Yes. I admit it. I hold up my hand and do so solemnly declare to anyone who will listen—I am an addict.
But just to clarify that statement, I’m a book addict and, if there were such a thing (is there?) I would be a fully-fledged card-carrying member of Book Addicts Anonymous.
Yes, you guessed it. I was out again at the local mall picking up items I needed, and went looking for a birthday card and … quite by accident, as you do, wandered into the bookshop. And yes, I did it again. Bought another book. I know, I know, I need to curb my craving and pace myself before (a) I’m broke, or (b) I’m setting up a sleeping palate in said premises. Especially as I have several unread books on my TBR that continue to mock me with, ‘What, did you forget us?’ No, no I didn’t but, in my defence, I just had to buy this book because there were only two copies left on the shelf and it’s the second in a new series by an author I love and—
And I just have to know what’s going to happen next.