The List Begins!

This is the dusty attic; a cosy corner away from the world where one might swing the teapot out over the fire, select a book from the morass of meandering book shelves and fall clumsily into the dusty sanctuary of an old armchair. There's corner window over looking the sea, an overflowing ancient blanket chest whose lock and key have long since be separated; cracked mugs and china dishes for cake, buscuits and peanut butter sandwiches; a dazzling selection of rare teas and rich coffees, many of which exist only in the attic and cannot be found anywhere else on earth. There are shelves of yellowing books and thumb-worn paperbacks; musty fusty copies of articles long since withdrawn from circulation and one penny comics. Piles of ancient tomes recline in awkward piles, their leather bindings bright with the passing of many hands. Somewhere, in amonsgt the shades and shadows, Mr. Mawcombe the tabby cat sleeps or worries the more elderly of the mouse fraternity. House plants, strange flowers and exotic fruits grow in the adjoining glass room, and with the gentle passing breeze, sends generous wafts of cultivated scents into the attic room. Everything and anything you could possible want or need for a good read can be found in this room. It is an old room, but generally clean, and those who leave their readings here leave them for all.