I’ve mused before about buying books online or from my local bookshop, and my preference is definitely to browse through my favourite independent bookshops and enjoy touching the books, reading the first pages, and discovering books I didn’t even know existed yet. But in recent weeks I’ve been a bit let down by this strategy and I’ve gone online again.

I really wanted to buy a particular Australian novel as a gift for a friend who had a birthday. I can’t tell you which book yet, because I’ve yet to give it to this friend, who might read this blog, and I hate spoiling surprises. In any case, it’s a book that’s probably about ten years old, and I guess for this reason it has now disappeared from the bookshelves of my favourite stores. So I went to Fishpond.com.au but of course, the price, like all books bought in Australia, is astronomical.

I finally took up the tip of heading to the Book Depository, a UK company which offers great prices plus the bonus of free delivery worldwide. I don’t quite get how they manage this, because I’m sure the postage costs to some of the places they deliver will be more than they’re charging for the book. But who am I to argue, and they’re now winging me a copy of this Australian book (ironic, right) for a fraction of the price it would have cost me to buy it here in Australia. This makes me a bit mad, but I’m not made of money and although I would have supported my local bookshops and paid more for it there if they’d had it in stock, that’s as far as my philanthropic streak goes.

In any case, I’ll report back on how the service from the Book Depository goes. When price is the key factor then they are definitely ahead of most when it comes to getting books sent to Australia, so if they also do it quickly and politely I’ll be giving them a big thumbs up.

Since my new bookshelves arrived, I’ve been gradually unpacking more boxes of books which had been stored (generously) in my mother’s cupboards. Last weekend it was the turn of my childhood books to appear out of the boxes, and if anybody had been listening to my ecstatic cries each time I uncovered another old treasure, they would definitely have thought that something more than books was involved.

Most exciting to me were rediscovering my collection of Enid Blyton books. At least half of these are in fact from my mother’s own collection when she was young, and then after I’d devoured all of her beautiful hardcovers, she bought me more (but in 1980s paperback style). I adored these books as a kid, and still have images from books like the Faraway Tree series etched in my mind.

My mother – obviously aware of my interest in Enid Blyton, who I never thought was politically incorrect – pointed out to me that they’re about to publish a bunch of new Enid Blyton books, adding to the Famous Five, Faraway Tree and Malory Towers series. And written, obviously, by authors other than Enid Blyton.

I’m really not a big fan of this kind of book. It’s not as if Enid Blyton didn’t leave enough for us to read – some 800 books, apparently – and I’m sure I haven’t read all of them. There’s a theory that publishing new stories will inspire a new generation of readers to discover the original Enid Blyton stories, which is certainly possible – but why not just promote the original ones? I think I’ll stick to them and I might just curl up with a couple of Secret Seven books this weekend and see if I still enjoy them.

PS: Here’s a note for the future. If I ever become a best-selling writer, and then die, and somebody out there wants to continue some series I’ve written in this way: I disapprove. Please don’t do it. Thanks.

You might remember my frank confession about my difficulties in returning library books by the due date. If you don’t remember, suffice to say that I have major overdue library book issues. On three continents.

However, I’m pleased to say that until now I have never been arrested in connection to overdue library books. Heidi Dalibor has. Her library book problems had reached the stage where the library sent her a court summons, which she ignored (presumably she was too busy reading) and this week the police came to her home, handcuffed her and took her down to the station where she was fingerprinted. All for two overdue paperback books. Now I’m scared.

PS: In fact I’m more scared of my writing buddy who hasn’t yet received a copy of the second chapter of my new novel, which I should have sent her already according to our buddy system. I’ve got my long list of excuses ready, of course, and I have written about three quarters of the chapter. I just hope she doesn’t send the police around for this.