I just wanted to share this with you, dear friends: the bookshelves in our dining room. Next week my books will go back into storage, less than a year after I unpacked them from the boxes they lived in while I was in New York, and this makes me rather sad.

One day, Mr B and I will be rich and old and we will have one of those old-fashioned libraries with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and big comfy armchairs for reading, with a bay window for light in the summer, and a fireplace for warmth in the winter.

(Moreover if this fantasy continues in the same vein, I may toast crumpets for tea, and Mr B will need to take up smoking a pipe.)