Scouring the house for things to sell, as usual. I recently acquired a rather nice cape, thinking I would wear it myself, but have decided to let the eBay population have a sniff. I was rather impressed by its Harvey Nichols label, a first for this household which isn't generally known for its sartorial elegance, although Richard scrubs up nicely, thank you very much (down, Judith).
I've found some CDs we can live without (not sure why we have some of them in the first place - hope they are ours and we haven't borrowed them from someone, eeek) and one or two books. Most of my books for sale are on Amazon, but occasionally I spot something I think will do well on eBay and give it a go.
Some of my friends gasp when I tell them I'm selling my own books. I'm not sure how and where I became desensitized to this, living as I have so closely with books all my life. I used to make houses out of annuals when I was little, and carried on making my world out of books, rather less literally, for 15 years, not counting the various times I was studying. After school I used to go to the bookshop of Beatties department store in Wolverhampton and buy books, mainly Penguin Modern Classics. My confession, offered up to cleanse the soul on this lovely spring day, is that I read hardly any of them, but used to buy them for the covers alone. Modern Classics had wonderful covers, mainly of modern art; I was studying sciences, but my real interest was in art and design.
How appropriate, then, that I should be selling my world of books and anything else I can lay my hands on, to help maintain our life here and to fund the art course that I shall finally be starting in September.
One of those Beatties' books was David Karp's "One", with a wonderful Edward Hopper cover showing a man and a woman in deckchairs staring out, desolately, at nothing in particular. I bought it in 1972 and I had it until last year when I sold it. Mmmmm, I think I might just nip on to Amazon and see if I can replace it.
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