Deja vu, good books and an emergency tenner

No two bookshops are the same. This is a hill I will die on. No matter what anyone says about them all having shelves and books, a bookseller, a window full of books, etc, I find the differences between bookshops are more plentiful than the similarities.

Even chain bookshops with their brand guidelines still vary from bookshop to bookshop, affected by the personality of their staff and the tastes of their customers.

However I will admit that when I found myself inside this week's destination I had the strongest feeling of deja vu I've ever felt in a bookshop.

My visit took place on a cold, wet day in February. Specifically late afternoon, when darkness had already set in. We'd had a soggy day trip to Bexhill and somehow missed our connecting train at St Leonards-on-Sea, so we decided to walk around the town while we waited. The visit I'm recounting here took place two or three years ago, but has been followed by so many return trips that I can comfortably say the only difference is the variance of the stock and the lack of scaffolding obscuring the shop front.

I'm blaming that scaffolding for me missing the name Black Gull Books as I walked towards the door, although if I'm honest I'm not sure the name would have helped jog my memory or if I'd even looked at it: I was focused on the warm, golden light through the window, calling us across the road before we even realised it was a bookshop.

It's about now I should probably add that this was my first visit to St Leonard's in more than 20 years. Back then I'd spent a couple of days learning my trade at The Editorial Centre. The training was good, my brief experience of the town had been less good. Somewhere in the intervening years the centre has closed down and the town has transformed – the two things are most certainly not related.

This apparently irrelevant fact is important because I knew I'd never been inside a single shop in the town and yet I was certain I knew this bookshop.

So what was I looking at? The inside of a small two-room bookshop. Floor to ceiling shelves of light wood were crammed with new, used and antiquarian books. The bookshop specialises in art, photography, textiles, fashion, philosophy, psychology and good fiction, but it felt like all genres were covered and I was very happy to see that "good fiction" perfectly suited my taste.

A conversation was going on at the till, and a dog was curled up on a chair. I believe the dog was in some way connected to the bookshop, but I haven't seen them during my later visits so can't promise there's a regular bookshop dog.

The atmosphere was convivial, especially after the cold, and we both enjoyed exploring the shelves. I'm pretty certain we ended up missing our intended train as a result.

Eventually I broke my one-book-per-shop rule and chose E M Forster's Where angels fear to tread, and Philip K Dick's Time out of joint. I went to the counter to pay and had to ask the question that had been nagging at me throughout the visit: does the bookseller have a bookshop anywhere else? They don't, but I was relieved to discover my deja vu had been justified because St Leonards is the new home of Black Gull Books in Camden Lock, somewhere I'd thoroughly enjoyed visiting many years previously. Relieved I wasn't going mad, I stepped aside to let The Boy make his own purchase.

Not having a self-imposed book limit, he had got properly carried away and picked up The Turner Prize by Virginia Button, Our Mathematical Universe by Max Tegmark, Wittgenstein A graphic guide, and two by Martin Gardner: Knotted Doughnuts, and Time Travel and other mathematical bewilderments. This led to an animated conversation between him and the bookseller, as both appeared to be big fans of Gardner.

Then it came time for The Boy to pay. He took out his debit card and the bookseller politely explained the bookshop – like many other shops in the town – is cash-only, before providing directions to the nearest cash machine. It turns out the ATM is incredibly close to the bookshop, but on that cold, dark afternoon I could see The Boy looking crestfallen, quietly weighing up how much he wanted the books against how much he didn't want to go walking the streets any more than he had to. Fortunately, I never leave the house without an emergency tenner, and on this day I'd been more than usually prepared.

Reader, I broke my bookshopping rule with five more books and The Boy now understands the importance of the emergency tenner.

Black Gull Books
34 London Road, St Leonards-on-sea, East Sussex, TN37 6AN

Crammed thoughts on a bookshop

Usually when settling down to write a bookshop blog I'll take a little time to think about my visit before I start typing, but there are so many different random thoughts crammed into my head in relation to this week's destination that instead I'm winging it. The words will appear however they land and hopefully something will make sense between now and whenever I finish writing.

