The only disadvantage with a whistle stop bookshop tour on Saturdays is that the bookshops close earlier, so that it becomes quite a challange to visit three towns before closing time. I had almost resigned myself to having to visit Woodstock Bookshop tomorrow, when I found out that Rachel, the owner, only worked today.

So I did what any book lover would have done: I called a cab and asked them to get me to Woodstock as quick as humanly possible (after double-checking that it was all right for me to turn up five minutes before closing time, of course).

Woodstock is a small village just outside Oxford, and the bookshop is small and charming, located on 23 Oxford Street and run by Rachel. “I’ve worked in bookshops all my life, and then one day, I thought: If I don’t open my own shop now, I never will. I was fifty. There comes a time, I think, where you either go for your dreams, or you don’t.”
What is the best part of running a bookshop?
“Author events, definitely. I’ve had Richard Ford – have you read him?”
Yes, Canada.
“Such a great author. And Henning Mankell. My sales rep argued to them that we were right on his way, between two other bookshops, so one day I got a call asking me – Would I like a visit from Henning Mankell? Is this a hoax, I asked.”
What has been most challanging?
“Doing my returns. I used to do it too seldom. You have to return the books you haven’t sold if you run a small shop, to make room for other news, but it always felt like a failure. And well, I loved your book, but one thing I noticed was how sure Sara was when she recommended books to people. I’m always more doubtful, and many times people ask for recommendation, and you go through the process of recommending two or three titles to them, and then they look sort of sceptical and end up buying something completely different.”
That is actually how I used to buy books, before this epic bookshop tour taught me to just go for whatever they liked.

This conversation was not taking place in the bookshop. I’d been there, and I had been given tea, and we chatted while she closed up, and then she asked where I was going next and offered me a ride to Oxford.

The reason for the ride was partly because she’s a very nice person and was going there anyway, so there really was no problem and yes, she was quite sure, she had plenty of time, and so forth, and partly because I think she felt bad for the confused Swedish author carrying her suitcase and her books from time to time. “I had imagined you’d be going with a publicist?” she said, somewhat worryingly.
“Louise did want to come, but she couldn’t really justify taking three weeks off work. And everyone has been really nice, so really, it’s been no problem at all.”

She did not appear noticeably comforted by my inability to tell her where my hotel was. “Do you want to borrow my computer to check?”
Since the reason I didn’t know where it was was that I hadn’t, as yet, booked it, I naturally made some sort of excuse and assured her I would be quite fine if she could just drop me off somewhere in central Oxford, perhaps by a pub.

I’ve learned from my travels in general and the three weeks already spent in England in particular that everything usually works out great if you only have a credit card, cash and a cell phone with internet. And this being Oxford, I wouldn’t even need cash.

So in due course she dropped me off by a nice pub, having first given me a mini tour of Oxford by way of pointing out two different bookshops.

And I found a hotel close by, of course, and ended my whistle stop day by reading Chris Hadfields An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth. Great day.