A Reading Culture by Lesley Hargreaves
It's been sunny here for a few weeks now, and we are blessed enough to live a few hundred yards from the seafront. Every morning, rain, shine or sub-zero, my lovely husband swims in the sea. He's strange but nice. If it's nice weather, I have been known to accompany him, usually with a paperback to read. This stops me from watching him and worrying about him dying a horrible death if a wave takes him. (Please see evidence of this foolhardy behaviour above. He was concerned that some of you may be overcome with lust. I said that I thought you would all probably be ok.) One morning last week, I was reading while sitting on a non-pebble bit of the beach with the sun beating down. Suddenly, I was ambushed by a memory. Years ago, a few of us had gone on holiday with Oak Hall. (If you are of a certain age and don't know what Oak Hall is - I'm not sure that you are even a Christian.) Anyway, Oak Hall used to pack coaches with young Christians and take them all around the...