Shops come and go. They either die a cruel death or move across the road a la any glamour fashion shop on Bond Street. In the last week it has been Foyles turn, a shop in the deeply unfashionable business of book selling. Foyles proves you can still sell a book in a shop.
We all know the heaviest boxes in a house move are the ones that contain the books. Thank goodness, Foyles had the good sense to move only two doors down the road. And what a space! It actually has elbow room. You could swing a cat reading an atlas. In fact, you could swing a cat reading the whole Encyclopaedia Britannica (remember that?).
I love the light. I know the classic bookshop is a mouldy, dusty affair but prepare to annul all thoughts of this when bathed in naturalness.
What’s best is the usual Foyles book-love. And I mean love. For sure it’s a big operation but you still feel that the people who work here love books. You don’t get that love at WH Smith. Mild regard maybe. But not love.
Day Twenty: June 18, 2014. 7.55am. Humid.
Temperature: A tepid morning.
Greyscale: A two-tone sky.
In E L James’s words: Two-tone? How dull.