Delicious words served on paper...

Oscar and Friends Booksellers, 35/277-285 Crown Street, Surry Hills, NSW 2010, Australia

I am completely addicted to reading all kinds of literature. I am also rather partial to a bit of technology and depend on my range of i-Gadgets to survive the perils of modern life. However, I have not introduced two of my greatest passions to each other and they remain as two separate love affairs. In other words, I am yet to fall for the beguiling charms of the eBook reader.

Call me old-fashioned. Label me out of touch. Go on, hit with me with your best insult, I can take it. I remain defiant in my love of real-life books and I refuse to budge. You won't find a Kindle nestled in the depths of my handbag, or a Kobo peeking out of my clutch. I'm devoted to paper.

Ampersand Cafe and Bookstore, 78 Oxford Street, Paddington, NSW 2021, Australia

Admittedly, e-Readers provide some urgently needed extra room in fit-to-bursting handbags and spare a few blushes on the tube when reading Fifty Shades of Grey. They are sleek, chic, and store a magnitude of McEwan, heaps of Hemingway and acres of Allende. But, despite the benefits, I still prefer delicious words served on paper rather than on a screen and I'm concerned that the beautiful book will soon be in danger of extinction.

Book-love, I just can't get over it. Books feel comforting in your hand with their just-printed intoxicating scent and the crisp sound the pages make as you turn the page is inimitable. They have beautiful, embossed covers that tempt you like new clothes on a rail, and create an orchestra of colour and height when lined up on a bookcase. Books are very personal; they can be adorned with a carefully crafted note to complete a gift, a simply scribbled date that automatically marks a place in history, or even by the style in which they are read. Are you a front page folder-over? Or does the mere sight of such destruction make you want to cry out in protest? Maybe you have a special bookmark, postcard, or old photograph that you use to keep your page and transport it from book to book, author to author. In comparison, all e-Readers look identical.

Pegasus Books, Shop 204a Left Bank Cuba Mall, Te Aro, Wellington 6011, New Zealand

Then there are the bookshops themselves; whether polished stores selling the latest new releases, second-hand havens packed to the rafters with historic gems, or a fantastic combination of the two. In my opinion, nothing beats exploring the hidden treasures in a bookshop and finding rediscovered novels from centuries gone by, that new best seller that everyone is talking about or even better, stumbling across a book with a mysterious note on its inside cover. On my recent travels, I picked up a deliciously battered old copy of Stephen King's classic 'IT' in Endeavour Books in Kaikoura, New Zealand. It is literally falling apart; the cracked spine hanging on to the contents for dear life and the pages yellowing at the edges from years of exposure to light. The note reads:

'Dear Shelvin. Thought you might appreciate this book to add to your horror collection. Good luck with your future plans. I await to hear the stories of your trips to Egypt. Enjoy Auckland. You have shown much personal growth this year. Remember - life doesn't put things in front of you that you are unable to handle. Go well, Ms Mallinder.'

I am haunted by that note and itching to know who the devil Ms Mallinder is, how Shelvin fared in Egypt and Auckland and if he continued to grow personally. (For those who have read the book, I am also haunted by that terrifying clown brought to life by King's extraordinary storytelling).

Endeavour Books, 8 West End, Kaikoura 7300, Canterbury, New Zealand

We all need a place to indulge our passion for paperbacks, somewhere peaceful and just that little bit special. So, to add some weight to my evidence in the case of Humble Book vs Gargantuan e-Reader, I've handpicked some of the unique bookshops I love where you can while the hours away over a good book...

The ultimate role model. Aged 4.

Catching up on Lauren Laverne's highly educational Grazia column Lauren Loves... this week I nearly squealed with joy on the tube. Leaping out at me amongst the music, book and deli reviews was a piece on one of my favourite fictional heroines of all time – Matilda.

As the tube accelerated along the tunnel and the blackness whooshed past me, I felt like I was travelling back through time faster than light. My destination, Downsview Primary School, Upper Norwood, London. The year, 1989.

This was the year I read Roald Dahl’s Matilda and was mesmerised by the story and Quentin Blake’s now instantly recognisable illustrations. I completely agree with Laverne when she describes Matilda as a feminist icon. She is a shy, softly spoken 4-year old prodigy whose giant intellect is stymied not only by her despicable parents and her beastly headmistress, but also by her gender.

Matilda is introduced to us by Dahl in the first few pages as The Reader of Books, both sensitive and brilliant - ‘her mind was so nimble and she was so quick to learn that her ability should have been obvious even to the most half-witted of parents’. By the age of 1 and a half she could talk perfectly using the vocabulary of an adult and at the tender age of 3 she had taught herself to read newspapers and magazines before moving steadily onto books.

A voracious reader, Matilda’s reading list at the age of 4 included Dickens, Brontë, Austen, Hardy, Wells, Hemingway, Steinbeck and Orwell to name but a few, which is enough to put any half-witted adult to shame. Including me.

Matilda is constantly told by her gormless and despicable parents, Mr and Mrs Wormwood, that she is worthless and stupid, and overlooked in favour of her very ordinary brother Michael who gets to know all the interesting stuff from his Dad about the crooked second-hand car business simply because he is a boy. Her Mum is no better, a platinum blonde with garishly heavy makeup who thinks ‘looks is more important than books’.

