the stand
Squares again
Bargain hunt
10 quid each
Failed attempt to open here
The time is ten minutes to ten on a Sunday, and already there are a line of middle-aged gentlemen waiting in a newly refurbished hotel lobby in WC1, with the vulgar coloured lights in the background. There's a certain type of species that is willing to rise up early during the weekend to engage themselves in the 'pursuit of knowledge' (with a price tag). You'd spot them in tweed jackets, jumpers with elbow patches, bright coloured trousers, or shorts (note: it's not that hot, and you're not going on safari); the taste is more M & S than Savile Row. There is, however, a Patrick Stewart lookalike bookseller who I'm quite delighted to talk to. I sat in my usual corner anticipating punters, but without surprise there was very, very little action. By lunch hour I had finished reading the Saturday Guardian, previous weekend newspapers and nicked one bookseller's Sunday Telegraph. Moreover, I had serious discussions about vegetarian food, Essex girls, M & S sandwich packaging, football, relationships and Asian writers with the bookseller sitting next to me. At some point the fire alarm went off, and the appropriate British thing to do is to sit still and carry on with your crossword or Sudoku puzzles. Nobody rushed out the door; you'd be asking for their lives to allow the sprinkler system damage their books. At the end of the day, our books about Jack the Ripper were no longer in stock.