This is the moment when I wish I hadn't agreed to go to the Book Fair. It's such heavy work getting everything ready and into the car. Richard rang last eve to say that he will be there and to bring books on agriculture for him. He's out of luck. Jane will probably have something though. It was nice to hear him blethering on about this and that. He has been a good support to Chloë since they met at Ballater fair last year. The social aspect of these shindigs is really nice. The other pleasure is to meet the collectors and the folk who really appreciate books in all their aspects - their binding, the varying editions, their place in literature or in social history. A book fair is the one place I can enjoy the experience of folk browsing my stock knowing the value of what they handle and being pleasantly surprised at the prices rather than appalled, as they so often are in Forres High Street.
Irritatingly I shall be getting some books to look at next week that would have been good to take to the fair. A 1st ed. Surtees amongst them - the chap claims. Shouldn't count ones chickens.
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