Читать книгу Confessions of a Bookseller - Shaun Bythell - Страница 36

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Opened the shop, then went upstairs and made a cup of tea at 9.10. Came down the spiral stairs to discover Petra dancing around and singing. She gave me a big hug and told me to look after my chakras before dancing out of the door, singing.

Very few customers, but my favourite customer, Mr Deacon, appeared just after lunch—his lunch, not mine, the evidence of which had formed a paisley-patterned series of stains down the front of his expensive-looking blue shirt. He asked if we had a biography of David Lloyd George. We didn’t. In fact, I sold the last one I had to Roy Hattersley, the retired Labour Party politician much lampooned by Spitting Image. He had required it for research into his widely respected biography of David Lloyd George, The Great Outsider, published in 2010. I clearly recall the telephone call in which he ordered the book—I knew instantly who it was and made a failed attempt to persuade him to come to Wigtown Book Festival by threatening not to send him the book unless he agreed to be one of our speakers. He never came.

Mr Deacon confided to me last year that he has dementia. Since then I have been worriedly observing him each time he comes to the shop, but so far he seems as usual: somewhat distracted, but a widely interested and voracious reader.

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