P-P-Pick Up A Penguin

Ludlow, Shropshire, Sunday morning. What could be better. The sound of Housman's bells cascading down over the rooftops, little old ladies with prayerbooks hurrying back to cottages up shaded alleys, early spring sun lighting up brass letterboxes on gloss painted front doors. And then look what catches my eye in the market place. I was going to self indulgently show you the Dinky Toy 3 ton army lorry I got for eight quid, but thought this was far more edifying. I thought we could scan the shelf and see how many we'd read. I just have, and am ashamed to admit it's only one. But which? I'll think of a prize for the first one there. Probably a dog-eared Penguin. That'd be novel.