I don't think I'll ever be wholeheartedly a fan of Ian McEwan so I had to run myself a bubble bath and sit in the tub to force myself to finish The Innocent for this month's bookgroup.

It's not what I'd call a subtle East-West spy thriller, as it says on the jacket. Far from it. Give me John le Carre any day, especially a Cold War John le Carre. And then if I get into the bath, it's to shut out the world because I can't put him down.

Mostly when I read Ian McEwan, I tell myself that I won't bother again. But my bookgroup is very keen on him.

They are sniffy about le Carre. They don't know what they're missing.

I was very careful with Ian in the bubbles. (I hope he liked the scent. It was Molton Brown's Warming Eucalyptus, nothing too girly.)

Because unfortunately Willa Cather's Archbishop was drenched in a bathroom tsunami not very long ago.