Tuesday, 10 January 2012
death of a local bookshop
I have several hats, though most of them are berets.
One of them is the hat of an itinerant book seller.
Which is a beret, since you asked.
I put it on on Saturday, and threw a pile of books and cards into the Moggy. Deb piled in with her promo packs for Communion, her rather fine poetry collection. And her poetry book hat, which on this occasion was an enviable knitted affair with a vague air of Middle Earth about it. And off we went, over the Avonmouth Bridge to Clevedon.
"I really want to take some pics in Seeley's", I said as we trundled past Easton in Gordano. "It's everything a local bookshop should be, which means it's not long for this world. Books, stationery, art materials, good local section, nice people. And Mr Seeley perched in his office up the stairs at the back."
"And the Fontana book stand", said Deb. "It's so Seventies! I really want that stand."
"The Galt one's my fave," I said; "Pure 60s. ....I'll try and pluck up courage to ask if I can take pictures today."
We were a fortnight late. Seeley's had closed for ever, on Christmas Eve. We stared despondently through the windows at the debris of the last fifty years or so, revealed by the ripping out of the shelves; the two bob coin on the counter, the Empire Produce mango chutney crate with the note advising that 'Phil is having this'.