Before I met him, in one of his many incarnations, PJ owned a bookshop. The cardboard sign I'm holding here was once the side of a box of books he received when he had the shop, from US booksellers, Great Jones Books. He cut it out and kept it because his last name is Jones.
Since I first read the sign, I have exclaimed Great Jones Books! when something great has happened. Well, not every time, but sometimes. Like today, because I woke up beside PJ and it's his birthday.
He once told me that in Wales in the olden days, people were addressed according to their professions. My dentist, for example, would have been Amro the Teeth. My hairdresser, Renée the Hair. One of his nicknames for me is Mog, so sometimes he calls me Mog the Blog. While I call him, Patrick the Book, which most often gets shortened to simply, Books. And as I am Jewish, it also gets lengthened to Booksberg or Bookstein. (Not to be confused with my bookish friend Becky, whom I call Booky.)
So happy birthday, Booksberg! Thank you for sharing your wonder and your words with me.