Four years ago I read Alan Bennett's [[Writing Home]]. It was a collection of short writings, his ''Lady in the Van'', excerpts from his diaries during the nineteen eighties, notes on his plays and some short pieces to finish with. It was all topped off with some decent black and white photos which linked neatly with the text. I found the book enjoyable, but not overwhelmingly so and concluded that it had been published with the intention of making the most of the Christmas market. I decided that I wouldn't buy another like it. It reminded me of a large suitcase into which everything gets stuffed.