The great thing about audiobooks is that the magic is unfolding in your ears. That’s to say it’s not in anyone else's. You can listen to what you want, when you want and you don’t have to lug around a bright yellow Walkman to do it.

I did rock that bright yellow Walkman for a solid four years on a really jazzy belt from Tammy.

I've recently got into podcasts. Welcome to Night Vale by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor  -  a Stephen King-esque eerie small town America creepfest which is keeping me happy until the next American Horror Story rolls around, and Scroobius Pip’s Distraction Pieces, more conversational topics and interviews, being my regular go-to downloads.

Last week I was under the weather and there really is only so much daytime TV you can watch when your Netflix subscription has ended. I swiped into iTunes and scrolled for a good story. Roughly once a year (unless I’m doing a re-watch marathon) I will become Game of Thrones obsessed. I’ve always declared my utter trust in HBO’s interpretation of George R.R. Martin’s holy text and said that I wouldn’t read the books because those guys at the network were doing such a stellar job.

Oh the naivety.

The uproar at the latest season’s developments from some of my friends left me with some sort of feeling similar to being duped. All around me friends were rolling their eyes and tutting and generally muttering that things had gone off piste and taken a sharp left away from George’s designs.

So dear friends, I am listening to the very first installment, A Game of Thrones, not exactly going back on my word as I’m not technically reading it. I’m also not lifting weights on my commute with the door-wedge of a novel, but I am catching up and then I can join in with the eye-rolling mutterings for the next season.

I expect to be flabbergasted,