Picking up my notebook I headed across Leicester from the campus. Tim had told me about this wonderful book space and that I must keep walking and keep the faith.
Clarendon Books, it sounds like the old publisher of Clarendon Press or even a humanistic printer’s font.
Look at the bow in that table of bargains in front of the window.
Red bricks baked from Keuper marl in Nottinghamshire. The geological term is now obsolete but the burnt red bricks live on in the cities of the English mid lands. The tiles tell a tale, too. They shift from new slate on the book-store to old terra cotta next door, where the rain falls a little less often.
Connected by telephone lines to the Internet and by aerials to the mass media broadcasters. It does not matter where you are, my students said, if you have good wifi.