The careless way people treat books lent to them does my head in all the time.
No, darling, that copy of Trainspotting (Irvine Welsh, 1993) you were given a couple of months ago to read that currently lies unopened and untouched, lost in the clutter of your home was nothing special but it was dear to me! Why EVER would you casually brush off the fact that you seem to have lost it someplace. But it’s quite all right, yes?
No. I am fuming and I want my book back.















