Dead Books

I love books. I love the sight, the smell and the touch of them. When I walk into a room and see a line of books I feel at home.

On entering a hotel room, I found this selection on the wall and reached out my hand to pull one down and dive in. They were glued to the wall. An interior designer had stuck the pages together and glued the poor books straight onto the wall. What a frustratingly awful monument to form over function – a cemetery for the soul.

At least the bed was soft.