Take my friend Ennés. His “thing” is fishing. So much so that he now works for a fishing publication somewhere on the godforsaken East Rand. Now I guess if spending whole weekends waiting for a bite, gutting fish, cleaning off scales and gills are your thing, then who am I to criticise!?
Another friend, Albie, is what we call a petrolhead. And his “thing” is anything with an engine and wheels, especially two wheels, and more specifically off-road motorcycles. His “thing” is dust, and dirt, and falling on his derriere – very hard. That his coccyx is still intact is a minor miracle in itself.
My “thing” on the other hand is much less macho or dangerous (except on my wallet) but in many ways more adventurous – I am a bibliophile and my weakness, or my “thing”, is second-hand bookshops. (I wish I could name you all, just out of my worship of you, but that would be free advertising; however, you know who you are and you know who I am.) Little kingdoms of knowledge and pleasure.
Do not drive me past a second-hand bookstore, or walk, or one day when I’m old and grey, push my wheelchair past one. The first thing that makes my head reel when I enter these shops is the smell of second-hand books. The smell of old paper versus that of new books. Then there are the choices. I erratically run around like some madman, not knowing where to start, what to take, or what to leave. My heart pounds and my hands sweat.
Most of the second-hand bookshop owners, not only in Roodepoort but on the whole West Rand, know me by name, but I think they will never get used to my behaviour, which borders on lunacy. Although the word ‘budget’ does not exist when it comes to my hunt as The Master of Exploration of Second-Hand Bookstores, there is always something to take home.
Even if I have only R10 in my pocket, I never walk away empty-handed. (Oh yes, when it comes to my bookshelf, my books are not only arranged by genre but also alphabetically. I would shame most librarians.) And then the cherry on the cake of the hunt – going through the bargain bin and finding that rare title by your favourite author, the one you needed to complete your collection, for R5!
And you think the owner is an idiot (just joking, I love you all, oh you great curators of all things written and bound between two covers) for degrading this work of art by putting it in the bargain bin.
So there it is. Books and bookstores. “My thing”. My dirty little secret …
