This was the week that wasn’t

Monday

The call came - just before the headlines - at 08:59 precisely. Manager of the last second-hand bookshop in England was not a position I wanted to refuse.

Such responsibility, the recycling of a nation’s words.

Tuesday

Getting to know the poky space, its overfull shelves. Forgotten stock tumbling down the backstairs like a heap of fallen leaves.

Note to self: a clearance sale is in order. Purchase any

   Jeremy Clarkson, Dan Brown or Jeffrey Archer – get ten free.

 

 

Wednesday

It wasn’t enough. In future, staff shall search all bags donated for foreign language works. These must be thrown out straightaway.

Question: are translations of Simenon, Hesse, and Cervantes eligible to apply for the right to remain?

 

Thursday

There have been complaints. Still too many foreign words being found between the covers. Purchases have been returned.

               Action points:

1. Books by Irish and US authors must now carry

a ‘content warning’ advisory sticker.

2. Antipodean literature to be available only from

under the counter in brown paper wrapping.

Friday

More complaints. Homeless people cluttering up the shop, cadging its warmth, obstructing access to the  self-help section.

         Note to self: apply a fit-and-proper-persons test                                       to all potential customers. 

    Blue passport or other approved photo ID essential.

 

Saturday

Streamlined the choices on offer. Axed poetry, natural history and the children’s corner to create more space for popular crime. Gave over the entire window display to ‘clogs and shawl’ fiction.

Record takings.

Gave staff a £5 Tesco voucher (each) by way of ‘thank you’.

 

 

Sunday

Reinstated Sunday closing. Spent day painting over the red, white and blue décor with pastel shades. Sacked by gov.uk text message at 18:05.

  Went home to put feet up and read.

Had hot bath. Let pages curl in the steam.

 

x. 2021