Don’t touch my books.

The other day I fancied watching ‘Smokey and the Bandit’, but after about 20 minutes of staring into the DVD cupboard, I remembered it was likely to be one of those my ex-husband took when he moved out. So, no Burt Reynolds or shrill-voiced Sally Field and their speed limit flouting for me.

A similar and more serious situation arose when I couldn’t find George Orwell’s ‘The Road to Wigan Pier’, and realised that too was a casualty of marital breakdown, and it’s made me very glad the situation wasn’t worse. My ex liked non-fiction books about industry and canals, and his film taste was mainly horror-based, so all in all, I got off lightly.

However, this does make a gal cautious about future relationships. I’ve come to the conclusion I’m no happier when in relationships than when single, it’s just different, but I would be HUMONGOUSLY unhappy if I were ever to lose books again. What’s yours is mine and mine is yours should not include books.  Or, anything else I like. It’s a term for saucepans and lamp shades.

I have been thinking about these stamps, not so much for relationships but for the general lending of books, as although I do have nice book plates, it would be expensive to put one in every book. The dog is cute and all, but he seems quite happy about being shared with other people, he’s just hinting he’d like to be returned. Whereas the owl means business, his stare suggests legs will be broken. Return this book, or face the consequences.

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