I went into a charity shop this afternoon, which is a mistake as I had my wallet with me – enter with a bag of assorted donations, leave with an armful of books. The thing was, I sort of took it as a sign, that the half shelf of CJ Cherryh books which had looked like maybe they’d be the sort of thing OneMonkey and I might enjoy on an idle afternoon were still there several weeks after I last went in. I didn’t buy all of them, just a selection, and when they finally re-emerge from the back of the To Read cupboard I’ll let you know what I thought.
The purchase of second-hand sci-fi distracted me from a planned trip to the library, and really I don’t need any library books just now (I visited the parental home last weekend and left as usual with a bag of detective novels. I swear my dad has an endless supply) but embarrassingly, a librarian of recent acquaintance is visiting our house for the first time tomorrow and I just know I’ll now greet her with a protestation of regular library use (“I just haven’t had a chance this week…”) and probably show her the place I stack my library books when they’re waiting to be read or returned. Sometimes I think I should just go borrow a random book every week; as well as (I hope) helping keep the branch libraries open, I might find something interesting I wouldn’t normally try.