Just doing my bit for local bookshops! Helping local economies and all that, to save us from the American fate of only having Barnes & Noble. If, coincidentally, I managed to stock up a bit in the process, well, that’s just a happy alignment of fate, isn’t it?

First to the Oxfam bookshop where my eye scanned the shelves and found the comforting green of a couple of old Viragos. I bought:

Novel on Yellow Paper – Stevie Smith. Now that I think of it, it’s shocking I haven’t read this before. I dipped into it a bit this morning and I know I’ll have to adjust to the style. Pompey’s voice is immediately captivating, however.

The Squire’s Daughter – F.M. Mayor. About which I know nothing beyond the blurb, but post-war readjustment to changing social norms? Right up my-formerly-ancestral-avenue-now-sold-and-built-on street.

And then I sauntered lazily over to the crime aisle, just in case there was a previously undiscovered Sayers or Allingham lying around. There wasn’t. But there was:

Last Rites – John Harvey. Because I have a crush on Charlie Resnick, and I think this is the next one in the series.

Finally, Jaffe & Neale, my new discovery among local book shops. A pleasingly eclectic collection, and a cafe doing a roaring Saturday morning trade. I was very restrained and only picked up:

Sleepyhead – Mark Billingham. Which I read yesterday. I didn’t love it but I was up until the early hours finishing it.

I am now almost confident that I have enough to see me through the week.


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I've run out of books. Again.

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