By my calculations (extrapolated using a wooden 30cm ruler and an O Level in Maths) the 200,000 ish words in my novel would fit once around the world… if printed in a continuous line using a typeface large enough for each word to stretch a tenth of a mile. And a bit. Not sure what size type that would be: my copy of Word only goes up to 72. And that doesn’t look like a tenth of a mile (and a bit) to me. Anyway, by that extraordinarily dubious link I come to World Book Day, which is today. Actually it’s not quite that simple: World Book Day is today in the UK and Ireland, but, for reasons that are beyond the comprehension of a humble book person such as myself, it is not World Book Day anywhere else in the world. Other countries, it seems, prefer to celebrate their tomes at other times. Wherever you are in the world today, though, I hope you buy a book, or read a book, or at least think about reading a book. In an age where even dogs have their own laptops it’s important to remember the advantages of the simple book:
I might have invented the bit about dogs having laptops, by the way, although there are probably some Californian pooches ahead of the curve in that respect.
My novel has already moved forward satisfyingly today, and tonight’s dinner engagement has been postponed due to sickly, spewing hosts, so I’ll take advantage of a spare evening and keep editing until late, possibly until World Book Day closes its global doors on the two countries in which it’s taking place.
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