Which is rather appropriate, because this week I'm writing about the most crammed bookshop I have ever visited, and if you take a look at the index of this blog you'll know I've visited more than a few.

Hurlingham Books is a relatively small secondhand bookshop found on a slightly out of the way road in Fulham. It's one of many of what I think of as my early blog years bookshops, places I first heard of back in 2013 but struggled to manage to visit. Instead I'd looked it up on maps, visited its website, seen it on social media, and read countless random comments by people who had visited both it and its nearby book warehouse. Having been on countless bookshop crawls around London, I almost got there a few times but could never quite make it work with geography or the navigation of buses and trains.

Which is a roundabout way of saying this was a bookshop that had been on my mind a lot over the last decade plus.

I'm therefore rather ashamed to admit the bookshop hadn't even crossed my mind when eventually, in early 2025, I found myself spending two nights in a cheap hotel in Fulham. I was only there because The Boy bribed me to join him at a concert by promising me we wouldn't have to get the last train home from London; we would get to take part in Fulham Palace parkrun; and we'd be staying near Putney Bridge (bridges are fascinating). The fact he didn't attempt to bribe me with a bookshop and I didn't remember such a memorable one on my must-visit list is incomprehensible. But there we are.

Fortunately, us accidentally turning the wrong way out of Putney Bridge tube station meant we quickly found ourselves walking past a short row of windows filled with the spines of books. We only had small suitcases but it was the perfect opportunity to stop and stare, fascinated by the display in front of us.

At this time, I was so busy staring at the books I didn't notice the small lightbox to the right of one window, all I saw was the sign above, for 91 Fulham High Street. I had no clue what we were looking at but vowed we would be returning the next morning to take a look inside this bookshop with no name. Yes, I know the sign's pretty obvious in the photo, but I was tired at the end of our journey, keen to check into our hotel (I can't be the only one who won't believe they've booked their hotel until they're actually in the room?) and – knowing me – I was probably also distracted by the need to find dinner.

We headed off, confirmed we really had got a hotel to stay in (barely two minutes' walk from the bookshop) and found somewhere to eat in a nearby pub (almost next door to the bookshop). In case you're not getting it, our entire stay in Fulham ended up being confined to a very small area and we loved it. Why venture further if you're after a short break and are lucky enough to be staying in just the right spot?

The next day we returned to find the front door open and I finally spotted the name "Hurlingham Books" in the window, the penny dropped and I remembered all those years of bookshop longing. I couldn't believe I was finally here and I couldn't wait to step inside.

As you can see, stepping inside is pretty restricted. This is a very full bookshop. I've seen piles of floor to ceiling books before, but Hurlingham really does bear no comparison to the next fullest bookshop I can think of. The above picture is the view from the doorstep, and while it may look spacious, it was only just possible for the two of us to pass each other once we were in. Which made things all the more interesting when you take into account the other customer and allow space for the bookseller, who could be found almost at the end of what is best described as a swirl of footpath between the books. Even that's misleading, the whole walkway can't have been more than four metres in length and I'm wary I could be over-exaggerating.

The bookshop itself is probably standard-sized for a small shop space. The volume of books it contains means walk space is probably even less that that of the smallest bookshop I've ever visited. And yet not once did I feel hemmed in or overwhelmed, such was the treasure trove on offer. Somehow despite the fullness of the bookshop titles kept grabbing my attention.

It was in this way that I spotted my purchase, which was also the very first title I saw when I stood on that above bit of floor and turned to my right. There at exactly head height (for me) was The Quincunx by Charles Palliser. Yes, it is a big book so it did have more chance than most of standing out, but it's also got a dark spine and the gold of the lettering can appear quite dark depending on the angle of light – I know this because I often miss it on my bookshelf when looking for my next read. See Exhibit A (which is admittedly a little staged):

I was excited to spot the book because it had been on my must-buy list since a rather random Teams call I had with a distant bookish contact during the pandemic. I'd enjoyed the chat about work and I'd been fascinated by the recommendation, so the memory stuck with me until such time as I could stumble across it (I try not to order books if I can help it, this blog means I'll eventually find what I'm looking for and I've learned to be patient). The fact the book keeps hiding in plain sight on my bookcase means I've still not read it, but ownership is a good start and for £3 it's not an expensive delay. Having now taken it from the shelf to photograph, I'm leaving it on the dining table ready to catch my attention next time I need a new start.

