As a tot I went to my village library at Chalfont Peter, a tiny building over Paddy’s barbershop. My mum left me there, while she went to the co-op to get the free orange juice and bottle of malt.
The nice lady librarian got me Billy Wright’s Football Annual, then Biggles, then philosopher king Nigel Molesworth, which I still dip into every day. Later I picked up Douglas V Duff’s Heroes of the Sea, a seminal seafaring yarn and later on The Secret Agent and Moby Dick – and then the Dreaming Spires. But for that visit to the library I could have been an unlettered oaf.
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