I remember books. I’ve always loved books. The smell of a new book and it’s pristine pages is a little bit of rapture in everyday life. As a child I spent hours and hours on Saturdays with my spending money in W.H.Smiths. I wanted them all. I had to touch everyone, think about it, way up the pros and cons. Measure it’s possible worth as being a good read or a waste of precious pocket money.
Libraries were heaven. I remember the children’s part of the huge Harrogate Library. It was downstairs and still to this day I can see the section I always went to. Tales of pirates and Dr Syn and Romney Marsh. I liked the feel of big, hardbacks covered with the plastic protectors. Lots of pages and lots of words to get lost in.
ASMR or Autonomous sensory meridian response, is triggered for me by the sound of pages turning and the crackling of the plastic covers. A soothing, safe place of ink and paper and imagination.
Later I would skive off school and go sit in the very top tier of the library. The serial killer section. I loved the idea of psychopathy and why people did things completely against normal behavior. This was before we understood more about the brain and empathy and how some brain’s parts don’t always work.
It was also the time of the Yorkshire Ripper. I’d still love to interview a psychopath but it looks bad on the bucket list.