Читать книгу Confessions of a Bookseller - Shaun Bythell - Страница 14

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Cold, grey day. Nicky appeared at 9.08 a.m., blaming the weather for her late arrival. The rain came on again at 10 a.m. and the sound of water dripping into buckets in the shop window began its usual symphony.

As I was filling the log basket, I heard a frog croak in the pond—the first one I’ve heard since last autumn.

On the way to the post office, I spotted Eric, the Wigtown Buddhist, in his orange robes—a welcome splash of colour on an otherwise grey day. I’m not sure when he moved here, but Wigtown has absorbed him with the amiable indifference it shows to everyone, no matter how incongruous they may appear in a small rural Scottish town.

Nicky spent the day re-arranging things that didn’t need to be re-arranged.

After lunch I took down the Christmas decorations from the window displays. The left-hand window was still full of little puddles in places.

Today’s blackboard:

Avoid social interaction: always carry a book.

Very few customers today, and most of them left before lunch. A family appeared at 2 p.m., and I had high hopes that at least one of them would buy something, but they left after ten minutes, empty-handed. No more customers between then and closing.

Till Total £34.49

4 Customers