Bookshop hunting

Nothing I like better, when I've got a few hours to myself, than to wander off in London trawling bookshops for good photography titles. This evening, after the sixth bookshop, I found a set of stairs leading to [name forgotten]'s speciality photography bookshop. The set of stairs led off another, general bookshop at ground level, which has a sex shop down the stairs in the basement. Perhaps this is why I'd not thought to venture upstairs. So up I wandered, reached the top of the stairs, pushed open an unlocked door, through an empty gallery hung with a few forgotten paintings, to the door of this little shop hidden away in the corner of the gallery. Pushed open the door to be acosted by the owner:

"We're closed! Can't you see? It says on the door - see! Close at 6.30!" [How outrageous of me to think that just becuase the bookshop downstairs is open, the doors are open and the lights are on that the bookshop is open! Outrageous!]

"Okay. Fair enough then," I said to her. I was about to add, "No need to get your knickers in a knot about it darlin'," then thought, actually I might want to return here at some point and this looks like the kind of shop where they get three customers a week so I'll keep schtum, lest she remember me and barr me or something.

But, what a nutter, I thought to myself as I crossed the empty gallery again, back down the stairs, out on to busy Charing Cross Road and then on up Oxford Street ... searching searching for those ellusive images...