Packing for a move. In addition to discovering ever more spare sets of handlebars, mysterious bits of plastic that were probably kept on the grounds they were an important part of something-or-other, and unexpected stashes of Ikea STOPP non-slip rug matting, I keep finding books I had forgotten I owned. This is a small flat. I've sorted through all my books at least once since I moved here in 2015. How does this happen?
Current theory: some sort of wormhole to the media studies section of a bookshop in Canada.