Last week I tried very very hard not to follow my usual path of wasting Jasper Fforde's latest book by reading it all at once.
I did very well for a couple of days. I limited reading to the busride to and from work and a bit before going to sleep. I didn't avoid watching telly or talking to people. But then by Sunday night, there was only about a quarter of it left. So I read a few pages then a few more then I thought "just one more chapter" and then there was such a small number of pages left that it seemed silly to save them and oops what do you know that's the end already and it's 1:00 am.
And now I'll have to wait another year until there's a sequel.
Which of course is FANTASTIC news - I mean that there'll be a sequel - because Shades of Grey is marvellous.
He's used his usual preposterousness that made the Thursday Next series such an absurdist delight. Everyone seems to drink tea and play hockey but are acutely aware of the dangers of swan attack and ball lightning.
Gradually, you realise that this is a very different society from ours that arose from the ashes of a dimly-remembered Something that Happened and the characters are not really much like you and me at all.
It's as if the coloured children from Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake were re-imagined as P G Wodehouse characters.
And it's utterly charming.
