Our house is full of books.
There are piles of them everywhere; on bookcases and coffee tables, beside our beds and under them, on our desks and on the floor. We love books and I love having a home surrounded by them. They offer us a world of infinite possibility. We can immerse ourselves in worlds full of wizards (Harry Potter of course and Earthsea), the life and times of Shakespeare (1599) or that of a Roman Gladiator (Horrible Histories, You wouldn't want to be a Roman Gladiator).
We can laugh ourselves silly at the strange things we all might wish for and later regret (Five Children and It) or the antics of animals (James Herriot - makes for a brilliant audiobook). We can be brought to tears over Welsh Sheep (Gillian Clarke's collected works) or feel like jetting to New York and walking her streets (Frank O'Hara's) or be reduced to giggles reading about a strange case of hysteria (Carol Ann Duffy's). A good book is a marvellous thing that takes us on a journey and fills us with delight.
Back to the stacks, there are now so many of them that we have big plans for new book housing this year. Once we've finished decorating... hum let's hope we manage to get through that quicker than last the time, at least before more of these wonderful friends find there way here.