There are about 400 on the fiction bookcase, and an equivalent sized bookcase with all the non-fiction: travel, cookery, poetry, miscellaneous sorts of rubbish. I haven’t finished unpacking yet. Pigger thinks the huge pile of empty boxes is a climbing frame for his benefit, so he’s nearly as excited as me.
Dad and Ken find it hilarious that not only am I putting the fiction alphabetical by author, but I had actually packed them in boxes by letter, so no unpacking could start until I found the box labelled BOOKS FICTION A. Why is this so funny? How else would one arrange one’s books? I don’t get the joke.