Today I shall buy books.
Not such as a surprise, surely?
But our lovely independent bookshop has been closed for three weeks. The owner retired, though he hung on for long enough to make sure it was taken over by someone who would keep it as a bookshop. So it closed, and there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth, and bitten nails as we wait for the-look shop. A skip appeared outside, and four men and one woman lugged stuff out and threw it away. Then lorries arrived, and four men and one woman lugged more stuff in.
Everyday people would peer through the doorway - watching the far end of the shop was opened up; as ceiling and walls were painted; as shelves filled, as if by magic, with books.
And today a woman who works there waved me in, so I could have a quick look. Oh how wonderful it is. Lighter, brighter, and extended to give more shelf-space. Still a place for children to sit on the floor and read. And that lovely smell of new paper.
What's more, it's still independent. No profits disappearing into corporate coffers. A local independent bookshop to respond to local reading needs. They'll still do good deals for local book groups (they give a 10% discount off our book group books); they'll still find anything, order anything; and get to know their customers by name.
So - what am I doing today? I'm off to the White Horse Bookshop, in Marlborough High Street.
I might be a little while.