Some of you will be aware that I quite like the odd book or two. I own a few of them and keep them handily about the house, acting as additional insulation, convenient dust collectors and general well-being generators. Alice said "What is the use of a book without pictures?"; I say "What is the use of a house without books?". If you are especially perspicacious you might have noticed that a few of them have crept up behind me in my profile picture. These days some more have even infiltrated my actual computer through the cunning ploy of being instantly downloadable from the Internet. No more waiting a day or two for the post; I can get my eyeballs on fresh text in seconds.
Given the choices I have in selecting a favourite book, the casual observer may be forgiven for thinking that it would perplex me beyond all reason to frame a response to this prompt. The casual observer would, of course, be not only observing casually, lounging on the sofa as if he owned the place, but also making baseless assumptions. I have a favourite. Oh yes. My precious, precious favourite.