Buy a book, please

Five reasons why I like books (and not Kindles):

1. Prettiness for prettiness' sake

Wearing a grey tracksuit every day and night would be ridiculously comfortable and practical. Easy to take on and off, warm in winter, could switch to a t-shirt in summer, wouldn't matter if the dog put muddy paws all over your front because jersey is easy to wash. Most people, however, do not wear grey tracksuits every day for obvious reasons. My battered, velvet-eared copy of Wuthering Heights is the equivalent of my holey, scuffed, but oh-so-comfortable pair of ballet flats that I can't bear to part with. Reading my leather-covered Bill Amberg edition of Brideshead Revisited feels like putting on my beautiful swishy blue silk-lined coat that cost more than my first car and will only ever be worn on special occasions. My vast selection of orange Popular Penguins and Random House Vintage Classics are my basics - my white ribbed singlets, black stockings, and flowery scarves. Each novel helps to make up a literary outfit to match my mood and thoughts.

2. Tea and biscuits

I'm fairly sure every avid reader has opened a favourite novel at a favourite page to find the remains of a squished decade-old biscuit crumb or a hardened coffee stain. There are some books (like my Bill Amberg editions) that are not even allowed in sight of the kitchen or any kind of food stuff, because hot beverages and baby buffalo hide really don't mix. Most of my novels, however, are best served with tea and biscuits, wine and cigarettes, and occasionally some kind of game bird. When I sit down, cup of tea in hand, for a session with the Kindle, I'm immediately overcome with a sense of sneaky guilt. I shouldn't really have anything mushy, liquidy, boiling, bubbling, cheesy, or crumbly near a complicated piece of electronic equipment. I especially probably shouldn't be exhaling smoke on it. And yoghurt is no good for battery life, no good at all. Yet my ten-year-old copy of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets doesn't mind a bit of porridge between the pages, as it's already survived a bubble bath and tomato soup.

3. Back-up books

Although I have a working knowledge of all those zany modern communication devices that my dad knows more about than I do, I'm certainly no pro when it comes to complicated things like 'saving', 'backing up', and 'not accidentally deleting stuff'. It's quite difficult to delete a paper book. Hitler managed it on a fairly epic scale, but for we bonfire-less plebs it's much trickier. Certainly, I've lost books - favourite books too - over the years, and will always regret them. The embarrassing moment when I lent A Hero of Our Time to the stoned and spotty-faced 16 year old love of my life who I can't remember the name of. The time I accidentally returned my own Keats anthology to my high school library and they wouldn't give it back. A copy of Les Miserables left at a Nottingham bus stop when it wouldn't fit in my suitcase.

For each book I've lost, though, I think I've always gained another freebie. I have a friendly copy of David Copperfield that someone left in my room at a London youth hostel. A class set (14) of Rosencrantz and Guildernstern are Dead stolen in revenge from the same school library that kept my Keats. A couple of well-worn favourites borrowed from housemates and friends and acquaintances, with no attempts to return them made. Ebooks are not so saucily exchanged though. I would live in fear, I think, of accidentally pressing that big red DELETE button and losing all my cherished stories. Not to mention the emptiness of knowing that I was never going to come across a little ebook on a park bench, at a train station, in a friend's bookshelf that I could quickly and quietly slip into my bag.

4. Show pony factor

I love talking about books. I enjoy telling people how well read I am, what my favourite books are, why everyone should like them, why I'm an authority on literature etc. And the best way, undoubtedly, to start up these conversations is by having a well stocked and obviously placed library that can be pointed at often and included in small talk wherever possible. As a visitor to other people's houses, the first thing I want to do is march over to their shelves to decide whether or not they are a literary dunce (usually the Jeffrey Archer: Martin Amis ratio will provide an immediate answer) and to gauge how much we might have in common. It might seem shallow and elitist, but consider the alternative – I know that I'd rather be judged by my books than my looks. And if my books are all stored safely and unobtrusively on some small, convenient piece of plastic, then suddenly my unwashed hair and ripped stockings become more of an issue when greeting people at my home.

5. How much is too much?

And finally, one very simple reason. I spend all day at work looking at, being near to, and fighting with computers, data projectors, interactive whiteboards, ipods, dvd players, power cords, plugs, double adaptors, laptop bags, font sizes, hard drives, email attachments, and every kind of website imaginable. When I get home, I desperately do not want to even turn on the telly, as one more button-but-not-the-kind-you-sew will push me over the edge. Simple, manageable, clean-smelling, pick-them-up-and-put-them-down-with-no-cords-attached books are a reader's comfort food - chips and gravy after a day of lo-carb high-protein energy bars.