I have spent most of the day clearing out my rat infested summer house. It was one of the most unpleasant things I have done for ages. It stunk, they had built a huge soil nest in the corner and everything was covered in rat poo!
However, as I started to clear things into piles for burning or the council tip I found some old books. One of the first I picked out was 'Lair' by James Herbert, very apt given the environment. We must have seen four of the horrid little things scurrying away as we cleared the place and disturbed their nest.
I was left with a dilemma though. I couldn't bear to burn the books as I did not feel right about destroying other people's work. I felt I couldn't take them to a council tip either, that would be an insult to the writer too. I couldn't take them to a charity shop as they are covered in rat poo and I couldn't bring them into my own house as they really do stink.
After pondering for hours I finally decided that I shall bury them in a sort of time capsule. I thought if I wrapped them up in completely sealed package, one day, they may be found, when books like this no longer exist. I hope that people may talk about how writers once put pen to paper (or computer) to produce a book and realise how special that is.