You know how it is, you have has long car drive, train, bus or aeroplane flight. Knowing that you are going to spend hours sitting in terminals, eating terrible food and of course stuck in a small uncomfortable chair behind a squirming child or adolescent who has nothing to do. At that point even the ironing becomes enticing.

And so it was, I was going on a long and very tedious flight with possible delays. I packed my bags and set aside everything I needed including my passport and of course the newly purchased book on top of the pile. Of course it was bound to happen there were no delays, for once, and as I sat down in the seat and opened my bag I realised that I had left the book behind. It was one of those moments when you metaphorically reach up to the heavens with your arms and say why me? And the answer was there are in front of me, tucked into the pocket, left behind by the previous reader was a slim golden volume called ‘ The Selfish Capitalist, Origins of Affluenza, Oliver James’.

So I tucked myself into my chair and began to read on the long haul. Now I don't particularly like the style of writing as I tend to be more of a ripping yarn type chap. But the quote on the front cover from Will Self, which I have found is not necessarily mean it is a perfect recommendation, was’ Oliver James is our foremost chronicler of what ails us’. What came to mind with reading the book was that it confirmed to me even more in my belief of the Buddhist practice in principle. This book is a catalogue of naked greed and lust of the modern socio-economic system.

If I were ever to recommend a book about Buddhism, or at the least a book that lends light upon the Buddhist ethos that does not mention Buddhism at all it would be this. In the end it turned out to be a ripping yarn.

On a scale of one to 10 I would give it about a 7 1/2. Some of this slightly lower in the score is purely because I don't quite like the style of writing. If I could get home about personal piece of prejudice it would probably be a nine.

Drive