At the risk of repeating myself, my very favourite bit of writing this column is the feedback I get from you. Mostly it is about books, much is very funny and some is pure genius.
Jay Cassells is a wicked local cartoonist and as a bit of a Fomo (Fear of Missing Out) sufferer himself, his response to last week's column was this fabulous cartoon.
Don't ask him if you can buy the original as he has already promised it to me.
If you've forgotten, the Fomo I had last week was wishing I was going to the rugby to see Italy and Ireland.
Now I am over it.
Only two more weeks to go until real life resumes, and I just can't wait.
When New Zealand won the World Cup in the 1980s, I was working at a private prep school in London.
I didn't even know there was a World Cup, but one day, everyone at work was hugging and congratulating me on winning it.
Now that's what I call winning - I had to do none of the tedious watching or listening, and just got all the rewards for zero effort.
It was like being an atheist unwrapping presents on Christmas Day.
Rugby "unfans" are even less popular than atheists though, and there are far fewer of us.
My phone has been running red hot as a group of friends in England rang me at halftime during the All Blacks game on Sunday night, only to be told by my darling that I had gone to the movies.
They are all shocked and horrified that when I am only 1500km away from the rugby, I am not at every game.
I tried to explain that I have already been to a game, but they seem to think I should be more interested.
I just can't be.
I am, however, interested in the comments I have been getting. They are much more exciting than the actual games.
Other sport is happening though, and most of it seems to be golf.
Congratulations to Harry Davison who got a hole-in-one on Saturday.
I've been waiting for years for someone in my family to win something so I could make them a victor's laurel wreath.
Honestly, they are such a pack of losers that there just hasn't been any opportunity.
I don't really think it is the done thing to wear a laurel wreath for winning the meat raffle, or for winning $17 on Lotto or a packet of tees at golf.
It has to take some sweat and effort and brilliance, and because of the hopeless circles I move in, I thought I better get laurel weaving quickly in case there wasn't another chance for years.
Harry did look a bit surprised to be presented with his smart, green headgear.
All this sport has been wonderful for reading.
They've been a very mixed bag, but all marvellous.
In no particular order, the following three come highly recommended by lots of you, and given the variety of subjects, there is bound to be something that appeals to everyone.
First is Julian Corkle is a Filthy Liar, by D.J. Connell.
The author is New Zealand-born, but has lived all over the world.
The hero of his book, Julian, is growing up gay in a redneck Australian family.
His mother has total faith that Julian is going to grow up to be a real television star, and is always reminding him to "twinkle, twinkle", but his father only wants him to be a sports star.
Every belief and attitude is held up to ridicule in this very funny coming-of-age novel.
A much sadder story is the Korean Please Look after Mother, by Kyung-Sook Shin.
So-Nyo gets separated from her husband in Seoul as they board a train.
A stroke a few years earlier has left her a bit vulnerable and confused.
While the family search the city streets for her, they think about her and all the things they wish they had told her. In this way we learn about the real So-Nyo and the sacrifices she has made for her selfish family.
It's a cautionary tale for all of us to be kind to the people who care for us while they are still around, and a reminder to mothers everywhere that husbands and children need to be shocked into better behaviour every now and then.
Oh, all right then, maybe wives could do with some reminding, as well.
Lastly is Sue Shephard's The Surprising Life of Constance Spry.
As soon as you hear the name, you think of flowers and cooking for these mumsy, mimsy arts are what she is most famous for.
Terence Conran was so wrong when he objected to the Design Museum of London's plan to host a Constance Spry exhibition, claiming that Spry's "high society mimsiness" was an unsuitable subject for the museum.
Brought up in a time when there was a "right" way of doing everything, she did everything her own way.
This biography of a highly unconventional, very strong woman is a vivid and riveting read.
Don't forget that today is your chance to dress up as a Parisian and head off to Dorothy Brown's to see Midnight in Paris, to raise funds for breast cancer awareness.
