The Book Tower

• The Guardian report today that Doctor Who has nudged The Beano aside as this year’s top-selling annual in the UK. I’ve noticed more annuals in the shops this year and, although my annual reading days are over, they are a welcome alternative to biographies of celebrities I have barely heard of. I remember as I child rushing into department stores to check if the year’s batch of annuals were on the shelves. My favourites were Whizzer and Chips, Buster and Lion. Later I moved onto Marvel annuals and later still 2000 AD. But I still have my Beano Book 1975 somewhere.
• Staying nostalgic, Julian Barnes writes a fantastic account of family life in the Christmas New Yorker. This doesn’t appear to be available in the online edition so, like me, you may have to buy a copy. But it’s worth it, and there’s some excellent fiction in this issue too. In fact I’ve spent most of today reading it.
• Bought a second hand copy of Goldfinger this afternoon. Ian Fleming’s opening reads:

James Bond, with two double bourbons inside him, sat in the final departure lounge of Miami Airport and thought about life and death.

• What a guy! After downing two double bourbons I’d probably forget where I was and miss my flight.
• Seasonal footnote: to my surprise, I make a mean pot of mulled wine, with our Christmas guests last night waiting in line, drinking and rejoining the queue in an endless loop. I even made a second batch, perhaps with a little less care, but by then our friends formed a merry bunch.