Читать книгу Confessions of a Bookseller - Shaun Bythell - Страница 28

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The wild wind repeatedly blew the door open throughout the day, so I removed the lock plate so that the latch could keep the door closed.

At 10.30 a.m. Callum delivered twelve bags of logs, which should see me through the next three weeks.

An elderly man with a walking stick bought £40 worth of books on a range of subjects. As he was paying, he showed me his stick, which was made from a snooker cue with a snooker ball mounted to the top of it as a handle. He told me that he had come down from Edinburgh to visit his brother, who is convalescing in Newton Stewart hospital. During our lengthy chat he told me that he’d been down two weeks ago to bury his friend Lord Devaird. I was slightly shocked to hear that he’d died, as he was a regular customer, a quiet man with diverse reading tastes. It’s often only when someone tells you that one of your regular customers has died that you realise you haven’t seen them for some time.

Isabel came in to do the accounts. She couldn’t decipher any of the handwriting on my cheque stubs and, to be fair, I struggled to too. Lambing starts next week, so I’ll probably see her less frequently now until that’s over.

Till Total £60

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