The Global Redhead

A travel book to read for sure.

UNITED KINGDOM | Sunday, 5 December 2010 | Views [185]

It was cold. Well, when I say 'cold', I mean the air around me was cold. I walked down the high street in Newton Abbot drawing my coat closer around me in an effort to ward of the biting chill. My train doesn't leave for another hour so I decided to walk the short distance into town and see what the place has to offer.

Not alot.

Like usual.

But still I walk.

It starts to rain and I begin to walk closer to the buildings as though they will shelter me from the shower, throwing my hood over my head and stuffing my hands into my pockets. There is nothing worse then cold AND wet. Getting annoyed at the weather, I walk into a charity shop. I can't remember the name, but it smells like most charity shops do - sort of musky, 'grandparenty' and, strangely, spicey. Scanning the rows of old clothing and odd knick knacks, I come to the book section. I had just starting thinking that taking a book with me for the train journey wouldn't be a bad idea when suddenly it jumped out at me. There on the shelf, was a battered old copy of Zen And The Art Of Motorcylce Maintenance. The spine was scratched and scuffed. I picked it up, noticing the worn and crinkled cover, creases all over it, "This book will change the way you think and feel about your life" it read. It felt smooth in my hand, like the cover had been touched often in gentle thought. Thumbing through the pages, I saw that they were yellow with age bearing many folds in the corners where previous readers had marked their progress. There was no scrawled name inside, no notes written anywhere in the margins, but this was obviously a well read, well worn book. I read the publication date - 1974. Wow, this book was 35 years old, written at the same time as my car was first made! The pages smelt like only the pages in old books can smell, almost like 'attic' if you understand what I mean.

Buying the book wasn't a hard decision. It was marked at 20p, a total bargin and so I clutched my new find tight and took it to the till. The price suprised me a little, but then, I place great worth on the written world and so I suppose that is not an unusual reaction for me.

I was looking down at my new book as I walked outside, reading the reviews about it which were typed on the back. "Profoundly important - full of insights into our most perplexing contemporary dilemmas, intellectual entertainment of the highest order" New York Times. "The most exciting book I have read in years. It is challenging, exhilarating, dramatic and classic" Vogue. And they continued.

It wasn't untill I had walked a few yards that I realised it was still cold out. I stuffed the book into my back pocket, wrapped my coat around me again and strode in the direction of the train station. When I got there, I read the small screen at the entrance to check my timing. 33 minutes to wait yet. I found a bench, dumped my bag beside me, and drew the book out of my pocket as I sat. It already felt familiar and I relaxed into the uncomfortable wooden seat to begin.

It had me hooked from the first line and it wasn't untill my conscienceness was stirred by a crackled and automated callout from the tanoy that I stopped reading. "The train now approaching platform 1 is the.... 1.37 train to.... London Paddington". Scooping up my bag, book under my arm, I stood up and walked to the platform to catch my train.

If you ever come across this book. Give it a read.