So, One Small Footprint down, Spinning like a Peerie to go, and then I’ll be done with Molly Weir. I’m still finding it strangely compelling – that is, I’m still finding it compelling and still finding it strange that I find it compelling.
If anyone should happen to come across Molly Weir’s cookery book, I’d be very happy to take it off your hands.
So, I finished Molly Weir’s Stepping into the Spotlight and Walking into the Lyons Den and wanted to start the sixth book, but suddenly realised I’ve somehow messed up and I haven’t got the sixth book after all – it’s called One Small Footprint – and that Spinning like a Peerie – which is the next one I have – is actually the seventh book. It’s not as if I couldn’t skip a book – there’s no plot-lines to give away, after all, but I think I prefer to wait until One Small Footprint (duly ordered from ABE) arrives. When reading about someone’s life and career it’s nice to get things in the proper order, after all.
Well, back to Stepping into the Spotlight and Walking into the Lyons Den… All I really wanted to say was they’re every bit as delightful as the initial trilogy, and I’m still impressed at how interesting Weir makes reading about radio shows I’ve never heard of before and other acting accomplishments of an actor I hadn’t even heard of before I happened upon Shoes were for Sunday.
In which the tenements of Glasgow come to life.
Molly Weir’s Trilogy of Scottish Childhood has been my main read since Christmas – there seems to be very little time for reading these days (blame Martin). I picked up my paperback copy in Dufftown in September, it contains three volumes – however, they only seem to be available separately now – Shoes were for Sunday, Best Foot Forward and One Toe on the Ladder.
Weir writes engagingly about her childhood in the Glasgow tenements, and paints a vivid picture of a way of life based on making every penny go as far as possible. I had a most difficult time getting through the chapters on food, not because they were in any way boring but because I kept getting hungy (I mean, there’s a limit to how much you can read about fish and chips before going in search of a pub that serves them). It was also facinating reading about Weir’s progress towards fame on the stage, despite never (knowingly) having seen her.
On searching for the amazon links for this entry, I discovered that there are actually three more installments of Weir’s autobiography. They are now duly ordered (though through abebooks).