I was going to write about my on-going computer woes, but I won't bore you wth any more of that. Suffice to say that the system is overheating, and be assured that a resolution (involving an electric drill and an electric table fan) has been found. Before this latest resurgence of computer rebellion, I was in the middle of writing my Daily Dose when the computer, of its own volition, suddenly switched itself off mid-sentence. What a treat I had for you as well. The lost missive was the best I have ever written: witty, observant, precocious and highly astute. It was a true masterpiece of prose, one that our descendents would be talking about for generations to come. Well, okay, maybe it wasn't that good - but then again, maybe it was. You'll never know, because I couldn't remember what it was I was rambling on about. The broad gist was in the direction of books. Let me lay my cards on the table now. I love books. I surround myself with them (history and travel books mainly - not a great fan of fiction). I cannot leave a bookshop empty-handed, and I find it difficult not to go into any bookshop I pass. Also, because of my work, I get sent an awful lot of books by publishers and authors. Consequently, I have a lot of books in my study - over 3000 at the last count (not including the ones on bookcases elsewhere in the house, and those in the attic). My love of books, however, is causing a problem. They are taking over the house. I have no more shelf space for them, yet I can't stop collecting more. Soon there will be no room for people in this house!


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