The villainous headmistress Miss Trunchbull, who once threw the hammer for Great Britain in the Olympics and uses children to practice on, deliberately holds Matilda back and observes that ‘a bad girl is far more dangerous a creature than a bad boy’ and ‘Nasty, dirty things , little girls are. Glad I never was one’. All of this leads to Matilda wanting to get her own back and she discovers a psycho-telekinetic power that allows her to move stuff around and spook out her parents and Miss Trunchbull. And this is where the fun really begins.

Dahl’s storytelling is mischievous and comic and Matilda is laugh-out-loud funny. The book contains all the usual Dahlian humour and gruesome words that we knew and loved (blisters, scabs, grubs to name but a few). Who can possibly forget the hat and the superglue, the boy who got his finger stuck up his nose and Bruce Bogtrotter and the chocolate cake? It’s also sprinkled with unexpected stuff that you can appreciate even more now you’re a ghastly grown-up; smatterings of Dylan Thomas poetry and a frightful episode involving her despicable father and a library copy of John Steinbeck’s The Red Pony.

Another reason why Matilda is so special to me is because my primary school class put on a production of Dahl’s classic for our last ever play. If my memory serves me correctly our pleas to our brilliant teacher, Mrs Mohtashemi (our very own version of Miss Honey) to perform Grease were sadly turned down due to budget and creative restraints (disappointing, but slightly ambitious to turn our school hall into the backdrop for an American high school complete with bleachers, a beach, a drive through movie and a fairground but hey, we were always told to aim high).

So Matilda it was and preparations began. Casting completed, Mums drafted in to do makeup and costumes, Dads on prop duty, and dress rehearsals out the way, it was time for the show. In what was to be Class Seven’s final production, we acted our hearts out and treated a packed audience (parents, siblings, teachers) to a rollicking musical production which brought the house down and had the audience crying with laughter. There were tears too; we were growing up and moving on to big school (which we all secretly hoped would be nothing like Crunchem High School and that there would be no such thing as The Chokey).

I nervously made my acting debut as Matilda, finally making the break away from previous roles such as Nativity Narrator and Recorder Player. My little sister Michelle opened the show as baby Matilda (wearing a nappy, which would never have been allowed in 2011 but was completely acceptable at the time. Sorry Mich.) Ben Crompton played Michael, playing up to the audience with painted on freckles and missing front teeth as he sucked up to my Dad and stuck his tongue out at me. David Whitcher was my miserly, mean crook of a Dad, accessorised with fake bald patch, garish jacket and tie and measly moustache. Devika Gayle played my Nan in Dame Edna-Everage glasses and chic pearls and bag and Sarah Watkins was the school nurse. Then there was Tessa Xioutas, totally splendid as my mum and surgically enhanced with the use of some very clever props and Dolly Partonesque hair.

Michael Norris was the great talking parrot Chopper, perfecting his talk and squawk to a tea in full rainbow-coloured feathers and tights. Christina was absolutely terrifying as Miss Trunchbull, even the parents were a bit scared, and brilliantly humiliated my fellow classmates throughout the entire production - a class that included Suzy Ackerman, Anthony Foulds (who gave an Oscar-worthy performance as Bruce Bogtrotter with the cake), Jenny McKinlay, Tansel Omer and Viresh Patel looking super cute in bunches (girls) and school shorts (boys).

Tania Gornall, Jonathan Duffel, Katy Fraser and Ryan El-Alfy (RIP, always) were grease-smudged mechanics at Wormwood Motors and did a hilarious and faultlessly choreographed rendition of ‘You Can’t Get Better Than a Kwik Fit Fitter’. Definitely not least, Demis Andreou was Doctor Procter in a suit and tie and the obligatory briefcase and Beena Savadia the poor Cook who played an unwilling part in the Bruce Bogtrotter incident.

My heart was broken into little pieces when Matilda finished its long serving theatrical run (1 night) and I left Downsview; leaving behind something so very special. A blissfully happy, innocent time full of fun and laughter and amazing classmates and teachers that I knew even at that age I'd find hard to replicate again in my life.

Fortunately, and rather uniquely I think, I’m seeing Mr Wormwood, my brother, some of the mechanics at Wormwood Motors, my Nan, Doctor Proctor, the talking parrot and the rest of the cast and crew again in 2012 for the next instalment of our Downsview reunion. We’re older and a bit more world-weary now, but it’s still magic when we meet.

Matilda left a lasting imprint in my mind - The book ultimately celebrates intelligence and good teaching but for me it conjures up a whole bunch of emotions just by turning the page.

Yesterday I purchased a fresh new copy of Matilda and I had to resist the urge to write Nicola Greenbrook-Kirby, aged 33 and 2 months in the inside cover in large childish scrawl. On the front cover is Matilda, sat atop a pile of books in a simple cobalt blue long-sleeved shift dress (a nod to minimalism and capturing fashion’s current flavour for the Sixties), the eponymous heroine who was on trend even at the age of 4. If you haven’t read the book since you were a little sprog or have never read it as a revolting adult, please do, you’re in for a real treat. Published in 1988, Matilda is the biggest seller amongst all of Roald Dahl’s books for children. In Britain alone, half a million paperbacks were sold within 6 months.

It’s a funny, warm and intelligent story which sends out an empowering and brilliant message that it’s ok to want to be clever and better and not have to look good, just because you’re a girl.

What a marvellous medicine to swallow.