I’m not one to show off (well, mostly) but a few things need to be shared with all of you. All three of you that I have for readers.
I found an 1880 diamond edition of Dickens’s Works (The Uncommercial Traveller & Edwin Drood) in a secondhand bookshop close to where I live. This purchase is even more special because someone dropped this gem at the shop about two hours before I walked in after a memorable sourdough pizza followed by vegan carrot cupcakes. I felt compelled to say something profound when I was told by the shop owner (oh, this was meant for me) but decided to smile instead. What’s more, I bought this for £2. I know.
Living in England has been especially charming because of such bookshops. They are everywhere but the ones with a strong following are only a handful. I have found two in London that I visit on a daily basis but it was only earlier this week that I was rewarded quite magnificently. Oh my, I must add that I was delighted this particular time. I am also fortunate that my thoughtful friends keep directing me to such shops when I’m travelling. A few months ago, while I was meandering through the streets of Brighton and finally settling for some mean bites at the Mexican food festival, a friend helpfully pointed out that I should head down to Lewes, a little town in East Sussex. I found a fifteenth century bookshop there, that stood lonely by a broad street full of rare editions carrying intimidating pice tags. An 1890 edition of an Oscar Wilde collection was available for £75.
Well, someday, tch tch.
