Brit mentioned Terry Gilliam this morning, which was odd given that I’d just finished watching his interview with Clive James on my iPod. A quick jaunt around town convinced me that we’re living in a nightmare of Gilliam proportions. Humanity reduced to hammering away at each other as they fight for their place in Christmas queues. I managed to get into Waterstones, only to realise the futility of staying the ground floor. Thinking I was being clever, I sought refuge in the poetry section. Only, even the poetry section was full.
I pass or visit the poetry section of Deansgate’s Waterstones at lunchtime two days a week. It’s always empty. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it full. Which either says something about the popularity of poetry as a means of saying that something special or that people will buy just about anything for Christmas gifts. The fact it was full meant something. Twelve monkeys time, I thought.
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2 comments:
It was full on Saturday, i felt like shouting "this is a bookstore! you people don't belong here!"
Funny, Elberry, that was my reaction too. I get very protective of book shops at Christmas. I hate to see the doll themselves up like some cheap whore looking for custom. I go in there all year long but feel unwelcome at Christmas. I just want shout out and ask why these people aren't in there the rest of the year.
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