No shit Sherlock

I caught the end of the book show and I can see why Robert despises it so but it did inspire to take and finish reading 'The Outsider". I began reading it on the train to Ron & Rita's about this time last year. I caught the mountains train and sat back with my book but spent most of the journey in quiet reverie which was a grand idea as it turned out I stayed up extremely late drinking all manner of ill-advised drinks and then stumbled around the Newtown festival the next morning holding one year old Ronita in my tired and sunburnt arms.

Its the Newtown festival next weekend and I feel obliged to finish the book I started before it becomes one year but alas I have lost my Camus. It is nowhere to be found, not in the library (currently being reorganised from autoboigraphical into alphabetical order) nor in the shelves in my room. I've looked in all of my drawers, baskets and cupboards. It is impossible that one of the Peachettes should have taken it into their rooms, as a general rule the Peachettes do not read books. It is becoming a puzzling puzzle of Sherlockian proportions. My next move is to examine cigar ends, footprints and newspaper habits of all people involved. This could take a while.