I'm staying at someone else's house this weekend, looking after their children while they take a much needed break.
After unexpectedly finishing the book I brought with me soon after the littlies fell asleep, I started casting around for something to read when I go to bed. (I said "casting around." That's NOT the same thing as snooping at all.) Then it hit me. The thing that's niggled at me before when I've visited.
There's not a SINGLE book in this house. Not ONE.
Is it me, or does a house feel it's missing something without a well-thumbed paperback or two lying around?
It's not all bad news though. I brought my notebook with me, so I'm going to work on the Novel instead.
Don't all faint at once.