Somethings Can Never Be Replaced...Though People Will Try
I would take today as a treat, as such, but it had been a fair few years since I have visited, Waterstones, in Nottingham. It was a place I often used to frequent/haunt in my younger days when I arrived in Nottinghamshire. It was a store I kind of just loved being in, for the sake of being in a building that had 4 storeys packed full of books.
Over time and in changing circumstances, I have not visited Waterstones, or been out and bought a brand new, fresh of the presses book, either. The odd, second hand classic here and there, but not even remotely close to my pre-marriage book obsession I have carried over a lifetime. I don't say this is a good or a bad thing, it's just a statement. I have over the last few months started using my ipad, both with the apple ibooks and the kindle app, to read the odd electronic book, here and there. A little like a child dipping their toe into the water. I am sure that it will grow on me the more I get used to it. Maybe a Kindle will help! (dropped that small hint in there for my wife).
Yet, on Saturday, I found myself in the place I feel most at home in, a building filled with books. I truly relate to Charlie Bucket when he finally enters Willy Wonka's chocolate factory and realises that his dreams underestimate the magic found within. When I walk into waterstones I feel as though I need to become a Russian billionaire and just buy them all. There are those that may walk into Waterstones and say 'Wow, what a large bookshop. Nice layout.' I have to secretly admit that my thought tends to be 'Ah, this is size of the library I'd like in my house, may have to jiggle the children about a bit, bed wise. But could make them a snug alcove, somewhere between 'Travel' and '15th Century Social history'.
Just love the touch and feel of picking brand new books off the shelves, all shiny and new, all that virgin knowledge, waiting to be implanted into my noggin. No finer thing than purchasing a new tome and travelling home and then just depositing the bone sack onto the sofa and spending a full day, carefree, reading from page 1 and then when you take your head out of the book you realise it's pitch black outside and 9hours have disappeared from your life, lost in an imaginary world, conjured from the mind of another. I hope that mind isn't the one belonging to my daughter, that would be one, vvveeerrrrrryyyyyy weird world. A bit like being stuck in a kaleidoscope on LSD, I imagine.
Over time and in changing circumstances, I have not visited Waterstones, or been out and bought a brand new, fresh of the presses book, either. The odd, second hand classic here and there, but not even remotely close to my pre-marriage book obsession I have carried over a lifetime. I don't say this is a good or a bad thing, it's just a statement. I have over the last few months started using my ipad, both with the apple ibooks and the kindle app, to read the odd electronic book, here and there. A little like a child dipping their toe into the water. I am sure that it will grow on me the more I get used to it. Maybe a Kindle will help! (dropped that small hint in there for my wife).
Yet, on Saturday, I found myself in the place I feel most at home in, a building filled with books. I truly relate to Charlie Bucket when he finally enters Willy Wonka's chocolate factory and realises that his dreams underestimate the magic found within. When I walk into waterstones I feel as though I need to become a Russian billionaire and just buy them all. There are those that may walk into Waterstones and say 'Wow, what a large bookshop. Nice layout.' I have to secretly admit that my thought tends to be 'Ah, this is size of the library I'd like in my house, may have to jiggle the children about a bit, bed wise. But could make them a snug alcove, somewhere between 'Travel' and '15th Century Social history'.
Just love the touch and feel of picking brand new books off the shelves, all shiny and new, all that virgin knowledge, waiting to be implanted into my noggin. No finer thing than purchasing a new tome and travelling home and then just depositing the bone sack onto the sofa and spending a full day, carefree, reading from page 1 and then when you take your head out of the book you realise it's pitch black outside and 9hours have disappeared from your life, lost in an imaginary world, conjured from the mind of another. I hope that mind isn't the one belonging to my daughter, that would be one, vvveeerrrrrryyyyyy weird world. A bit like being stuck in a kaleidoscope on LSD, I imagine.
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