A bell rings as your eyes absorb the darkness - your foot crosses the threshold. The afternoon sun on your back you immerse yourself in the cool and musty air hanging in this Aladdin’s Cave. Books line the walls, from wall to wall, ceiling to floor, no categories, no collections, just individuals leaning against one another: Keats, Austen and mundane classics, once bought...

Ok, picture this. You’re on a cramped and to be blunt rather vile train heading into the gloriously busy London and to pass time you reach into your bag and pull out your copy of In the Footsteps of Harrison Dextrose by Nick Griffiths.   I am going to stop here to applaud you for two reasons:        Well done on choosing such...