On paper

20 pages to go. Having a break. Proofing on screen makes the occipital lobe begin to throb after a while. When, twenty years ago, I worked briefly inhouse at Macmillan (copy-editing a book about sailing, about which I knew nothing whatever) it was still a paper-oriented world. Lovely fat slabs of manuscripts, blue pencils and red pencils. I'm not sure I like the pdf world so much, though oddly, the blip shows something like a watermark on the screen that's almost paper-money-like (plus a typeface that's come off as if done with a very old printing press).

I'm going to be one of those people that resist those dinky little hand-helds for electronic reading of books. In 25 years the children, and possibly grandchildren will regard me as some paper-obsessed, hand-held phobic dinosaur, with an antique collection of actual books on shelves, dust-gathering and irreplaceable. They'll tut and shake their heads. But you can read all the books in the world - just as if it were a query on Google - they'll say, waving the thing at me. I will be unmoved.

I like books as objects. I like the feel of them and the weight and texture of paper, the quality of binding, the creativity of covers. I like their smell. I love the physical act of turning pages. A book has personality. They seem almost like people to me. Can you imagine going to sleep with a hand-held on the pillow?