I am a peripatetic reader in the sense that I consume whatever is offered, and make purchases in a semi-random fashion, usually based on price.
Translation: I buy second hand or remaindered books and presume the adventure will take me where I need to go. There is a lot of good stuff to be had in this academic city, so I never lack interesting reading material.
Yesterday I took my mother to the cheap, strange, moldy bookstore next to Sidney Sussex (aka the place where Oliver Cromwell’s head is buried) to peruse the racks. Imagine my surprise and delight to find my very own self marked down to a quid!
This is the ugly “literary” version of the book… the attractive one sold out:
