The Written Word

It is dangerous for me to enter a bookshop- there is far too much temptation to buy, and yesterday was no exception. This is the haul that made it home with me.

There is something comforting about the written word in book form. Not for me peering at a screen, even if it possible to do so in the middle of the night without the bedside light on. It is never easy to flick back through pages on a Kindle, I pad or other variation if you want to reprise the story have you forgotten some of it.
I could be persuaded to have an ebook if I were travelling and weight was an issue, but not for everyday use at home.

To hold a new book in your hand is to hold a package of endless possibility, which can be unwrapped page by page to reveal a journey of escape from the here and now.

I am prepared and ashamed to admit that often the cover of the book is an important matter in my choice: too brash a picture often indicates a pot boiler, while some beautiful art work can indicate a well written book. However more often than not I choose by recommendation, whether by friends or the national press.