So, it's time to have a clear out and rid myself of unused books and CDs. It's funny, you can look at a book you've not looked at in ten years, open it and think, actually that's brilliant, I'll keep it and re-read. Then it goes back on the shelf where it sits ignored until the next clear out. Tracy didn't seem to have the same problem, handing me a massive bag of books to take to the shop.
At the local bookshop I'm quick to distance myself from my girlfriend's books.
"I'm not sure what's in there. My girlfriend gave me a load of books to give to you. Mine are on the top. I hope you like them."
"Thank you, I'm sure I will. I see you've got the Seagull in there."
"Oh yes that's one of mine."
I'm pleased. My books have earned their place in her shop (why I feel the need for justifying giving valuable books for free is anyone's guess). She likes the Seagull. Hang on a minute, the Seagull? that's a Chekhov play. I've never owned a copy of that play. The book she was looking at was Jonathan Livingston Seagull.
I'm reading a book about Samuel Pepys, a blogger from the 17th century. Apparently his father used to take the family out for outings to rural Islington, for cakes and ale in the King's Head. Rural Islington? We go in search of rural Islington, first passing the bookshop to see if any of our books have made the window. No such luck. We take a left and I'm surprised to see how near we are to Clissold Park, which I guess is more Hackney than Islington. Clissold Park has everything, including deer and goats and rabbits. It's everything you'd want from rural Hackney.
Tonight I walk past the bookshop on my way home from work and there's a book of Tracy's standing proud in the front window.
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