Humour: Beware the difficult route

It’s been hard work, but I’ve finally managed to shake it off. This crippling readerly flaw that masquerades as a virtue. I developed it in my early teens, with the zeal of a literature student determined to cultivate clean reading habits. It dictated that no book that was easy to read was worth reading. There were, of course, notable exceptions like The Catcher in the Rye and Haroun and the Sea of Stories. But even these had to be scrutinised with analytical fervour; heaven forbid reading for pleasure was ever just that. Now that I’ve just about managed to throw off these shackles, I’m noticing how the same annoying habit has crept into other areas of my life. Allow me to explain.