Where the hell have my books gone?

We own a lot of books — not as many as some, but more than most, and just about as many as we can conveniently store here in the study plus a bookcase for fairy tales and inconsistently-selected mythology in the bedroom.

But as I was recording the first of my proposed reader questions videos today, I realised that I could no longer find my copy of Richard Fletcher’s Bloodfeud, which is about how what you might call “police” problems were handled in Anglo-Saxon England. I’m certain I used to have it.

And for that matter, I swiped my mother’s copy of Pd James’ The Maul and the Pear Tree, which was about the 1811 Ratcliffe Highway Murders, and now I don’t know where that is. And I think I left my copy of The London Monster in Germany some years ago, but if I didn’t I don’t know where the heck it is.

Since I like having books and hate losing things, it’s been a stressful afternoon.

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Where the hell have my books gone?

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