The airport bookshop. I always find the concept of them exciting. There’s so much potential. A constantly changing clientele. Children – and adults – desperate for some sort of stimuli.
The airport bookshop is part of the package of “holiday” for me. It’s part of the steps you take; from that nervous have-I-really-got-my-passport through to did-i-close-that-window and is-my-passport-still-in-date.
So I flock to the bookshop, the moment I stumble through security at least 57 hours early for my flight. I touch spines. Captivated by the crispness and purity of these books, I touch them; the covers, the frontispiece, the way the pages are all so tightly bound together. New books are just so lovely. You forget how lovely they can be, how beautiful a row of perfectly designed front covers can look. These things are artpieces. This – the book in the ‘pre-reader’ stage – is a thing of beauty.
I prostrate myself in front of the children’s book section and stand there for a long long while and just drink it all in. I see who’s new, who’s old, who’s got a new book out and how they’ve repackaged the Harry Potter series this time round. This, this right here, this space, this shelf is where I want to be. It’s like I’m at an altar. This is my devotional space. I love this world. It’s magic. Pure magic. All these stories, all these characters, all these tales ready to be told – and they’re just waiting for a reader.