Perhaps because of my (admitedly third generation) refugee roots, I find it hard to let go of physical things. I don't actually think you might have to leave the country, hang on to it while you can, but I think deep down there's an element of that. Books, especially, I hoard, and now I'm running out of space; I have a pile of books in the hall from two friends who left London and offloaded some great reads on me, a pile of chick-lit in my study (that I don't want mingle with my real books) and a two growing stacks of recently published urban novels by my bed.
And now this: bookcrossing. Free, free, set them free, in the words of the song.
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