Home, house, apartment, batch and garden — there is a wealth of glossy magazines and tele programmes that feature all of these.
Pages of pictures and TV programmes of what your house should look like, be like, smell like and so on with endless photographs displaying every minute piece of designer fab covet-that-sorta-stuff.

Every indoor look from bedrooms decked with arch, pastel filmy curtains or loud, floral knockout drapes, twisted chairs and one-off arty-cushions, fat beds, thin beds ... it goes on.
However, I have digressed.

Though I have launched into bedecked houses my focus was not actually the zingy, clever designs owners had selected for their homes. The designs that maketh the great dwelling was not for me.
I reckon how you can make a pretty good evaluation of who your house dwellers are is by their books or lack of.
This is not a new summation by me either.
I'd worked out the reading matter on offer became an issue when I was nowt but a skinny little nonentity trailing behind the parents on those weekend afternoon visits to rellies. Always hideous and deeply boring, I thought.
In those days most people had bookshelves with dozens of books squeezed in spine by spine.
That was always my first stop, scrutinising what reading matter was on offer.
I'd select a book then disappear for the duration but would re-emerge if a plate of cakes was offered.

I've noticed these days when visiting people or just houses it's as though books don't exist.
Those large book shelves have mostly disappeared unless you're visiting an academic whose precious tomes are on display to convince you you're in the presence of a lauded, learned being.


Then there are the homes with the gracious living room / formal lounges where bookshelves are purely for display and adulation with a carefully blended colour palette.
For instance, two precise metres of moss green, leather bound books standing at attention, pristine and obviously unread — a perfect foil for the autumnal chintz lounge suite and large art works of mixed greens, sienna and golds.

Not forgetting a gleaming tableau of big picture coffee table books turned slightly inward, pages uncorrupted, not a fly spot in sight on a low, chest-sized table.

In some homes there are collections of books shovelled together on shelves in spare bedrooms or along a hastily bunged-up shelf in the double garage.
If you're a book spy like me and love to read, from the titles you can easily predict the non-reader who say they are well read.

For these are the readers like the fashionistas, latest car lovers, top wine connoisseurs, best part of town to live in-chaps and total social somebodies.
They are the note takers of the universe.
Top selling book lists are integral to their skim-reading skills.
"Oh yesssssss wonderful read ... eboslutely loooooooved it."

Rest assured these people are well on to the Booker Prize books, the latest Royal biog and the latest by ... a global well known author constantly on book stands (there are about four, I think.).
Not forgetting those who call magazines books. They're usually the Royal worshippers.
Aye, no show without latest royal update, pullout complete with large glossy pic n'all. Cracker Bruce!

But the everyday reader, that person with their nose stuck in a book at table, in a bus, train, plane, tucked snugly in bed, on the sofa, known as the book worms of our society are also the gang who hang out out at the local library.
It's these chaps who have books everywhere in no particular order and the dead giveaway is the unwieldy pile of reading matter beside their bed ... never in alphabetical order, colour order, or any order.
It's just a pile of good reads.

Tis the season chaps ... for those who love it ... read on.