Admittedly, I was at work at the time and due to a series of instructions – none of them issued by me – the book fairy declined to leave the carton of books at my address, choosing instead to drag them far, far away to a depot out the back of the airport.
I tried to woo the fairy back to my house, with promises of being available on Saturday morning, and a general willingness to sign strange little hand-held computing devices, but – alas – it was not to be.
Luckily, someone else in the household was just as eager to get hold of these little beauties as I was (nag, nag, nag, nag, nag) so drove me all the way out to the wop-wops and back home.
The only thing worse than having to drive out to the back of the airport to collect the books you paid over a hundred dollars to have delivered to your door, is when you drive past the shop you ordered said goods from, on the way to and from the airport.
In this case, at least, I was spared that indignity by way of the actual printing house being located in an entirely different country. Phew. Otherwise, I would’ve railed on at fate for another good hour before letting it all go.
Anyway, I’m pleased to say that I’m now the proud owner of a box of my own books. Yippee. I live in hope that in a couple of weeks I will no longer be the proud owner but may have a slightly higher bank balance.
This is also the first time that I’ve arranged for a hardcover version of one of my novels. God bless Ingram Spark.
This is what the hardcovers look like in the box:
You’ll have to imagine what they’d look like when they’re in your hands, being read.
And here is what the paperbacks look like:
I went with a brighter cover for these ones; obvious where the hardcover is subtle. The good point being that the cross on the cover has become more apparent because – in the words of my darling – “I didn’t even realise there was a cross on the cover.” Sigh.
Subtlety. Being lost on Kiwi men since 1964.