In moments of genuine distress I look for a cuddle from somebody I love who loves me. This, I believe, is what everybody does who is lucky enough to love and be loved. It's certainly why we should all have a pet.
But the unanimity of our response ends when it comes to gentler moments of sadness or doubt. Some people drink. Others eat chocolate, bake cakes, pick fights, take vigorous exercise... You get the picture.
I stand in front of bookshelves and look at the books.
What do you do?
You can lose yourself in a bookshelf. And there, standing proudly or slumped disconsolately, are some potential sources of solace. So there is the peace of looking, and the potential peace of discovery.
(I loved being a bookseller, as you can imagine. Loved it. Would still be doing it were it not for the third-world wages and the customers.)
Today I took myself off to the second-hand bookshops on King Street and spent half an hour standing in front of bookshelves. I bought three books and returned to my desk a calmer person. This strange emotional dependence is only one of the reasons why I am against the closure of libraries and the rise of e-books. Also, bookshops smell nice.
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