Books, books, glorious books

I love books. I have hundreds.

My Mum tells me that it took me a bit of time to master the art of reading, but once I had, there was no stopping me.
As a birthday or Christmas present ,I would often be given books or book tokens. Enid Blyton was high on the list, so I had all of the Famous Five and Secret Seven books. Then there was the Chalet school books by Elinor Brent Dyer. I could go on and on as I still have most of my childhood (and my sister's) books in out loft.

I used to use our local I was young, but there's one big draw back to using libraries - YOU HAVE TO GIVE THE BOOKS BACK. Even if I've read a book, I can't part with it. All of the books I've read for the past ten years at least (and there's a lot of them, I could even tell you what they were as I keep a track of what I read in a notebook - how sad it that!) have either belonged to me or my Mum and Dad (and I'll get those one day anyway).

When I look at other people's houses in my magazines, or am window shopping houses on the internet, the first question in my  mind is not how big the kitchen is, how many bedrooms or whether there's a hotel-style bathroom, but where will the book cases go?

There's books all over the house. There's a pile sitting on my oversized bedside table waiting to be read (see picture below). There's bookcases in the living room, two small ones in the kitchen holding cookery books, a bookcase on the landing to the Elsie May and Bertha workroom and half-a-dozen bookcases in the workroom.

The inner librarian in me means that my fiction books are kept in alphabetical order by author. Though I have read that some people store theirs by colour! I don't understand that, I'm afraid I like to know where my books are.

What do you do with yours?

TTFN
Louise