Between the virus and the treatment (not to mention end-of-term-itis), my brain is not what it might be. I feel like reading trash. Recommendations welcome (keeping in mind that I have a strong preference for British chick lit and rarely like the American version).
In particular, I have vague memories of a book whose title and author completely escape me, but if it rings any bells for anyone (Laura? have you cleaned it out of your library recently?), do let me know. It came out sometime in the last 10 years; modern British setting; features a heroine possibly named Annie and a Scottish hero possibly named Alastair. He has a tumbledown castle and needs to marry money, pronto, and sweeps Annie off her feet in the belief that she has it. She doesn’t. She actually prefers a friend of his, or maybe his brother. In the end, of course she gets together with the friend, or brother. There’s a very romantic dinner early on; and a ball somewhat later; and a very cold trip to Scotland.
I can’t believe I’m posting this. Blame it on the hot lemonade with whisky. And why don’t I drink that when I’m not sick? Mmm. Maybe by the time you get around to naming that book I will feel better and be back to grading (yes, there’s more) and reading about Gower and Henry IV, which is what I ought to be doing. I’m a sherioush shcholar, really. Mmm, lemmmonade. Sherious, I tell you.
If you’re a colleague reading this, you’re hallucinating. Really. Go back to your grading and when you come back I’ll have poofed this.