Boomerang Books

It’s a widely known fact that my mother is not allowed to join us on any trips we may make to the tip. The reason for this is that she has a habit of deciding that things are too good to be thrown away and brings them back with her.

This has been going on for a long time. When we were children, my sister and myself would come home from school to find things we had thrown away magically resurrected and returned to our rooms. This would happen a lot, with mum flitting between things being too good to throw out and the classic “I didn’t know if you meant to throw it away…”

But, it turns out, it’s not just my mum I need to watch out for.

Carole’s just as bad.

As part of the preparation for the new, sexy, bookshelves we went through a lot of our books and got rid of the ones we no longer wanted. I, myself, have shed a lot of Clive Cussler books – all the ones I have read – because I am, in all honesty, never going to read them again.

Before I got rid of them, I asked Carole if she was ever likely to read them. I was told that she was not interested.

Imagine my surprise when about seven of the books that left the house the other day have now made their way back to the house. There are different reasons for keeping them – one is set in 1906 and sounded interesting. One concerns the Titanic. Others just caught her interest.

Not in the several years they have been on the shelf. Just in the couple of hours they were in a bag for donation somewhere.

So they’re back.

The issue is that she’s picked books from across four or five series of stories. And even though she’s decided that she’d not want to commit to reading them all, if it turns out she actually starts liking them are we going to have to scour the charity shops and buy back our own books (which, themselves, primarily came from various charity shops) so that Carole can have a decent crack at them all?

I mean, wouldn’t it have just been easier if she’d mentioned all this before I took them all off the shelves and bagged them up?

It genuinely worries me how much like my mother that girl is…