Who says romance is dead?

I've been off work since Thursday, for what feel like an eternity. And I suppose it is, when I consider how much I've worked over the past couple of months. It's given me a chance to catch up on my reading, as I can read for pleasure rather than for work. I've been indulging myself with magzines, books, and with Saddam Hussein's execution I've been going through three newspapers a day.

David Aaronovitch started the new year with a sublime column on the Saddam's death. The juxtaposition with a Japanese prisoner is a masterstroke. And the column becomes even more poignant if you know that he supported the US/UK invasion of Iraq. He has since become mollified in his views about the war, and this article seems to be his most contrite. Read and bleed...

Yesterday's Guardian had several stories which tug at the heart strings. For me, one in particular stood out, that of Carl Carter. When I started reading it, I needed to do a number one desperately, but I clutched my bladder and read till the very end. I admire his guts. I'd like to think I was capable of doing what he did, but I'm lazy, and my liver would fail me. Read and weep...