The pages of a book contain more secrets than are printed on them. Flick through them and the past falls out. Recently, a friend borrowed a book from me and found, amid the leaves, a "thank you" card from my nephews when they were young boys. Now, they are 17 and 15, but that postcard about an English summer is our shared history, a reminder of love, family, football and who we were then. I put the card back in the book. It was like reburying a lovely treasure.

Everyone has a book story. Everyone who reads becomes a storyteller. Everyone can relate a tale of where a book came from and what it meant to him or her one rough winter. Everyone has a favourite passage, a dogmatic view on dog-earing, an odd book-stacking style and a book cover which remains unforgettable. Mine is the image of fisherfolk on Amitav Ghosh's The Hungry Tide.