Not that I want to see Skippy die, but I’m starting to feel anxious. I’m only about two-thirds through the book, and I started it in early March. It’s my fault of course, not the book’s. In fact, when I get a chance to read, I find it very difficult to put down because it’s very well done: observant and witty and melancholy all at the same time, which are all traits of the best books. I’m only embarrassed because I joined Reading Ireland Month, and now I am starting to worry that my contribution will be one lone entry. I hope not, because I’m tired of Erin Hart’s Lake of Sorrows looking at me reproachfully from the shelf…Oh! And also, I forgot that I have a copy of How the Irish Saved Civilization by Thomas Cahill, and I was hoping to read that one as well. The best laid plans!