At last, the world has organised itself sufficiently to point me a way. The confluence of all signs, movements, social, economic and political tides has given rise to a clear signal: the universe wants me to start my own library.

I don't mean stuff a room full of books for my own delight and delectation – I've had several of those for years; I mean start one for the use of other people. For this immensely cheering idea, I have – as with so much else – Ed Vaizey to thank. He has nominated my native borough of Lewisham, five of whose dozen libraries are threatened with closure, as one of the lucky 10 who get to pilot his new scheme, the Future Libraries Programme, in which "new governance models" will be tested.

Now, look – it's that kind of eye-rolling-immediate-sense-of-choking-contempt-and-despair rising from the depths of your soul that makes a Conservative minister for culture's job so difficult. Could you stop for a moment and maybe hear the man out? Sheesh.

In Suffolk, for example, the new governance model will involve handing over the running of libraries to local community groups. Bradford is going for "library link points... located in shared outlets with extended opening times in partnership with retail partners". Libraries in supermarkets, basically, or possibly the other way round. Vaizey's favourite example of successful cohabitation is the George & Dragon pub in Hudswell, North Yorkshire, which disgorges books as well as pints. Fortunately, the perceptive souls in charge of Lewisham's biblioservices appear to have noted the potential pitfalls of reproducing this particular arrangement in the less idyllic surrounds of – ooh, let's say, almost anywhere else – and have decided to stick to working more closely with neighbouring boroughs to try to save money.

So. The Big Society is here. And the apparently contradictory ethos of privatisation by the back door. Co-location is our new watchword for library services. I have (as calculations in this very column a few months ago proved) more books than I can now read in a lifetime. The slowing heartbeat of print journalism could flatline any time and leave me bereft of job and purpose. The time has surely come to add a second string to my bow, and to give something back to my community, even if I have no idea who that community might actually be. But I'm sure you're out there, and if you ever see me waving, do say hello, won't you?

So, the new, private Lewisham library is in my house. Applicants must provide proof of recent Saturday Guardian purchase, a picture of a kitten and a (real) Tunnock's teacake. In keeping with the idiosyncratic stock, which runs from Norah Lofts to Philip Roth via Narnia, and includes not one but two biographies of Mary Pickford (this recent discovery did give me pause to wonder whether I shouldn't hand over all my credit cards and financial decisions to my next of kin whenever I come within 50 miles of the Book Barn), there will be idiosyncratic rules. To wit:

1) Silence is to be maintained at all times. For younger patrons, "silence" is an ancient tradition, dating from pre-digital times. It means "the absence of sound". Sound includes talking. Such a state was thought to allow longer and deeper engagement with a task – here, "reading" – and we are attempting to resurrect the custom. We'd probably have more luck resurrecting Etruscan haruspicy, but you've got to try.

2) I will provide tea and coffee at cost price, the descriptive terms for which will be limited to "black", "white", "no/one/two/three sugars" and "cup". Anyone who asks for a latte, cappuccino or herbal anything will be taken outside and killed. Silently.

3) Opening hours are noon to midnight. I'm not a morning person.

See you soon.