‘Where are all those books going?’ asked the Resident IT Consultant. Seems he meant the ones in the large IKEA paper carrier bag in the hall.
‘To the *Ants,’ I replied. ‘And they’re not all books, btw.’ Being me I had put the unwanted china underneath the books… And for a soft landing, the odd unwanted t-shirt under all that. But we’ve been to the Ants already (and this year they have So Many Things I Want [but don’t need] that I could barely contain myself in the shop), so chances are the bag will have to wait until next year. But at least we have tidied up a bit.
I have this – possibly misguided – idea that holiday houses should house lots of iffy books, and there is less need to keep pruning than at home. My memories of Aunt Motta’s summer cottage is that it was full of old magazines and paperbacks. A veritable treasure trove.
So that is what I aim for. All the books I rescued from Offspring’s school library are here. So are various other books acquired from all over the place. And the ones I brought to read and either don’t feel I need in the UK or that I didn’t like, or ones I have more than one copy of, are all here.
But as Daughter tidied away a few of the books from her shelf, I thought that perhaps I ought to be more critical of what I keep my thick layers of dust on. (Even one of this summer’s new books came out dusty when I offered it to the Resident IT Consultant. Presumably because the shelf had a certain excess of dust.) Hence the bag waiting to go to the Ants.
The thing is, you could easily arrive with nothing to read. Even I can find perfectly acceptable unread books if I look. But it’s hard not to pack lots of books anyway.
*Ants=Myrorna= Salvation Army secondhand shop.