Books.

Books.
It seems with every passing year, there is a new way to read a book; but is a book still a book if you can't pick it up, turn the page, break the spine, fold the top of the page over, spill nail varnish over it or settle down in bed and fall asleep (glasses on, of course) whilst reading it?

Yesterday, I went to print something off at the local library, where I was told I could either buy a day pass or join for free. At first, I was irritated. Why would I want to join a library?I just wanted to print something off and be on with my day! Then I realised that clearly I was behaving too cosmpolitan. 8 year old me used to love the library, and often refused to leave. The library was where Roald Dahl lived, and where I first convinced my Mother that Harry Potter was not a satanic book. So I joined, received a much prettier card than I had when I was 8 (with a scenic shot of Newlands Corner on it, nonetheless) and went up the stairs... to sit at a computer.
Although that's what I had intended to do in the first place, it felt wrong. Like I had ignored my life-long partner for some new toy boy on the scene. So I went for a walk. I love the smell of books, the feel of them. Books to me are like people; some I get on with straight away (Jilly Cooper's 'Riders'), some I have to meet a few times before really liking them (Antony Burgess's 'A Clockwork Orange'), some I just don't like (John Milton's 'A Paradise Lost') and the One. The thing every girl searches for, the one that'll never leave her and always love her, even if she asks the same questions every time she sees them (George Orwell's '1984').

Today, I am going to buy a new book; granted I already have a small library which was recently increased in size with encouragement from an English Literature degree booklist, but these books are like teachers; forced upon me whether I like them or not. A new book.
A new book a day keeps the doctor away.
But it really doesn't help your vision.