Last night in my local supermarket I paid $7.30 for three bananas.
Why? you moron, I hear you cry, and, Reader, you have a point. I'm not sure why. But they are three perfect bananas, and unlike any banana I have ever bought in my whole life before, they can be absolutely 100% certain that I will eat them at the peak of their perfection, rather than end up using them for banana bread or compost. I may be trying to teach myself some kind of lesson about waste.
Over at Sarsaparilla, however, someone has just posted a comment about a second-hand bookshop that was (during its closing-down sale; wouldn't you know) selling classic paperbacks for 70c. And I have been musing on whether the consumption of three perfect bananas, as quality of experience goes, could in any way be stacked up against reading, oh, say, Middlemarch, David Copperfield, Jane Eyre, Anna Karenina, The Waves, Ulysses, Catch-22, and half -- the Peace half -- of War and Peace.