“One in five of the UK population are so poor at reading and writing they struggle to read a medicine label or use a chequebook.”

I discovered this fact recently when doing a course which means I can examine others in a written exam, yet – if the candidate cannot read or write – it can also be taken verbally. We, perhaps naively, looked surprised at the instructor who said this that it was necessary, until he confirmed that yes, we will routinely have candidates who cannot read.

As I am given to I understand it, people who cannot read have adapted to recite and learn from repetition, to equip themselves, and therefore will put themselves forward for a written exam knowing they could not pass without assistance.

So, I will certainly do my best to accommodate as and when the situation arises.

However, I cannot but help to think forlornly of a world where I never read a novel, a book which wasn’t a required text, just for the joy of reading.

Where I who didn’t read all I could get my hands on of groups of five or seven children on adventures, of magic trees with washer women, of gnomes and elves and hobbits and wizards. Of kings, queens, magic buckles, rings, swords and castles. Of other worlds, futures, and incredible histories. Of wars, battles, rivalries and suffering. Of epic and harrowing adventures across foreign lands and our own. Of lives lived well, or those with pain and sadness, or the hope of happiness, forgiveness or retribution. Diaries written by those who never knew someone would share their deepest thoughts, and desperate ones who hoped that someone would.

I grew up with books, and there is one in particular which I literally, no pun, credit with teaching me all I know about what friendship should be, and I carry it forward as much as I can every day.

Words are an inspiration, reading about a world outside your own can change your entire perspective on life, sometimes especially the books you are prompted or persuaded to read which you were never inclined to of your own volition. And, in my world, sometimes turn straight back to the first page and start over again.

What I learned from this fact, this sad but true; I am so lucky that I can pick up a book – or maybe even day write my own – and read it.

But it isn’t a purely introvert pleasure; there are books that people tap you on the shoulder to ask about when they see a copy in your hand, or give a quiet smile and nod when they see you reading on the tube, then there are those that you absolutely cannot help but share and delight in the experience.

I am most oftentimes with a book. It may be one I love, it may not, but I’ll have an opinion, and I’ll always have a recommendation if you need one!