Thursday, 2 October 2014

Fahrenheit 451

I love books, I really do. In my small way I add increase to their global number through what I laughingly call my day job (although 'sentence' would be a better description... Do you see what I did then? Oh never mind...)

But. But. One can have too much of a good thing. And moving house recently has confirmed one thing. You can have too many of them. There is such a thing as a surfeit of books. And loving what's in them isn't the same as loving them on the shelves 

Books are a curse on removals. Packing them doesn't take long... unless you've several hundred of them. Unpacking ditto... 

But as for lifting the boxes they're in and moving them from place to place, dear Lord! I know all about packing just a few and filling the remaining space with cushions or fresh air, but still. They're bloody heavy and bloody inconvenient.

And if I ever move house again I'm bloody burning them and buying myself a Kindle...
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