PERSONAL: Not shopping
I went to a town that I don't think I'll name yesterday, an hour's trip on the train. Despite going to all the charity shops there, a market stall and a secondhand book shop, I only brought one book (£3.50 for a thriller that I daresay I will see for cheaper in every shop I go to for the whole winter). There were one or two maybes, but nothing tempted me - the charity shops were nearly all glossy something lit paperbacks, the second hand bookshop's stock was abysmal. The market stall was interesting, because it seemed to have a much more 'what the people' want attitude (it had books that I already owned by authors I would have brought) and I think only sold paperbacks. It was ordered thematically with authors' books grouped together, but not alphabetically, which wasn't a bad way of doing it, I suppose. They also divided the authors by gender nearly throughout. (Nothing will top the Hay bookseller who has a special section for science fiction by lady authors, though).
There was another largeish looking second-hand book shop that was quite near the station and that I mentally marked as worth returning to for a good rummage. Being an idiot, I neglected to squiz at the opening times, and left it until after lunch, when the shop was, of course, closed. I ought to have learnt that lesson by now.
As a couple of possible Christmas pressies are niggling me, I may return to this town and head to that bookshop first, even though I have issues of finding space to store books at the moment, and I haven't read much of anything of late (there was a book that I wanted to review here, but didn't feel strongly enough about to get around to it), so I'm not running short, and I have plenty to reread. Still, shopping for books is too deeply ingrained at this point.
There was another largeish looking second-hand book shop that was quite near the station and that I mentally marked as worth returning to for a good rummage. Being an idiot, I neglected to squiz at the opening times, and left it until after lunch, when the shop was, of course, closed. I ought to have learnt that lesson by now.
As a couple of possible Christmas pressies are niggling me, I may return to this town and head to that bookshop first, even though I have issues of finding space to store books at the moment, and I haven't read much of anything of late (there was a book that I wanted to review here, but didn't feel strongly enough about to get around to it), so I'm not running short, and I have plenty to reread. Still, shopping for books is too deeply ingrained at this point.