So I did.
What he failed to mention was that the premises was down a ginnel and up three – it could have been four – flights of brown-painted stairs which in sections twisted on themselves in keeping with the age of the interesting building full of odd, and unfortunately locked, wooden doors. I must profess to being intrigued by interesting buildings.
I was followed by two other prospective customers who toppled into the bookshop on my heels. Between drawn breaths they asked if oxygen was provided free, and everyone chuckled. If not oxygen, the shop has a handy grouping of cushioned chairs, but by then we were browsing the shelving.
The People’s Bookshop, down Saddler’s Yard, carries a host of out of print and radical titles. Browsing was both a revelation and a joy. If you have a spare half hour do call in. You might do more than just say hello.