When I was little I used to think that heaven was a place that had all the answers to the world's most interesting questions, or at least the most interesting questions according to me. I recall particularly well one night lying on my waterbed and contemplating whether it would be possible to die ever-so-briefly so I could find out who really killed J.F.K. (yep, at 9 I really did want to know this, it was as if I had a premonition of my year 11 final history exam); know if my teacher really did have favourites (of course she did); and find out where I'd lost my mum's brooch before she even knew it was missing.
As I've aged I've come to realise that my idea of heaven does not quite match the traditional variety which promises pretty gardens and clouds and angels (I think? I confess now to not being quite 'up' on the latest trend on this one). But now it doesn't matter because I'm finding little slices of heaven all over the place; the most recent one being this book which I have carried around like a bible from the moment I read the first page:
Apologies for the quality of the photo but it was late at night and it's not my fault the hotel I was in thought pooh brown would be a great colour choice for their blankets.
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