We once had a mortgage. When we first needed one, that is, and we got it thanks to the Resident IT Consultant’s childhood reading habits. Sensible even at a young age, he put some – pocket? – money into a financial institution, and he chose the Woolwich, because it was closest to the library.
(Me, I was just grateful to be marrying someone who had a little bit of money saved up, unlike myself.)
You might recall the Resident IT Consultant getting a new library card last year, since when he has faithfully walked to the library most Saturdays to browse and bring back piles of books. Because we didn’t have enough already.
On one of his first walks post-move, he went back to his childhood library, which is still there, although the Woolwich obviously isn’t, and looked up our new neighbourhood in their records. He found that our house-to-be was originally (1930s) owned by someone living in the street I might have mentioned would be my top choice of place to reside, were it possible. It’s weird the things you can look up. Possibly even weirder that he’d think to do it.
Anyway, he came back with the necessary paperwork to rejoin his old library. They gave him a personal guided tour, which included viewing the coffee machine, not previously available. He says the library is smaller now, but when I questioned him about this, it turned out it only feels smaller. (I bet the library is thinking he looks much bigger than it remembers, too.)
They have clever library cards here, offering you a small appendix one – rather like Tesco – that can live with your keys and thus always (hah!) be with you, never preventing you from borrowing more books.
The Resident IT Consultant asked me if I intended to join too. I should. But can I afford the time to go and stare at rows of books I don’t need to borrow and won’t have time to read? But I suppose they’d be pleased to have a Bookwitch in their midst, although I can hear the library muttering to itself that they never imagined the witch would be quite so fat…