The brain, it is generally not itself when confronted with 102 F body temperatures. Not the brain's fault, really, because my limbs, my head, and even my throat had given up on me last week. The maid had not turned up for four days, both my flatmates were out cold with similar ailments, and as I lay in a virus infested house, with a searing headache and a kitchen full of dirty dishes, my tired eyes refused to register the words of the book I was reading: Salman Rushdie's fascinating 'Grimus'. So I relented, listened to my sore limbs and head and throat, and picked this up from the bedside bookshelf.

And whaddaya know? I enjoyed it too. The big fonts and the simple, linear storyline made sure that my fever-addled brain could process the information. Who knew that dragons and witches are good for the lonely, sick, longing-for-home soul?

So, now I'm reading 'Physik', which is the third book of this series. My body needs to get rid of a little more virus until it's ready to delve into Rushdie's magic realism again.