I am reaching the end of my lengthy library rearrangements and I am pooped. My cuticles are ragged, my knuckles skinned and all my muscles ache – who knew that shifting books was such an extreme sport? I’ve been so caught up in this task that yesterday I actually forgot an appointment with a student. And of course, she was not one of the 50% who don’t bother to turn up! How mortifying.
But there are plenty of surprises along the way when you go through all your books. I have discovered about 50 historical novels that I did not realise I had:
I can remember picking up a bargain pack of five Elizabeth Chadwick novels, and the Philipa Gregory’s I’ve had for years. But the rest were brought by the fairies in the night. I was thinking that I might have a historical binge in August, which is a time of year when I can never be bothered to read anything serious.
I have also restocked my crime shelves. No wonder I had been looking at them without interest lately. I didn’t realise that I’d pretty much read everything on them, or indeed, that I had enough in the TBR to re-fill them again (they are not ALL new, I wish to point out, to Mister Litlove if no one else!). But it’s very exciting to think I have a lot of crime fiction that is new to read. My Dad was asking about them in an email today, so here you go Dad, lending library open on its usual terms!
Oh and incidentally, Dad, that pile on the left is pretty much all the books I’ve borrowed from you! If anyone is intrigued by the penguin, it belongs to my son, and will dance when you press his beak.
Well, I don’t intend to do this for another 7 years, with a bit of luck. I should be writing reviews of the excellent books I’ve been reading this week, not to mention catching up on comments or emails, but I am going to have a rest instead. We have a three day weekend here in the UK, so I will catch up over its course.