The reason I was dawdling in a bookshop yesterday was I had gone in to check out the series of little paperbacks Penguin have issued to mark their 70th anniversary as the world's first softcover imprint. Ten years ago they did the same thing - smaller format books with a generic look that I recall being given many times over as gifts for my 30th birthday. But these are something else altogether. The design of the books is astounding - there's barely a dud cover among them, although the Michael Moore one is a bit of a vulgar gross-out - and for aesthetics alone they deserve a place on anyone's shelves. But look at the quality: Freud, Woolf, Orwell, and new greats like Ali Smith and Jonathan Safran Foer. All mind nourishment of the highest order - and all of them a mere £1.50 each. That's cheaper than a copy of Heat (I think - it's been a while) and something of real lasting value for years to come.
As many of you will know, I'm 40 in July. I do so love sharing a major birthday with Penguin.