After my four bookshops and at least as many train rides, I was running late. This, of course, was not Louise’s fault. She’d prepared an excellent schedule with suggestions on what trains to take and where. Unfortunately I had to spend some one, one and a half hour, at Kings Cross finding the right train, so when I was finally approaching Cambridge, the question on both of our minds was: would I make it to Heffers in time, before they closed at six o’clock (the opening and closing hours were of course also on The schedule).

As I was leaving the next day for Edinburgh, tonight was my only chance to see the legendary Cambridge bookshop. On a more personal level, I also worried that I would turn out to be that customer, the one that comes in four minutes to closing and isn’t even sure what she wants.

So I did what anyone would have done and grabbed a cab from the train station, shouting as I got into it: “To the bookshop! And hurry!”

It was quite a nice feeling, actually, and it made me wonder why I hadn’t done it before. Surely the need for books have been acute and overwhelming before?

But I made it. With some twenty minutes to spare. I even managed to resist buying the lovely reading set in wood, finally deciding that it was unpractical for travels.

Their recommendation: H is for Hawk.