So, this was my October TBR pile, and that was OK, really. A bit bigger than I’d wanted it to be at this time of year, given that Christmas is coming up and I usually end up with a lot of books BEFORE Christmas from going and looking in all the charity shops for books for other people’s Secret Santa gifts and then AT Christmas from Secret Santa and other gifts (but not on my birthday next year, oh, no, because I’ve asked for just ONE special exciting book from everyone for my birthday).
And then this happened last week. This happened in stages, to be fair. “Stranger in the House” arrived on the Monday; my friends who are in a book group I’m not in had read it and one had left it in the pub where they have their meetings. Which is where I do my social media surgery volunteering. So there it was on the free book trolley when I came down the stairs from my volunteering.
(Oh, and then on the Tuesday, I received a box of books from a running club colleague, and I only took one of those to read before it went to BookCrossing where it was destined to go in the first place, but it’s still one book. It’s Freddie Flintoff’s biography though – couldn’t resist).
In the week, I’d ordered a book to read for the 1924 Club Challenge (which I wrote about in my state-of-the-TBR post here) and because I was clicky-clicking I also bought ANOTHER colouring book (and OK, it’s only a colouring book, no words, but I have OODLES of empty or unfinished colouring books, and as I can’t read while colouring (obvs), that takes up more reading time), plus “English to English”, which is for work to make up for the disappointing “British or American English” but will need reading.
THEN I innocently went to a mini-meetup of BookCrossing friends to look at a Little Free Library that had sprung up in a local suburb, and my friend Sian waved Stuart Maconie’s “The People’s Songs” at me, which I took to hiding (in a Waterstone’s bag: didn’t really work) in a vain effort to get M not to notice the horror that lurked within …
Then things started to tip over the edge. First of all, the book I’d actually ordered for the 1924 club arrived – I’m glad to report that this is a slim volume, and only one of the novellas in it needs to be read for the 1924 club, although I’ll read both of course. Anyway, doesn’t add much to the volume (mass?) of books on the shelf really. Although, come to think of it, that book is milling around and isn’t in the horror photo I’m going to share at the end.
Finally (really? Yeah, right) on Monday I met my friend Linda to look round the new shopping centre above New Street Station: Grand Central. We had a lovely time poking around John Lewis, Tiger, Cath Kidston and Joules … but we also had a coffee, and when coffee is had, bags come out, and in those bags … Well, what it is, is, right … Linda and I have a bit of a Debbie Macomber thing. And because I claim to have “more room for book storage” than Linda (this is fast becoming a LIE), I offered to curate the Liz And Linda Debbie Macomber Collection. And, well, it would be rude not to read the books that come to live there, wouldn’t it. So yes, five Debbie Macombers made their merry way from Linda’s bag to mine.
And now this has happened: