"i have always imagined that paradise...

... will be some sort of library" - jorge luis borges.

one of my earliest and favourite childhood memories is sitting on my little brother's bed, my mother between us, reading enid blyton and roald dahl.

from a tiny age we were both encouraged to read on our own and our house was crammed with bookshelves packed with wordy goodness. visiting family in the uk, we'd comb the local second-hand bookstores and bring back suitcases empty of clothes but full of literature. and marmite. and branston pickle.

packing up my home in barcelona was a nightmare - trying to choose which books to keep in storage, which to take with me and which to give away was tough. really tough.but luckily i've discovered another joy of travelling: hostel "libraries". as brandon chats to the owner of the guesthouse we've chosen to stay in, i'm on my knees in front of the pile of dusty books that invariably lies somewhere on a table, on the floor or higgly piggly on makeshift shelves.

after having to leave most of our books - books i'd hand picked over the course of weeks - on the kuala lumpur international airport floor due to luggage overweight, i am desperate to rebuild my library again. this weekend we are going to buy two bookcases and it's my dream to have them bulging at the sides with literary heroes, biographies and non-fiction within a month.