Apparently, they're growing in popularity.

One thousand and one things you must do before you die. Films you must see. Albums you must hear. Books you must read. Places you must visit. Conversations you must start when you're middle-class, 30-something and at a dinner party where the cocaine hasn't yet kicked in. Before you die.

Maybe I made that last one up but lists aren't cool, kids. Just say no.
Not that I haven't dabbled occasionally.

It's difficult not to flick through books like that when you walk past them in Waterstones.

It's a natural instinct to see if your favourite is among the 1001.

Mine never are.

That doesn't make me question my taste.

It makes me question if the compilers are well-read enough. And it makes me wonder exactly what their game is. One thing they should do before they die is spend less time writing 300-word faux-analyses of Dracula, and more time trying to emulate the authors they admire.

And one thing the buyer should do before they die is spend less time reading books about reading books and start reading the books they are reading about. If that makes sense?

They call them toilet tomes, don't they? I think that means people place them in silver racks in their bathrooms, looking intelligent and cultured, waiting for visitors to dip in and then start – presumably after concluding said visit to toilet – a conversation about the merits of various inclusions and exclusions.

"I'm glad The Libertines were included, Charlie, their grot-and-roll noise really depicted what life on London's poverty line was like."

"Absolutely, old boy. Merlot with your lamb henry?"

My brother has one in his bathroom.

Visitors to my place, however, will find a slightly damp copy of last week's Sun and some dog-eared indie fanzine bent at the spine.

I'm proud of that.

Inverted snob? Absolutely. One thing I can guarantee I will never want to do before I die is kill my time reading Jane Eyre or watching Gone With The Wind so why even look at a book saying I should?

I'll pick up my influences from friends or family or bands I like or authors I read, not some generic cashcow paperweight.

I guess I'm pretty much alone, though.

These books are now extending into third and fourth editions and are a constant presence on shop shelves, rather than disappearing quickly at the start of January when people stop looking for Christmas presents for family members they don't really know or like. Some have been bestsellers.

People like lists, it seems.

So here's one: Read The Bridge of San Luis Rey. Listen to The Decline Of British Sea Power. Never waste your money on a 1001 book. And always be suspicious of people who make lists.

Colin wins Columnist of the Year at Regional Press
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