For once, we in Britain don't need reminding that it's summer – recently, all we have had to do is look out of the window. In fact, it looks so great out there as I type this that it's taking an unusual amount of willpower to continue. What I really want to do is abandon the computer, pick up a book and catch the next train for the coast. (Of course, things may have changed by the time you come to read this.)

The burning question, aside from how I'll pay the bills if I spend the next three weeks swimming in the North Sea instead of working, is which book to take – which is where I'm hoping the Reading group will step in. I want a quality beach read. How you define that is entirely up to you.

If you insist on guidelines, I'm thinking it has to be something that is both intellectually satisfying and a page-turner. David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas springs to mind, or Donna Tartt's Secret History – or better still, Michael Chabon's Wonder Boys.

But then, I'm not the best person to ask. I know, because I've recently been told as much. There are some excellent recommendations for summer reading in the Observer's annual round-up, to which I contributed, but I took a possibly well-deserved pounding in the comments for saying I was going to take Proust.

Regular Reading group followers will know that I was only telling the truth. I fell in love with In Search Of Lost Time after it emerged from the hat back in January and haven't spent more than a few days away from it since then. (I'm in the middle of book IV now, if you're interested. Baron Charlus! Oh my god! And poor old Swann!) Anyway, I stand by Proust.

Following this weekend's sad news, I'm also doubly glad I gave the late great Mick Farren a mention in that Observer piece. Even so, I do understand that France's wordiest genius and Britain's premier proto-punk troublemaker are not everyone's idea of a diverting holiday read. So can you do better? All nominations gratefully received. I'll put them in the hat towards the end of the week and then let's go!