My world in books

And what literature means to me.

Over the last month or so I have been preparing to move house. The most stressful and exhausting experience and throw two small children into the mix, it becomes a type of purgatory. The day finally came last Friday as boxes were lugged into the house and my antique desk was squeezed through an upstairs window (I would never recommend it). I write this from a local cafe, my wifi yet to be set up, my garden jam packed with cardboard boxes.

The biggest issue the movers encountered (bless them) was carting the numerous boxes of books in to the house. The last box was never the last box and it became a point of amusement for the crew. When a copy of Dan Jones’s Henry V — my first book post at the new address — arrived from his publicist as boxes were literally being heaved inside, they could not believe their eyes.