Friends, lovers, chums. I just finished reading the spectacularly fabulous Fire and Thorns (known as the Girl of Fire and Thorns in places that aren't Australia). And I will talk about it and talk about it and talk about. But later.

First, I have a public-service announcement to make. In the interests of public safety, it is important that you all know how bodice-heavingly awesome romance books are.

I have shouted of my love for this genre from the rooftops of the internet. But seeing as Valentine's Day (or more appealingly, Galentine's Day. Seriously, who was this 'Valentine' anyway? Sounds like a total Casanova to me and if spotted on the streets he should be TREATED WITH EXTREME CAUTION) was a couple of days ago, I think it's the right time to talk a little romance.

Oh yes. I'm talking bodice-heaving, skirt-lifting, independence-fostering ROMANCE, bitches.

When you are after some really entertaining reads, it's hard (no pun intended) to look past romance books.

And it's my duty, as an altruistic romance reader, to share some romance books that any virgin (like most of the heroines in these books, let's face facts) romance reader could get in to.

In The Secret History of the Pink Carnation, Eloise, a Harvard grad student, is researching flowery English spies from the Napoleonic Wars. In her research, she stumbles upon Amy's letters. Amy was a feisty, hilarious, totally historically implausible girl dreaming of becoming a spy and thwarting Napoleon.

Of course, both Eloise and Amy have men who want to thwart them, the snotty Colin and and for Amy, the supercilious Richard. It's a super-fun romp. Spies, sex and sarcasm. My kind of book.

On the opposite side of the romance genre is Jenny Crusie. Oh Jenny, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways (and books). Most people are all like, hot bodies, they're so sexy.

But I'm like, give me a witty mouth over a hot body any day. And Ms Crusie is the queen of wit. Also of screwball romances. Like Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn, Barbara S and Henry Fonda. Like me and this blog ... no?

And if those don't do it for you, may I suggest you go back to the beginning?

The first romance book I ever read was Matilda. Right, right, I know what you're thinking. But Matilda was about the beautiful, bewwwwtiful love between a girl and her books.

And that's a love that lasts forever (awwwwwww).

What Matilda did next

The topic of tattoos came up over brunch with a couple of friends today. We decided that, as even deciding what to get for breakfast can sometimes be a stuggle, working out what to get permanently inked onto ourselves would be a bit of a stretch.

But after much consideration (at least a couple of seconds or so), I decided that if I was going to get a tattoo, I might get a quote from my original literary heroine, Matilda.

If we get into the picky details of it, my parents might contest that Matilda was my original heroine. After all, how could I pick her over my other bosom friend, the trusty Anne of Green Gables, the girl who showed the world that orange hair was made of awesome?

I justify my reasoning by putting it out there that Anne sort of settled. She found her dream man, her house of dreams, and settled down to making babies, and, very rarely, stories.

Whereas Matilda? You just know that this girl kicked ass. She made pencils levitate in kindergarten. I'm pretty sure she continued to rock socks off.

Seeing as we've already established that I'm not decisive (or hipster, let's face facts) enough to get a tattoo, I might as well blog about the inspiration behind my imaginary ink.

What would Matilda do next? 

Maybe ... read, read, read, write, levitate, read, drink tea, visit Miss Honey, read, run her own publishing company, read, play bike polo ... All we can do is try and follow her example.

Reading: Mindy Kaling's 'Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (and other concerns)', listening to the radio, drinking English Breakfast (why does English Breakfast not taste anything like an actual English breakfast?).