I didn't read teenage books: there were no such things in those days. Well, there was a small shelf in the library labelled TEENAGE BOOKS, but they were dull-as-ditchwater career books with ridiculous titles like Donald is a Dentist and Vera is a Vet. Donald and Vera were barely characterized and there was no plot whatsoever. Each book was a dreary account of how to pursue the relevant career. I didn't want to give people fillings or spay cats so I left them gathering dust on the shelf. (I might have been tempted by Jacky is a Journalist.) I read children's books up to the age of eleven or so and then I switched to adult books. I didn't just read classics like Wuthering Heights, of course. I read all sorts of books – some trashy, some tremendous, some wildly unsuitable. I spent most of my pocket money on paperbacks and borrowed three books from the library every week, sometimes twice a week. If I was particularly interested or irritated by a book I wrote about it in my diary, but sadly I didn't record every book I read.
