I spent last week with Margaret Atwood.

Well not exactly “with” her, but listening to her read her wonderfully absorbing “Book of Lives: A Memoir of Sorts,” over Audible. It’s our book club’s September selection, and I thought, given my aged eyes, it was easier, and perhaps even more satisfying, to listen rather than to read its weighty 624 pages.

At regular speed I would have spent 25 hours and 36 minutes in Atwood’s company. But she speaks quite slowly, so I upped the speed to 1.2x and saved four hours and 16 minutes with no noticeable distortion.

It was an engrossing 21 hours and 10 minutes. Pity I failed my knitting badge in Brownies, otherwise I would have undoubtedly produced some worthwhile garment while I listened.

Atwood and I are roughly the same age. She was born in 1939 and I in 1940, so we have the........

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