In between swimming at the beach and reading Lenin during the early signs of autumn, I have been scrounging the neighbourhood for wood. Old bed-heads, cupboards, shelves, the last pieces my father collected before he died – as long as the wood is good quality. None of that chipboard shit. Sand, saw, drill and dowel – the pieces eventually come together into a bookshelf.

But what to put in it? Or rather, what can be rearranged to ease the overflow?

Of course, all those eminently useful ancient languages need a new home.

Next? I have just found (ht to sc) a great old cupboard … destined for a kitchen somewhere.

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