By: John A. MacInnes
There comes a moment in every book nook builder’s life when they have to ask themselves a difficult question.
“Do I really need another book nook kit?”
The answer, of course, is yes.
The second question is slightly trickier.
“Where on earth am I going to hide it?”
Welcome to Book Nook Builders Anonymous.
The first rule is simple.
We don’t judge.
Mostly because we’re all guilty.
“I’ve spent 20 minutes looking for a part that was stuck to my elbow.”
We’ve all done it.
You’ve searched the floor.
You’ve checked the rubbish bin.
You’ve accused the cat.
You’ve convinced yourself the manufacturer forgot to include Part A27.
By minute fifteen you’ve already started composing a strongly-worded review in your head.
By minute twenty-one…
…the part falls off your sleeve.
Naturally, you pretend that was exactly where you left it.
“I’ve glued my fingers together.”
Anyone claiming they’ve never glued their fingers together has one of three problems.
- They’ve never actually built a book nook.
- They don’t own any glue.
- They’re lying.
B7000 has an incredible talent.
It’ll completely ignore the two wooden parts you’re trying to glue…
…before permanently bonding your thumb and forefinger together.
Bonus points if you’ve also attached yourself to the cutting mat.
by John A. MacInnes“Book nooking: The art of turning tiny pieces of wood into masterpieces… while slowly emptying your wallet and completely losing track of time.”
“I have absolutely no idea where half my tweezers are.”
Every builder starts with one pair.
Six months later you somehow own eight.
Curved tweezers.
Straight tweezers.
Extra-fine tweezers.
Reverse-action tweezers.
The expensive pair.
The cheap pair.
The pair you keep for emergencies.
And somehow…
…the only pair you actually need has vanished into another dimension.
They’re probably keeping company with missing socks and TV remotes.
“I’ve convinced myself I can build ‘just one more section’ before bed.”
This is perhaps the biggest lie ever told.
You glance at the clock.
10.15pm.
“I’ll just fit this window.”
Next thing you know it’s 1.43am.
You’ve forgotten to eat.
The coffee’s gone cold.
You’re discussing wallpaper choices with a tiny wooden shopkeeper.
“I’ve blamed the instructions when it was entirely my fault.”
“The manual’s rubbish!”
We’ve all said it.
Usually quite loudly.
Then five minutes later…
“Oh.”
Turns out Step 14 really did come before Step 15.
Who could possibly have seen that coming?
“I’ve bought another kit before finishing the last one.”
Every builder knows this conversation.
Partner:
“Another one?”
Builder:
“No, no… I’ve had that for weeks.”
(Doorbell rings.)
Courier:
“Another delivery for you.”
Builder:
“…that’s probably just glue.”
Current stash: 17 kits.
Kits actually finished this month: 0. All works in progress!
Perfectly normal.
“I’ve kept every spare piece because…”
Every builder owns…
The Box.
You know the one.
Inside are hundreds of mysterious leftover pieces from dozens of different kits.
Can you identify any of them?
Absolutely not.
Will you throw them away?
Don’t be ridiculous.
One day somebody might urgently require half a chimney, three Victorian window frames and a suspiciously tiny barrel.
“I’ve celebrated when the LEDs worked first time.”
There are only three possible outcomes.
Nothing lights.
Half the building lights.
Everything lights first time.
If it’s the third option…
Buy a lottery ticket immediately.
You’ve clearly used up every ounce of luck you’re ever going to have.
“I’ve said words that would make a sailor blush.”
Tiny hinges.
Microscopic signs.
Invisible magnets.
Wire that won’t stay where you put it.
Need we say more?
Let’s just say it’s probably best not to build within earshot of small children… or your neighbours.
“I’ve told people, ‘It only took a weekend.“
Technically…
Saturday.
Sunday.
Monday evening.
Wednesday after dinner.
Friday night.
The following Bank Holiday.
One rainy Tuesday.
Three episodes of The Repair Shop.
Technically…
…that’s still “a weekend.”
“I’ve become emotionally attached to a tiny wooden building.”
You’ve spent twenty hours building it.
You’ve painted it.
Weathered it.
Installed lights.
Added flowers.
Named the cat sitting outside the café.
Of course you’re proud of it.
Anyone who says “It’s only a model” clearly doesn’t understand.
“I’ve refused to throw away the box.”
Normal people see an empty cardboard box.
Book nook builders see…
…a future storage solution.
…a paint booth.
…somewhere to keep spare LEDs.
…a handy place for “bits.”
Six months later it’s still under the desk.
Nobody knows what’s inside.
Not even you.
“I’ve bought tools I never knew existed.”
You started this hobby with…
One craft knife.
Now you own…
Three precision knives.
Seven tweezers.
A head magnifier.
UV torch.
Mini clamps.
Pin vice.
LED tester.
Thirty-six paint brushes.
A cutting mat the size of Wales.
And somehow…
…you still can’t find the one pair of tweezers you actually need.
“I’ve sworn this is my last kit.”
This is perhaps the biggest confession of all.
Every builder has said it.
Every builder has meant it.
Then a manufacturer announces a gorgeous new street scene with moving parts, mirrors, lighting and a tiny cat sitting outside a bookshop.
Five minutes later…
…you’re reaching for your wallet while muttering,
“Well… this one is different.”
Final Confession
So…
How many of these confessions sounded just a little too familiar?
Five?
Ten?
Every single one?
Don’t worry.
Recovery isn’t possible.
The good news is you’re among friends.
Now, if you’ll excuse me…
I’ve just seen a new release that I definitely don’t need.
…
I’ve already ordered it.
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