I have chosen to refer to my nearest and dearest by nouns rather than their names or their relationships to me on here, partly for amusement, partly because I don’t like to use actual names, and partly just because it seems to be the done thing in Blogland. Here, you can find their names decoded:
Me: come look over here. Photos and all.
The Hedge Fund Slave (previously The Physicist) – signed up for a life with bookcases when he married me in July 2010. He already knew I had a bad book-buying addiction and has attempted to curb it by maintaining that I may only have one six-foot IKEA Billy bookcase for my books.
Apart from a few piles atop/beside the bookcase, on my desk and a number in the other room, I mostly manage I am totally not managing to stick to his limit. He’s absurdly terribly clever and spent a few years thinking about how the universe expanded just after the Big Bang (I think. I have a Physics degree and I’m still not sure what his thesis meant) and now, having spent a few years designing robotic fish, programs software for a hedge fund. Reads a lot of fantasy and sci-fi and will not accept that I might not enjoy the same books that he does.
The Bookmark – our progeny, born in February 2015. I try to keep her off the internet in general. We read a lot together, but I don’t read anywhere near as much as I did before she arrived.
Mini-Me – my 9 1/2 years younger sister. Reads – a lot. I thought I was a voracious reader as a child. Has managed to keep reading seriously past the age of 13 and has thus far stuck to her promise to do a special happy post dance every single time I post her a book. Has lent me vast swathes of YA novels.
The Book Accumulator – my father has a habit of buying books and not reading them. You think I’m bad… my family had two bookcases in the downstairs toilet in the previous house (not in the actual toilet, obviously…). Bizarrely content to let me borrow large batches of novels from him at a time; I blame him for my book-buying habit and for my blogging – he provides a neat precis of his best books of the year in his annual Christmas epistle. Was a language teacher, regularly pretends to be hapless and disorganised so that I will visit to sort his office out.
The Musician – mother. Insanely crazily busy and hard-working and complete musical genius. I’m always in awe. Also I like to test her out by giving her the last movement of the Moonlight Sonata to thunder through on the piano. Try it out, it’s hard. A keen reader, when she’s not memorising dots on lines. I blame her for my John Grisham and general thriller weakness. We steal private investigator novels from one another.