bookless wonder

Somehow the unthinkable has happened, miscalculations have taken place, over zealous effort has engineered a situation that is bearing on intolerable.
I have no books left to read..
I finished what will probably be my last Garcia Marquez book, at least until he brings out a new one, if indeed, he does bring out a new one.  Anyhoo, I’m at a loss to explain how this has happened.  I get books for my birthday (June), for Christmas (you all know that one) and every April my mate comes up to London and we spend the day book shopping, a good portion of which is spent browsing the delightful haven that is Foyles on Tottenham Court Road.
The end result being I normally have a stack of books to move onto when I finish my current one.  The content, form, style, subject can vary wildly from one book to the next, but the knowledge of always having an unread book with a marker in it at some point, to break up the monotony of the tube journey or to ease me into sleep at night is like a balm to my weary soul at the end of a long day.
Alas, somehow now I have cleared down my pile and am left gazing at my bookshelves looking for something that is not there..I will probably re-read something to keep me going, but I’m itching to get my hands on something new, time will tell if I can hold out for Christmas..


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