Books have always been a large part of my family life. My parents were both avid readers and I can remember the regular parcels coming from James Thin Edinburgh with first editions of novels for my father long before the book would become available in Australia.
When we moved house and occasionally at other times it was my job to check the library of books for silverfish and to remove dust from the top edge (head) of the book. Each volume would be removed from the shelves, the pages opened as though shuffling cards (looking for signs of silverfish) and a big breath exhaled to blow the dust away before moving onto the next book.
My brother followed in my parents footsteps and could certainly be called a book-worm. Although I too enjoyed books and was never without one on the go I was far from having my nose constantly in the tome. As a child I loved to play but as we were isolated my games were often solitary. It was not till adulthood that I really began to lose myself in books and my reading would range through all genres and authors depending what time of my life I was at.
My holiday reads now are books I can access on my ipad or leave behind on completing. I always take too many and end up reading few. As a child holiday reads were a bone of contention. Our beachside holidays would consist of the other members of my family laying in bed all morning reading their books and eating their Xmas chocolates whilst I annoyed them all, agitating to go to the beach. Books during the day did not hold me, not when there were sand castles to build and surfing to partake of. I pleaded for everyone to arise but even threatening to hang myself moved no-one from their books except my brother, who stirred out of bed to watch. It only gave him something to crow about as my attempt failed because I tied a slip knot in my noose. Luckily, I had not yet read “How to tie knots”.