All I Want Is A Room Somewhere

Very soon I’ve got to tackle something that will need all the willpower I possess; it’s time to cull my book collection. I have to reduce the literary population that has grown out of hand in my tiny sitting room by the selective slaughter of at least three shelf loads. Many I will give to friends, others will find their way into charity shops and some may have to go to the recycling centre in Bray where readers can browse and make a final selection before it’s too late. I’d much prefer not to do anything, leave them all as they are: gathering dust, jostling for pole position, spines lined up out of alphabetical order, friends and foes bunched up together any old whichway in wonderful disarray.

So, think of me, on my hands and knees, making piles to the right, and piles to the left. Will I keep the Rupert Bear Annuals? What about Calvin & Hobbes? The complete set of Tin Tin? Asterix & Obelix? Will I box up my son’s books saved from the dump? And what about my daughter’s collection adorning the top two shelves? Or will I just tote the entire lot upstairs while the builders are in and then, one by one, re-insert them onto brand new shelves so they can once again reign in supreme and literary idleness.

My little hideaway is having a makeover starting with insulation on two walls and also under the carpet. At last I’ll be able to sit in comfort without a sneaky draught wrapping itself around the back of my neck and that handy blanket I sometimes throw over my knees when no-one’s looking. Oh, I can’t wait for the luxury of a cosy room. I can just see Eliza singing her heart out in My Fair Lady and boy do I know where she’s coming from.

All I want is a room somewhere,
Far away from the cold night air.
With one enormous chair,
Aow, wouldn't it be loverly?
Lots of choc'lates for me to eat,
Lots of coal makin' lots of 'eat.
Warm face, warm 'ands, warm feet,
Aow, wouldn't it be loverly?
Aow, so loverly sittin' abso-bloomin'-lutely still.
I would never budge 'till spring
Crept over me windowsill.
Someone's 'ead restin' on my knee,
Warm an' tender as 'e can be. 'ho takes good care of me,
Aow, wouldn't it be loverly?
Loverly, loverly, loverly, loverly