When I have a little time on hand and a little money in the wallet I make a beeline to the nearest second hand bookstore, though I may not be really interested in buying anything. Which is what I did yesterday when I found myself out of office early, having earned a reprieve after two hectic days in a conference that had me running to the airport in the dead of the night to receive someone. Anyway, that isn’t the story. At the bookstore I happened to find two books I couldn’t resist picking up.
The first book I picked up was Bill Bryson’s ‘Mother Tongue’, which I had the misfortune of letting slip out of my hands sometime last year. Try as I might I cannot shake off a bit of arrogant self-confidence when I spot some books at Abids which I assume no one would pick up. Someone always does, and that Sunday I had seen ‘Mother Tongue’ at Abids and it was gone by the time I ambled back to pick it up. Thanks to my foolish overconfidence I managed to let go of a good book. But yesterday I did not repeat the mistake and held the book in my hand until I finished combing the whole store.
The other book I found was Alan Bennett’s ‘Writing Home’ which I did not want to miss though I haven’t any idea who he is except a vague recollection that he was a playwright. The book was about his writing experiences and that was enough for me. Later when I went home and looked at the back cover I found this on the blurb:
Simply the funniest and most poignant thing I've read all year...only fools and madmen will pass up the chance to read it. Writing Home is a must.' Tatler
Since I picked up the book before I read the blurb proves I am neither of those types mentioned above.
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