I’ve hit the 400+ count on my Barbara Cartland Collection.

The Slaves of Love. I love Francis Marshall illustrations.

Yes that’s right. I’ve stubbornly persisted with my mental illness. Onwards and upwards!

I realised that the 723 target I had estimated earlier included 200 books of non-fiction. Not even my avowed dedication to such a cause as this will allow me to purchase 200 books of non-fiction penned by Mz Cartland. So I’ve adjusted my goal to 512 or thereabouts.

I confess I’m feeling a bit worn out. The last 100 are proving to be a challenge to acquire. (Cost + availability).

To soothe myself I bought the entire collection of Georgette Heyer’s, who only wrote 35 Regency novels in her lifetime, of a far superior quality, compared to Barbara Cartland’s one book a week standard. Apparently BC modeled herself on GH by liberally pilfering from her novels. I must say, the Heyers are much better reads, quite the high-grade heroin to Barbara’s cheap talcum-powdered crack. I’ve nearly worked my way through the entire lot.

The other day A2 (one of the bosses at work) had to ‘remind me’ to take home some of my books that were being stockpiled behind my desk. Work is rather baffled by this collection but at the same time intrigued, so much so that my desk neighbor actually bought a duplicate book off me. Stockholm syndrome of some kind or hypnotic suggestion maybe.

I’ve calculated that I’ve spent £2.10 a day everyday for the last 2 months. That sounds like a lot, until you consider that a Sunday newspaper is £2.50

News? Pffftt who needs news? Amy is dead. Osama is dead. Neither did drugs and one of them watched porn. The stock market is down again. Didn’t we just do this whole stock market down crap?

This is why I never bother with the news. It’s always some kind of re-run.

So back to the Heyers I go.