But back to the bookshop. Finding my purchase so quickly left me at leisure to explore the rest of the stock, which feels like it includes everything you could possibly imagine. Fiction was extensively varied, non-fiction appeared to cover all the usual topics and more, and at the very end of my short, enclosed walk I found a wonderful collection of slightly old science fiction. Had I not been travelling by train and already chosen a book larger than a brick, a few of those would definitely have been added to my suitcase.

There being another customer who chose the same time as me to want to pay, I didn't spend long chatting to the bookseller and I didn't have time to ask about visiting the legendary book warehouse that's apparently located just 10 minutes away. This could be considered yet another oversight on my part, I see it as an excuse to return.

Hurlingham Books
91 Fulham High Street, London, England, SW6 3JS

Perfect timing

Earlier this year we took a holiday to the south west of England. We travelled by train, stopping at three different destinations for a few days each. I've become a big fan of travelling by train, around both Britain and Europe. It's significantly less tiring than driving, less stressful than airport security, more environmentally friendly than either of those options and frees up lots of time to enjoy the view or – my personal favourite – read.

The joy of train travel means the only weight limit is what you can carry, which means that by the time we arrived at our third and final stop I knew exactly how much room I had in my suitcase for more books. Sadly the answer was one. Fortunately, Exeter's independent bookshop ensured my purchase was a good one.

We visited Bookbag towards the end of a hot Saturday afternoon (so a standard day in 2026). Tired after a later night than anticipated in a micropub combined with a faster morning than anticipated at parkrun, we got a little lost as we walked around Exeter city centre before eventually focusing our attention to find McCoy's Arcade.

[Much to my horror, I arrived home to discover I'd only taken a photo of the front of the arcade, not the bookshop itself. So while looking at this please imagine a series of big windows inside an arcade giving a view into a smart bookshop]

Bookbag is hidden away down this small, cool, shopping arcade a very short walk from the main shopping area. The whole arcade is interesting and I found myself wishing it was busier and hoping all the businesses achieve the footfall they deserve, while also accepting that most sane people would've left the hot shopping area some time earlier.

The benefit of our bad timing was that we got the bookshop mostly to ourselves. I politely swapped places around the recommendations table with two young women, while The Boy enjoyed exploring the non-fiction. It's a smallish bookshop that's long and narrow so this worked well for all of us, giving me the space to browse the recommendations table that almost filled the width of the shop while also enjoying other people's enjoyment of the books. Admit it, we all love listening into book conversations, and if it's in a bookshop the only proper thing to do is take note and see if any of the titles mentioned catch your fancy.

I really liked the mix of titles on offer, with classics interspersed between best sellers to give maximum variety to browsers. I was also taken by the nature section. Where space is limited, independent bookshops have to choose stock carefully and I felt this area of the non-fiction particularly stood out.

When it came to my purchase, there were a few recently published books that caught my eye, but as regular readers will know I'm a fan of science fiction, and one of my weaknesses is older sci fi, particularly from the 1950s. Sure the language is dated and society was rather limited for women (the books are very much of their day), but there's something about books from that period (science fiction or otherwise) that feels like a cosy, reassuring blanket. Even when the subject matter is a large black cloud that's about to separate the Earth from the Sun, plunging us all into freezing temperatures (a thought that's actually a little appealing as I type this on a swelteringly hot day).

