I met Sylvia when she was a little one, when I was resident in 1991. Her father George was scared of winters by then, but would still get about on his scooter, use newspaper for kitchen towels, and make life hell for us all, grumpy cat that he was. He had heart and was deeply genuine, and could see through phonies in a twinkling. He'd make oatmeal pancakes early on Sunday mornings. Lemon and sugar, syrup and jam. Next door was the antiquarian bookshop - full of precious tomes. One evening, when we (the tumbleweeds) were making too much merry, I was left in charge but forgot to close up, and left the priceless books available to anyone wandering past who might try the door. Thankfully nobody did, and I kept my head on my shoulders. George was a great teacher, embodied the spirit of independence, romanticism, hard work and no-bullshit. Wherever his toes took him after he died, I hope he's found a corner to read from.
I remember Sylvia as a young girl of five or six when I lived in the bookshop in 1986, never stopped travelling after that and never stopped collecting books either, that bookshop will always stay in my heart and guide me through my life....thanks George
@@robertimmanuel577 Not a creative writer, but I made a full-time living for 23 years as a travel writer for Lonely Planet which was fascinating. So more of a journalist - but the inspiration to do that all came from this shop...!
I met Sylvia when she was a little one, when I was resident in 1991. Her father George was scared of winters by then, but would still get about on his scooter, use newspaper for kitchen towels, and make life hell for us all, grumpy cat that he was. He had heart and was deeply genuine, and could see through phonies in a twinkling. He'd make oatmeal pancakes early on Sunday mornings. Lemon and sugar, syrup and jam. Next door was the antiquarian bookshop - full of precious tomes. One evening, when we (the tumbleweeds) were making too much merry, I was left in charge but forgot to close up, and left the priceless books available to anyone wandering past who might try the door. Thankfully nobody did, and I kept my head on my shoulders. George was a great teacher, embodied the spirit of independence, romanticism, hard work and no-bullshit. Wherever his toes took him after he died, I hope he's found a corner to read from.
I remember Sylvia as a young girl of five or six when I lived in the bookshop in 1986, never stopped travelling after that and never stopped collecting books either, that bookshop will always stay in my heart and guide me through my life....thanks George
You're a writer?
@@robertimmanuel577 Not a creative writer, but I made a full-time living for 23 years as a travel writer for Lonely Planet which was fascinating. So more of a journalist - but the inspiration to do that all came from this shop...!
Amazing bookshop...how lucky to get lost in it for a day.
She was named after Syvia Beach, the owner of the original bookshop.
she looks like an actress❤
She's beautiful 😄
When the French were on the sea. But ours is the omphalos.
Old man George was notoriously grumpy.