Sitting back one afternoon with nothing better to do than to watch Newcastle v Chelsea on Sky, I picked up one of the books I'd been sent to review. I normally prefer to pick up a good Grisham, perhaps Harlan Coben, something along those lines with a bit murder and mystery preferably a little bit sex thrown in too. (hey... we all love it... c'mon) Keith Geddes? Never heard of him and quite frankly sitting down to read about the exploits of a teacher transferred to a school in Nairobi wasn't the sort of book that was likely to tear me away from the big screen. Anyway I sat down to watch the game and the old black n whites fared quite well in the first half, Michael Owen... c'mon you should have bagged two and sent the Chelski packing. The second half started poorly and the class began to show. Within ten minutes Newcastle were a goal down and I went for the book by Mr Geddes.
Am I glad I did! The book hooked me in almost straight away and my glances over the top of the book became less frequent especially when the toon went 2-0 down. After thirty minutes the box was switched off and I engrossed myself in a quite enthralling read.
The following day I finished it. It was a book from a bygone era, a wonderful 'holiday read' without meaning to undermine the book too much. Not heavy, not a difficult plot, just a good old fashioned yarn to lie on a sun kissed patio with a lazy bottle of rioja. And that's just what I did. Thank you Mr Geddes for a wonderful afternoon. Shame about the footy!