Don’t you just love old books?
Do you enjoy taking some quality time, wandering around second-hand bookshops, browsing row after row of books; all dusty, aged, touched by many hands, with a slightly musty smell to them?
You do?
Well I don’t.
Leave those for museums. I like new books. Brand new. Crisp white pages, smooth spines. Gleaming covers, the smell of newness where the only people who may have touched it are the packer and the stacker. Plus the author gets some royalties.
I can’t think of anything worse than some crappy old, moth eaten bit of pulp that should be re-cycled but instead is sold off as something collectable at a ridiculous price. Mauled about by god-knows-who and has been god-knows-where.
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