I went in to change my library books this morning and was pleased to be asked to come in and help shelve books again twice a week. I do this on and off when I can and when they are short-staffed. Oddly, I like shelving the books (I usually do the children’s section) – it’s quite relaxing if you only do it twice a week. Just the sight and feel of lots of books makes me feel calm and serene and in awe of all the effort and talent that has gone into the production of any kind of book. I try to squash the feeling of dread that threatens to steal over me when I think of all I must read before I die and all those I am not going to get to. It’s almost akin to the feeling I get when I switch on my computer except that that feeling is one of hyped up excitement in tune with the kind of medium that it is. Books, though, are much more user friendly - the worst that can happen is that you can find a page missing. You don’t need much schooling to be able to read a book. Long live the printed page! I sat on a bus the other day when someone was reading something on a ‘Kindle’. It may look impressively like a book with pages but it’s still made of metal – not the same feel at all, and there’s always the chance that it’s battery runs out. No, for me, real books are here to stay – unless we run out of pine plantations.