Which all leads me on to saying I was very pleased to find a new-to-me author in the form of Fred Hoyle and his 1957 book The Black Cloud. The Boy very gently gave me a history lesson about the famous scientist when we left the shop. I don't review books, but while I'm on the subject it was a mostly very well-written and thoroughly enjoyable read. If you like dystopian fiction that's a little uplifting (not a spoiler) and combines occasional real maths and science (the parts I struggled with but was glad they were there), I definitely recommend giving this a go.

I digress but hopefully you'll forgive me when I tell you my chatter with the bookseller also mostly revolved around my purchase and how the book had only just arrived in the bookshop following a recent recommendation to her. It made my choice all the more satisfying to know I'd have missed the book if we'd been more organised and visited the day before. Sometimes timing – of publication and of visit – is everything.

Bookbag
7-10 McCoy's Arcade, Fore Street, Exeter, EX4 3AN

The little pause during a long journey

This blog took a bit of a hiatus for a few years, my visits to bookshops did not. So now I'm here to tell you about a bookshop visit from June 2024 (during Independent Bookshop Week). Time has passed, but research tells me my experience is largely still relevant today. In we go...

Most of the bookshops on this blog appear because I've planned for them. I've heard a name, had a recommendation, or perhaps had an idea I want to visit an area so I'll look up all the nearby bookshops and choose my destination for maximum bookshop visiting opportunity. Other times I'll be planning a break on a journey, looking for a moment of calm and to avoid dreaded service stations.

Then there are the occasions when we're on a long journey and I decide enough is enough and stop at the first village I can find after turning off the motorway. In this case that village was Cookham, slightly north of Maidenhead, and we were on our way home to Kent after a short break in Cheltenham, which we'd somehow ended up at after a holiday in Bakewell. I can't remember the details of how we got to be zigzagging across the country, what I can remember is my delight at realising my bookshop homing instinct had kicked in and brought us to an appropriately served village.

I can still see us in the car as we made our way into Cookham. As we turned onto the High Street, The Boy got all excitable because he'd spotted an art gallery dedicated to one of his favourite artists, then a few moments later I spotted the bookshop, and all thought of lunch went out the window as we crawled along the road in search of a parking space.

The Boy rushed back to check the opening hours of the Stanley Spencer Gallery while I made my way into The little bookshop. He soon returned, satisfied we had time to visit both and eat lunch somewhere, and so our bookshop exploring began.

First off, it really is a little bookshop. The pale blue front door opens into a space that could easily have been a cosy living room, with a white ceiling interspersed with large black beams. The small space still felt light and airy thanks to the front window and carefully placed spotlights, so there was no danger of feeling claustrophobic. 

As you'd expect, I was immediately drawn to the wall of fiction to one side just through the door. I was so busy enjoying it I appear to have forgotten to take a photo, so instead here's the other side of the room, showing some of the recommendations tables and the children's books.

After a short while, I turned around to discover The Boy was nowhere to be seen, which at first glance is an impressive achievement in a little bookshop. Then I realised he'd headed upstairs to the non-fiction area, where he'd made himself comfortable in one of the chairs.

Both of the bookshop's two rooms are nicely appointed and very nicely stocked. Had there not been a nearby gallery to go to, I reckon The Boy could've happily sat there all afternoon – instead he did the right thing and bought the book in his hands. It was Fancy Bear Goes Phishing by Scott J Shapiro, and he tells me it was an excellent read.

Meanwhile I'd enjoyed loitering at the fiction. I remember a particular shelf of books was at the perfect height for me to browse, making it both easier to see titles I was interested in and harder to choose just the one book for my purchase. Eventually I selected Violeta by Isabel Allende, an author I'd read a lot in my 20s then somehow drifted away from as the years passed.

Books bought, we headed off to the gallery for an enjoyable look around, before finally remembering the reason for our visit: lunch.

Delightful diversions such as this are what make long, dull journeys easier to bear. These days we try to travel more by train, but next time we find ourselves driving near Cookham – and I'm sure there'll be one – we will definitely pausing for books, art and a bite to eat.

The little bookshop
16 High Street, Cookham, Berkshire, SL6 9SJ