Hello my name is Megan and I’m a bibliophile

BIB • LI • O • PHILE (noun): A person who collects or has a great love of books.

The above is a relatively new term for me, but it has become apparent that a predisposition to sunburn and  a quick wit are not the only things I have inherited from my father.

My friend David, who along with his wife Amy have become my family in Scotland, recently took me to visit some of the sights in Carlisle, one of the major towns on the northern border of England. We visited the cathedral and walked around the grounds of the castle before he took me to a second-hand book shop. Talk about saving the best till last. To sum up how I feel in second-hand book stores, I’ll use the image below from bookfessions.tumblr.com:

This mainly applies to second-hand book stores – new stores just don’t have the same appeal, largely because you know what you’ll find. And if you can’t find it, they’ll order it. But old book stores, well, you could find anything. I didn’t realise I felt this strongly about such stores until David took me to Bookcase. My expression at the thought of exploring its 30 rooms of books left David fearing I was going to have a heart attack. It was just too much to take in.

Second-hand books stores are magical places. I still remember the crammed store in New Zealand where I found two gorgeous copies of Winnie the Pooh books for $15 and the Most Beautiful Bookshop in the World in Venice. Scotland has been particularly fun – Edinburgh has so many. After about six weeks in the country my book collection is at 16. I think. I lose track, especially with the Agatha Christie’s because they are little and I forget to count the copies I’m carrying in my handbag for emergencies.

My reaction to Bookcase left David and Amy wondering why they hadn’t told me about Wigtown – a town filled with second-hand bookshops a short drive away. They weren’t the only ones wondering why they hadn’t told me this.

My parents are avid readers. The impressive collection we had at the farm was packed into boxes when we moved to Hobart. Those books remain in boxes under the house yet the bookcase is full again. Lets blame Dad for that. My own collection revolves around three authors: Agatha Christie, Jeffrey Archer and John Grisham – the latter caused a phone call home from my Grade 5 teacher who was concerned when I took a copy of The Client to school. Beyond those three you’ll find anything from Harry Potter to a faded copy of Edmund Hillary’s High Adventure, the story of his ascent of Everest that I found buried on a table of old books at a market. I’ve moved on from the little white bookcase filled with Babysitters Club and Sweet Valley High I had as a teenager.

On Saturday, a day before I was due to go to Edinburgh to meet one of my best friends, Amy and David were also contemplating a trip to the city to see the Fringe Festival. I had a shower and came back downstairs to be told I had to pack a bag and would be taken Edinburgh the following afternoon. I was then driven to Wigtown, although it took about half an hour to work that out. Since I don’t know the area well, I had to wait for a sign of some sort to know what direction we were heading.

There are now about 10 second-hand bookshops in Wigtown, and most of those are in the main street. We started at The Bookshop, Scotland’s largest second-hand store. Despite the claim to fame, it isn’t actually that big, compared to others I’ve explored. But it was glorious all the same. It’s always a good sign when you need ladders to reach the books at the top. Wary of not amassing too great of a collection while I’m overseas, my purchases are restricted to Agatha Christie (I’m on a mission to get all 66 novels and 15 short story collections) and the earliest editions of the Winnie the Pooh books I can find and afford. Of course there are exceptions, but I’m only human.

We fitted in one more store before closing time and then checked into our B&B, the gorgeous Hillcrest House, and drove out to the Isle of Whithorn for dinner. In the morning it was back into the bookshops, the last of which was At the Sign of the Dragon. This was on the outskirts of town in the garage of a house. The owner specialises in fantasy, sci fi and, lucky for me, crime! His Agatha Christie selection rivalled mine and I picked up some I don’t think I have already.

We left just after midday to make it to Edinburgh in time. But there’s a book festival late next month so I don’t think that will be my last visit to Wigtown.