Hello, my name is Nicola...

I have a lot of classic books in my flat...and I have actually read most of them. On Tuesday I had a night in and having left the book I was reading at school, decided I should start a new one. I perused the bookshelves and, passing up Dickens, Jane Austen and Arthur Conan Doyle, came across a book by Sophie Kinsella. "Who?!" I hear you say. And quite rightly. I think when I tell you the title you will understand what we are dealing with here. Yes, I am reading "Shopaholic Takes Manhattan". There, I said it! ....Oh, the shame.

The thing is I was quite tired on Tuesday, so I opted for something that was going to take the bare minimum of brain power, but come Thursday I find I am still reading it. This is worrying. It has no story, it is just about shopping, and the main character is a moron and I already hate her (and I am only on chapter 6), but I cannot. stop. reading. it. How does such rubbish have such a strong grip on me? I can imagine this is what smokers feel. It is bad, everyone else thinks badly of you for doing it, but however hard you try, you find yourself doing it. At least trashy novels won`t kill me.