I like to read.
Ok, sorry, biggest understatement of the year. It would probably be slightly more accurate to say: I live to read. I’m addicted. My collection of books is slowly overtaking our house, much to my boyfriend’s disgust. I’ll read anything. Absolutely anything. I recently discovered an old, incredibly dusty cardboard box full of Enid Blyton’s, ragged survivors of my geeky childhood. Did I smile, sigh nostalgically and throw those bad boys out? No, I did not. Instead, I sat right down and proceeded to read the entire collection, brushing spiders and dirt off as I went.
Two days later, I was engrossed in Ken Follett’s epic 850 page Fall of Giants, taking the occasional break to whip through Ben Elton’s hilarious Chart Throb. So, yeah, I’ll pretty much read anything.
Friends are constantly asking me to recommend books to them, which I do with slightly maniacal enthusiasm. However, sometimes I’ll read an amazing, breathtaking book and there will be no one around to listen to me rant…even the cat bails. So here I am, writing and ranting about my all time, severe, permanent addiction: books.
This isn’t a blog of formal book reviews, rather this is me sharing the contents of my bookshelf with the world.
A room without books is like a body without a soul
– Marcus Cicero.
I think I better explain that to my boyfriend before I sneak off to the bookshop today….