A whole new page

I love books.
I love opening one and disappearing for hours and days. I love the sense of completion and satisfaction I feel after closing the cover of an exceptional story or feeling like I've been lifted out of my skin.
Back in Australia I could spend hours wandering around a book store and was in seventh heaven when it dawned on me that as a journalist I could ask for a copy of any new release from a publisher to review - and they'd let me.

My bookcases lived to bear witness to this obsession too, with a huge assortment of paperbacks stacked every which way on the shelves and more often than not also knee deep on the floor too.

So perhaps it's a blessing in disguise to be unable to walk into any book store and start browsing because I'd be forced to ditch most of the clothes in my backpack before the year was out.

The Boy is well aware of my tendency to over-indulge in my love of literature, so much so that while packing for France I was told in no uncertain terms that I had to limit myself to 2 books (including and travel guides I wanted to take with me) because he wouldn't be lugging around my books for a year.

Somehow on my last trip to Paris I failed to discover Shakespeare and Co Book store which is a famous English-language book store near Notre Dame but this time around I made a beeline straight for it and was in heaven immediately. It's exactly how a book store should be: inside an old-fashioned house with a tiny staircase the entire interior of the store is lined with cramped, overstuffed shelves that are packed with every genre imaginable, there are little nooks with comfy chairs where you can sit and read, play chess or even the piano if you wanted too.

Suffice it to say whenever The Boy and I are anywhere near Shakespeare and Co I have to ask him to hold onto my wallet or to please please please stop me before I run loose in the store and so far, so good.

For now at least.