84, Charing Cross Road was where my love for the English bookshop began.It was a major cult novel that Helen Hanff claimed never made her much money, but apparently made her many strange friends instead.

And her readers were certainly devoted. At a time when long distance calls, and international calls, were much more expensive, a woman rang her up out of the blue from Alaska or Canada or some other remote point because this telephone call to Helen Hanff was her husbands birthday present for her. People kept sending her books to sign and then send on for gifts, and she grumbled that she actually lost money on it: the money she got from royalties were less than what she paid on postage to send it along.

If you haven’t read it, I can warmly recommend her subsequent, perhaps less known, book The Duchess of Bloomesbury Street – it’s about her visit to London, when it did take place, and very much about how much warmth and strange friendship a good book can bring about. When the shop on 84, Charing Cross Road closed, a fan had the sign from the store shipped to her. It hanged for many years in her living room.

Why am I telling you all this when I’m supposed to write about Goldboro Books? Well, I’m trying to explain to you how it was that when, having joked with Louise about buying a first edition, and asked what the first edition Harry Potter costs (they sold it as a set, so more than one book, otherwise I’d spent the 4000 pounds needed to get it, etc. etc.) and then, noticing 84, Charing Cross Road in a humble, almost hidden spot on a shelf, I immediately froze.

“It’s 84, Charing Cross Road!” I said to Louise, and reverently picked it up after a tentative – “May I?” – do the woman who worked there.
“You should take a photo with it”, said Louise, bless her innocent heart.
“Photo! I think I’ll have to buy it.” I think Louise was a little bit afraid that all the bookshops had gone to my head, and even the shopkeeper seemed a little hesitant about the quickness of my decision. “Are you sure?” she said.
“What would your sister say?” was Louise attempt at reason. She knows me too well already.
“My sister would approve”, I said with great dignity.
Which she will, especially if I don’t tell her how much it was. Besides, my sister is an artist. She understands obsessions very well. It’s only when my obsessions lead to buying so many books that we have to move to a bigger apartment that she is a little bit less supportive. At least right now, since we moved to a bigger apartment just one year ago.
“Besides, it is only one book”, I said to Louise. “The rule didn’t say anything about a price limit.”

AND IT IS BEAUTIFUL (just like the Goldsboro Bookshop).

One day I’ll finish the collection with a signed copy. But let’s not tell Louise or my sister.