The name of this blog was originally contrived from a comment by someone (oh I couldn’t possibly say who, but it was an afternoon in the countryside before all the cider). The comment: ‘You’re so funny, stuck in yr bubble with all yr books’ still holds true, but the original bubble (an attic above my parents’ house in Somerset) has now been vacated, leaving me with the need to update this information.
The new bubble (which is also full of books) is at the top of Clifton, Bristol with a front view onto a garden Frances Hodgson Burnett would be proud of and a back view of onto some buildings which look confusingly French. The bubble has also collided with and combined with that of another, who comes complete with a great number of his own books and good taste in tea.
The premise, though, is the same. Many of the posts are re-prints of articles I write for a selection of publications, particularly Exeunt, and mainly to do with THE ARTS. However, now that the bubble is in a more convenient place, giving me far more time to float and bounce along, Bubble and Books may begin to return to its original incarnation with the articles intersected by less structured thoughts on fashion, pretty things, politics and beer (the usual combination of interests for a young lady in 2013).
I still welcome responses on anything apart from laudatory missives to David Cameron or anything awfully female on periods *both grim and subject to censure*.