So there I was, cataloguing some of my books, making guesstimates about their value, when I decided to look a few of them up to see what they were really worth. Maybe I should get them insured. My guess was £12 a throw, but they’re worth in excess of £100 a throw. First editions in perfect condition. Acquired from a house auction many moons ago. It’s scary sometimes. Okay, but I don’t want them sold on. Not sold on ebay, not sold through antiquarian booksellers, no. When I kick the bucket, the collection will have to be split many ways, I think. They’re to go to people who appreciate them, not for their monetary value, but for their content, or, in some cases, for their aesthetic appeal. I should set them up as a registered charity, especially now that libraries no longer house books. What’s that all about?

I ordered a book from Amazon last night and it arrived today. How did they do that? They must have set off on their trusty steed as soon as I placed the order.

For the rain it raineth every day. The Great British Summer. Fantastic.

I think I have a new hero. Hero worship. Mah.

Oh dear, this is bad.

It makes a difference when people are nice. I like nice people, they make me feel better. Nasty people make me feel bad. It’s quite simple really. I adore blues.

I don’t want to go to work tomorrow!
I don’t want to go to work ever!
I want to live, live, not work!
I know I’m lucky to have a job…
For the moment.
Damn.
Ungrateful wretch.
Oh, this track is beautiful (Missing you, Oli Brown Band).