Reading and watching Lolita in Paris

If you can judge a book by its cover, can you therefore judge a man by his book?

On Thursday I caught up with Tigger* who was visiting from London.

We met inside the metro at Blanche, where I was sheltering from a downpour. He was wearing a panama hat and carrying, wrapped in a soaked newspaper, a book called ‘the last bachelor‘.

When he saw me, he alleged that I had been ogling some passing school girls and reading Lolita. I was definitely reading Lolita, the story of Humbert Humbert and his life long addiction to the little things in life, ie, 9-year-olds.

It didn’t help my case for innocence that the cover of the book had been removed (it was BEAVER! – HE gave it to me), and thus it looked like I tried to cover up the fact I was reading a book about a pedophile, while allegedly ogling school girls.

*He does everything at frenetic pace, even Pooh


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