It would be more than safe to say that I like books. I love books. I greatly esteem books. Sarge says I eat them.
I buy clothes when I need them, or every three years, whichever rolls around first. I buy or trade books once a week. And then I go to the library.
A few years ago, I set myself a goal to ‘visit all the bookshops in the world.’ Lofty goals are the truest ones. I’ve been doing pretty well. Some personal highlights have been Shakespeare and Company, The Strand, and Heffers. No, I haven’t been to Powell’s. Yet.
I’ve even been known to read books about books and reading. Last week, I read this, complete with a list of more bookshops for me to visit. I’m also going to work on this list. And because I’m not picky, this one, too.
Yesterday, after our monthly book-group, Sarge and I went to Blackwell’s, Edinburgh (number 39 on this list.) We just had to buy next month’s book. A Steinbeck, yes! It was Sarge’s idea to get it yesterday. He is such an enabler. I love him.
I get short of breath with sweaty palms anytime there might be books to buy/check out anywhere.
Here is the ‘reasoning’ behind this, in list form:
- All the books I might want to read, I already have, but haven’t read.
- Books are so pretty. Want, want.
- I’d like something that isn’t in a 3 for 2 deal. And two books that are. So I should pick out something else that has a damn sticker on it. Because it’s a free book, people. So Sarge picks out something that I’ll probably start/read first, anyway. Because he reads slower than I do, and because it’s there, and because he loves me.
- There’s a space on a shelf that doesn’t have a book with my name on it. Sometimes Sarge creates that space (in alphabetical order) and says: That’s where your book goes. Put one there.
And then I feel bad, because I’ve bought all these books when I should be writing one. That is, finishing one. It would seem I have issues with finishing things. It’s a shame I don’t have any issues with finishing a bag of Doritos. I couldn’t even finish a bowl of porridge this weekend. Because it tasted like paste. I told Sarge that I’d eat half and we could use the rest as spackle. Good deal.
Back to the books, and finishing them. I should probably work on that.
And because I like to change the subject, where is your favourite bookshop?