I’m a true bibliophile – a lover of books. For me, that means:
I read a lot.
I have done since I was this high [holds hand at thigh-height]. I don’t recall a single day of my life when I didn’t have a book in my hand at some point. I even read in early labour. The only way to live, as far as I’m concerned, is mid-novel, so whenever I finish a book I have to start another.
I hoard books.
To ensure the horror of being ‘between books’ can’t befall me. Book-buying is a fairly costly habit, but it’s become a little easier to conceal from my husband now that some of the books are digital. Still, plenty of paper books join the collection at home. A special few make it onto the ‘Grab first in case of fire’ shelf.
I write among books.
My writing room at home is lined with bookshelves (that took me an embarrassingly long time to put up), but I often write out of the house. The university library is a favourite haunt – for the silence, the solitude and the intoxicating smell of old books. When I’m in the mood, I decamp to a bookshop cafe. Books and coffee and cake: a powerful combination.
I embrace the inner book geek.
Which gets really excited by stuff like handbags made from book covers and Book Bench art sculptures and the fact there’s a society dedicated to miniature books. And exhibitions, like ‘Magical Books – From the Middle Ages to Middle-earth’, with original artworks, handwritten notes and annotated manuscripts from such greats as JRR Tolkien, CS Lewis, Philip Pullman and JK Rowling. That meant a visit to the Bodleian Library, University of Oxford, film location for the Harry Potter movies. Book geek heaven.