I am spending much time at present out in the garage of my new home, unpacking the 3000 books for which, even as I type, I hope the builder who lives just down the road, is busily hammering and sawing and painting, putting together the 30 shelves that will hold them in my still empty and echoing sitting room. Why was it such a fast job to pack them just over a week ago and now it seems endless trying to unpack them and sort them into some sort of librarian-like sequence? I guess the fact that I keep finding old friends amongst them that someone else must have packed, that I can’t resist looking at, probably doesn’t help. The photo only shows the half of it!!
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