baby Until I Burst Into Tears. This Training Will Stand Me In Good Stead All Through My Life.

What Shop Did This Book Come From? She Asked. Her Father Was Looking Worried At The Cooker. He Always Got Rice Wrong. I Don't Know, Brooksie, He Said, I Don't Remember. That Was Unimaginable, Not Remembering Where A Book Has Come From! And Where It Was Bought From! That Was Part Of The Whole History, The Whole Point, Of Any Book That You Owned! And When You Picked It Up Later In The House At Home, You Knew, You Just Knew By Looking And Having It In Your Hand, Where It Came From And Where You Got It And When And Why You'd Decided To Buy It.