I’ve had the flu for a week now. I don’t know about you but when I have the flu I just want to bundle up in flannel jammies, wrapped in a warm duvet, sip hot coffee and snuggle up with a good book.
By a good book I mean a book I’ve read and loved before. This time around I’ve dusted off my copy of The Hobbit for what must be at least the dozenth read. The Hobbit is one of my favourite books of all time and I know if I’m safe in Middle Earth with Bilbo & Gandalf my time is well spent.
“How can you read a book more than once?”, I’m frequently asked. “You know how it ends! I don’t understand. Why don’t you read something new?” Bewildered looks and hand gestures indicating my craziness follow.
My response… if it makes no sense to read a book more than once it must follow that you’d never want to watch the same movie more than once. Or listen to the same song. Or view the same photograph. Or drink a pint of Guinness. Or eat a piece of cheesecake. After all, if you’d done once why would you want to repeat it?