Seen in Waterstones window this week. The notice, written by manager Paul Burden, reads: ‘By far our best-selling book this Christmas… a must-have for any Worcester-dweller’.
I always wanted to be 6’2”. I’d have settled for 5’10” but didn’t even make it that far. But the other day I shot up to a full 10 feet. More, maybe. It came when I stopped outside Waterstones in The Shambles to take this (pictured). As I was lining up my shot I felt a tug at my sleeve and a voice piped up: “… great, that is. T’riffic book. I got one. T’riffic book. You wants to get one y’know. All about the pubs”. Oh bless, I thought, a fan. Considering it churlish to interrupt, I let him carry on, blushing only ever so slightly and growing taller than I’ve been for as long as I can remember. “I ‘ad it bought me. ‘Ent put it down since I ‘ad it, Chrismuss Day. ‘Ere, did you know that Wusstuuuur’s got a pub for ev’ry day o’ the yur….?” Now, as readers of the book and followers of this group site will know, that’s the great myth about the City that’s been put about and has stuck even though the evidence signally fails to back it up: as I’ve stated on several occasions before, there’s not many days some beery soul doesn’t lurch over and trot-out the self-same fallacy which is now starting to wear a bit thin to say the least. “Oh?” says I: “…says that in the book does it?” “No, our dad told me”. “But I think….?” “An’ me granddad told ‘im”. “So you haven’t actually read the book, then?” “Well, no – but it’s t’riffic. You wants to get one y’know”. “OK, thanks. I’ll think about it” I said as I walked away, now feeling that shrinking feeling coming over me, reverting to my original height – or maybe even a bit less – and taking consolation in the knowledge that they don’t make diamonds the size of bricks. Or so I like to think.
Bob Backenforth 