I need to read more. Not the online stuff that has my eyes drying out, unfocused and red by the end of the day. Not passing road-signs or warning lights (eish - those damn orange lights everywhere).

But real, proper books.

Two years ago I was sitting with a 140-book Readers Digest Condensed Books collection, and slowly working my way through them. One story per night, 2 hours worth in the bath.

Now I've got a shower. And a multi-life. And even the "emergency" volume sitting in Olivia hasn't had a look-at in months. By the way - should you ever find yourself stuck outside Land Rover Stellenbosch, waiting for an elusive part to arrive, an emergency volume is a very handy thing to help pass the hours. Or days.

But I do miss reading. I miss having the time for reading and getting lost in a story someone else has woven. I miss the inspiration it inevitably gives me to write my own. I miss having my mind and imagination stretched to picture places and people for an hour or so. I miss turning the pages (and perhaps jumping the really badly written boring bits). I miss the last page and the twist in the tale.

I think I need to take up reading again - whether it's reverting to indulging in an Actual Lunch Break (instead of a sarmie scoffed at the desk) to put my feet up and read, or setting aside a bit of quiet me-time and a corner at home. I know it enriches my life in so many ways - it's really time to get back into it.

After all, I still have 24 Readers Digest Condensed Books to go...