Fahrenheit 451
The trouble with old books is that they smell musty. My new set of Understanding Science Encyclopedias appear to have been stored in a loft for the last forty years, they smell like a trip to Hay on Wye.
They are banned from our bedroom overnight by Karen (I had to put the one I was reading out in the hall at lights out) and David complained vociferously about the stale odour in the kitchen this morning, claiming it was putting him off his breakfast.
Philistines! No book burning here!
