feather_ghyll

I have just returned from my first ever trip to Paris, where I was staying at a hotel that did not have Eurosport, sadly, so I couldn't watch the men’s US Open final. I really, really wish I’d been able to see it!

While there, I stumbled upon the famous Shakespeare & Co. That is to say, I meant to go there, but did so accidentally. It’s a cramped shop – too little space between the floor-to-ceiling shelves and too many of us tourists and bibliophiles shuffling through it. I felt obliged to buy something (in English, my French is about good enough to order food I want to eat these days). I popped into several bookshops – some catering for English readers, but quite a few definitely not - just because it's a compulsion of mine.

I visited a lot of touristy places and found quieter formal jardins to recover and in which I could read incongruous books such as the following

The Headland Mystery: Arthur Groom. The Children's Press.

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Madensky Square: Eva Ibbotson. Arrow, 1998.

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The Goats: Brock Cole. Cornerstone Books, 1989.

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