I have new bookcases.
Lots of them.
Who knew, a decade ago, that an item of bespoke furniture, costing more than our annual holiday, was capable of giving such pleasure? Finished on Friday, they now need painting, and since they line the entire length of the dining room wall I suspect that this will not be a quick job. So I will sit amongst the piles of books and general chaos a little while longer yet. Why do towering stacks of books look stylish and trendy in magazines but manage to give my house the appearance of a landfill site?
Daddy is not convinced by the 'home improvement', particularly not the expense or being roped into the painting, so they are going to have to work hard to prove their worth.
Helping to add to the mounds of books without a home, I have been selected as a 'giver' for World Book Night: tomorrow evening as it happens. My book is The Take by Martina Cole, and I have 24 copies to give away. So I am planning a rare trip to the local to begin distribution. They each have a unique identifying number, so if 'receivers' enter into the spirit of it I will be able to track their journeys. Where will they end up? Hopefully not on a rubbish tip...
Currently Reading: A Long, Long Way by Sebastian Barry