I have had this post saved in my drafts for a few days now, as I was trying to think about how best to articulate it.
Ever since I was little, I have loved to read. At Primary school, we used to have these star charts that when you filled up, you got a book token; I got so many that they might've ran out at my school. When at Primary school, I also read the most books out of all the children in my town, and because I won that competition, I got to meet Jacqueline Wilson and I even got my copy of Girls In Love signed. I devoured Jacqueline's books, as well as Roald Dahl's, C.S. Lewis', and, later on, J.K. Rowling.
Now, as an adult, I still love to read, with my bookshelf being full to the brim and actually extending to the floor (you've heard of a floordrobe, but I have a floor, erm, case?) And I'm still planning on getting more books. You see, to me, there is no greater pleasure in life than starting a new book, with a whole new world about to invite you in. I love to read, and that's no secret. People at work always say to me "how do you find the time to read so much?" and I never know the answer, I just seem to be constantly reading. I read at home, on my dinner break at work, on public transport, on holiday; basically anywhere but bed, I can't seem to read there. Reading makes me happy in a way that few other things do, and I'm ok with that.
I think I might blog more about this someday, this post seems a little bit rambly, but that was an introduction to my love affair with reading.