Pleasure in the Post

There is something strange in my behaviour.

I have discovered a new pleasure, which may be cause for worry for bookshop owners if it can be established that I am typical of any slice of society - some of my friends say I am in a whole different range of beans, so maybe they don't need to worry!

Ian McEwan's Saturday dropped through the slot today, and oh the excitement to open up the package and smell the new pages. Yes, I am worried about this.

My pleasure used to lie in browsing through bookshops - and it still is - but how do I marry that up now with this new flirt that is pressing on my wallet and exploiting my weaknesses?

I am buying an increasing number of books over the Internet, having just discovered that I don't need to click on the first price I see (brand new retail tag) but can opt for a cheaper version (used, something slightly scarred by publishing gremlins).

Is it because there is very little pleasure that comes in the post these days? Don't forget that most of us now communicate on a jovial or amicable level by email, so letterboxes (at least for me) seem to be reserved for the nasty mail. It's nice to have that broken up with something big and pleasurable!