In September, in an unaccustomed episode of housewifely fervour, I performed a fairly savage cull of my books and having bagged them up, took them to my Mother's house, where I had already culled and bagged up most of Mum's old books.
We finally got round to taking a car full of them to the charity shop on Monday this week, and I handed them over without a backward glance. Or so I thought.
As soon as I got home, I started to wonder about the wisdom of having disposed of one of them.
I had to go to town today to pay some bills and run some errands; my feet somehow managed to take me to the charity shop where I had sent the books. My feet even managed to propel me up the stairs to the book section, and lo and behold, the only book which I had regretted disposing of, out of twenty bags of books, was on the shelf.
Needless to say, I surrendered my fifty pence coin with alacrity and brought my treasure safely home.......