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I set up all my books to be be photographed. But before I could do so...
I dumped Alex off the sofa and tried again:
I dumped Alex more forcefully off the sofa and tried again:
Multiple blurry cats-on-books-pics later, I finally achieved this. Enjoy it, because it only lasted for as long as it took me to hit the button:
I dumped Alex off the sofa and tried again:
I dumped Alex more forcefully off the sofa and tried again:
Multiple blurry cats-on-books-pics later, I finally achieved this. Enjoy it, because it only lasted for as long as it took me to hit the button:
From:
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It was a used-bookstore discovery from (IIRC) my 1987 three-month trip to the UK. That was the one where I returned with something like three boxes of books, and I am exceedingly grateful to whatever airline I traveled that I wasn't charged for excess baggage.
(Some friends and I had rented a flat in the south suburbs of London for two months, and the landlord obligingly stored most of my stuff for the final month when I traveled all around England, Wales, and Scotland. Getting all that from the flat to the train to Heathrow was hellish, but it was made worthwhile by the train attendant who helped me wrangle boxes, and asked sympathetically, "Boyfriend left you, luv?" Which should have been annoying, but totally cracked me up.)