One of my talents (well, perhaps not a talent, more a skill in that it's something I've had to learn from the way life has gone) is fitting in bookshelves to places you might not have thought a bookshelf would go. We've had lurking in the wreck-that-is-the-cowbyre, in the bit that's just about roofed, a couple of bookcases, while we waited for inspiration to strike about where we could put them. Having evicted a couple of boxes full of stuff, and a load of pictures which should be hanging on the landing walls, and might well be again if we ever get round to finishing painting the landing, a task which has been ongoing for about 2 years, there was just enough space for this:
which is now my work in progress bookshelf, for review copies, stuff waiting to go on the website and stuff I am plundering for the blog.
We have another, larger, bookcase still waiting to come in. After we've returned a coffee table to my sister (not sure why we still have it), moved my grandfather's old tool box into the space vacated by the table, having moved all the books from its top, as it is currently doing duty as a store for my (very extensive) collection of pony annuals and biographies of equine illustrators, there will, we think, be space. The plan is that the pony annuals will move there. It says something for the state piles of books often reach in our house that my OH did not realise there actually was a box underneath the piles of annuals until I broke the glad news that for once, there were fewer books than he thought.