This is what happens. I go to random.org, and get a random number between 1 and 1680. These numbers correlate to the books in my library on LibraryThing. I then match the random number to the relevant book in my library, and talk about it.

Today’s random number is 134, which corresponds to The Big Read Book of Books.

As I’m sure many of my UK readers will remember, in 2003 the BBC had a massive campaign called The Big Read. Over the course of several weeks, viewers were asked to vote for their favourite books. The Top 100 was announced, followed by various celebrities advocating books in the Top 20 until viewers finally chose their winner. Which was Lord of the Rings, by the way.

This is the book that went along with the series. For each book in the Top 100 it has all sorts of useful info about original publication, author info, original covers and so on. Very interesting for a book geek like me, and especially interesting as in 2004-5 I wrote my postgraduate Publishing Studies dissertation on books and television, which looked at The Big Read, Richard & Judy (the first of their book clubs had recently happened), and Oprah.

Tell me I’m not the only one that has been ticking things off the Top 100 as I’ve read them. Please. Guys?

I started The Quincunx at the very end of December, as you know, but I’ve ground to a halt with it. It’s not the book’s fault, I don’t think, so I will return to it. I don’t know if perhaps there is something terribly daunting about a 1200 page book with fairly small print sitting on your bedside table – an odd thing for a Victorian literature fan to say maybe – but I ended up sort of not being able to face it.

So then I picked up a collection of short stories, The Secret Self, Vol. 1, a collection of stories by women edited by Hermione Lee. The first story – ‘The Daughters of the Late Colonel’ by Katherine Mansfield – was wonderful, but I’m not terribly good at reading lots of short stories in succession.

Finally, on Saturday, I picked up Mari Strachan’s The Earth Hums in B Flat, which Canongate sent me a review copy of some months ago (Canongate, if you’re reading this, sorry it’s taking me so long to read all the lovely things you’ve very kindly sent me). Hooray! This book has cured me, I even got up an hour early this morning to read it before I went to work. I’ve still got about 50 pages to go, so I won’t say too much about it for now, but I am utterly, utterly charmed by Gwenni Morgan, our 12 year old narrator. Strong characters are my thing, and this book has them by the sackful.

In other news, did anyone else see the new book show on Channel 4 last night? They thought The Little Stranger was boring! I am aghast. I thought it was a marvellous book. I must say my opinion rather concurs with Dovegreyreader. Gok Wan and Laila Rouass to inspire the country to read more? Really?

TV, though, is my thing. Box sets of TV series by far outnumber films in my DVD collection. A good series is an amazing thing, and in a way, far more like a novel. There is room for character development, subplots, growth, in a way that one can rarely find in a film. My problem with film is often that I’m just finding my feet with the characters before it’s all over.

The Guardian have today published their Top 50 TV Dramas:

To find out what the Guardian’s TV writers really think is the best TV drama ever made, we asked Nancy Banks-Smith, Sam Wollaston, Lucy Mangan, Sarah Dempster, Mark ­Lawson, Grace Dent and Richard Vine to rate, and then debate, what they consider the greatest ever series.

The overall winner was The ­Sopranos, the compelling tale of New Jersey mobsters created by David Chase. They almost all raved about this show, praising it as an ­original, absorbing and affectionate study of complicated family values. But it only made the top spot by a ­fraction. Their second favourite was Brideshead Revisited, the 1981 ITV adaptation of Evelyn Waugh’s novel about religion, nobility and paisley dressing gowns. The Wire – HBO’s widely praised series about Baltimore – attracted plenty of praise, but only ranked at No 14. Mad Men, the tale of 60s New York ad men, made the No 4 slot, just behind Our Friends in the North, an epic 1996 BBC2 ­series that traced the fates of four ­people across several decades.

After all I’ve just said about loving good TV, I must confess to never having watched The Sopranos. I used to think it was because I was scared of the gore, but that’s non-sensical given my complete and utter addiction to CSI (which isn’t in the Top 50. It’s probably a bit too shiny and formulaic.) Maybe I should give it a try. My number one would almost certainly be The Guardian’s number eleven: The West Wing.

Ah, The Wing. How I love thee. Brilliant characters, top notch writing, fabulous acting, it’s television drama at its very best. OK, so season five and six were slightly ropey, but I can forgive them that for the brilliant cliff-hanger at the end of season 4, for the Josh and Donna love story, for the furious speech that the President (a practising Catholic) makes to God in the cathedral towards the end of season two, after Mrs Landingham’s funeral.

What’s that? You don’t know the speech I mean? Well then, you’d better see it.

It makes my spine tingle every time. But The West Wing isn’t just dramatic and really quite radical, it is also funny. Really, properly funny. Witness this scene, where the President takes rather too many painkillers for his back.

And, you know what else? They choose their background music really, really well. Take this scene, from the final episode of season two. They use a particular favourite song of mine, ‘Brothers in Arms’ by Dire Straits, to rather wonderful effect.

The West Wing is brilliant. Full stop. Also, the guy who composed the theme music is called W.G. Snuffy Walden. If that is not one of the best names you’ve ever heard in your entire life, then there is actually something wrong with you.

But do you know what’s really cool? Yesterday Boyfriend and I were wandering in London, and we ended up here. It’s the shop! The Black Books shop! And it’s really a bookshop too!

Unfortunately it was also a closed bookshop. But in the window there was this little beauty: what looks like an early edition of The Waves by Virginia Woolf.

I did also manage to visit an open bookshop while I was in the area. The London Review Bookshop on Bury Place (the Black Books shop is on Leigh Street). I was very good and didn’t buy a thing, though there was much to be tempted by. I’m trying to restrain my book buying self at least until after Christmas.

Well, I don’t care how it reached my screen, I could watch this lot as many times as you like. I think they’re marvellous.

Their dancing is fantastic, they’re spell-binding to watch, and they’re *witty*. Worthy winners, I say.