There are some things I swore I would never do.

One near the top of the list was to get a Kindle.  I love books.  I love the feel of them and the smell of them [if they’re new].  Kindle was a step too far into this strange modern world.

I bought a Kindle.

I can’t remember exactly what prompted this sacrilegious step but the Devil’s deed was done.

I confess I like it.  It is convenient once I have got used to its quirks.  I seems to open several pages after the last bit I remember but that may just be my memory, or the fact that I was already going to sleep and didn’t register what I was reading.  That gives a clue to why I read so much – I like to read myself to sleep.

One of the huge advantages of the Kindle is that if I finish a book, I can immediately download another and carry on reading.  That’s not so easy with a normal book as it involves either heading off to the library or a bookshop or else ordering one online and waiting a few days for it to arrive.  Neither alternative is going to get me to sleep at the time.

I also like the feature that if I come across an obscure word it will kindly give me the dictionary definition if I ask it nicely.

However Kindle has it has its disadvantages.

There is nothing more annoying that being half asleep and happily reading away when I suddenly get a message saying my battery is low.  How could I explain to a previous generation that books require batteries?  It’s annoying but fortunately doesn’t happen as much these days/nights provided I remember to switch off the Interweb connection.

The other one is more awkward.

I am running out of authors.  I am delving deep into unknown territories and trying new authors on a regular basis.  One problem I have found is that if I read two books by the same author I tend to confuse the plots, so I have taken to jumping from author to author.

But what happens when I have read every book there is?