The only man who is truly happy is blissfully unaware of the existence of women...
With an opening line like that I'm aware I may get comments... But at least that means somebody is reading this.
After a week of what should've been rest, relaxation and no stress I think I need a holiday. I certainly enjoyed myself, but I actually feel drained... Back to work tomorrow and nothing will have changed really, which is why you cannot run from your problems, they're always waiting when you get back. The really persistent ones follow you.
Anyway, today I want to rant about the train blocking Netflix and even YouTube on their Wi-Fi, despite this being first class and the only carriage with bloody Wi-Fi in it... And why am I complaining about that? Simple: I forgot to bring a book... Actually, I didn't really forget, but the book I'm reading is currently lying at the bottom of a bag in the far wardrobe, which is blocked (ironically) by a hundred boxes of books.
I have a certain inability to organise, which can be charming, but leads to some frustrating flaws in my plans. I'm aware, too, of the fact that I may be the only person who doesn't own any ebooks, audio books, or anything to play/ read them on, but I love books. The smell of a new book, or an older book that just brings memories flooding back (scent invokes the most powerful memory connections), the awkward way you have to balance something between the pages perfectly so you can read hands free, tilting to find the tiny bit of light that barely covers a word, the whole experience is just amazing. And I understand most of these things are not good, but they make it memorable.. Who hasn't held a torch in their mouth to read the last chapter of a book during a powercut?
Anyway, nostalgia aside, books are worth more than a 5 grand tablet with no personality to it... And I will continue to believe that.
No comments:
Post a Comment