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ventaShortly after moving to Ealing two years ago, we noticed that one house on the walk to the station had a peculiar habit. The wall which divides its garden from the pavement was frequently speckled with books. In fact, it seemed as if the householders' approach to getting rid of unwanted books was to pop them on the wall and wait for someone to take them away.
Which, in theory, I don't think I approve of. Presumably a certain number of books were damaged by rain, or thrown by drunken revellers at their friends, or accidentally mislaid. Delivering them to a second-hand bookshop seems like a much more practical and less lazy solution.
However! I quite enjoyed having a steady stream of free books to browse of a morning. I rarely picked one up, but I did always stop to look at what was on offer.
Then the house was put up for sale, and we figured the books were just a sign of someone clearing to move out and would stop soon. The for-sale sign lurked in the garden for a while, then went away. The books kept coming.
The house's rather forbidding black rendering changed to a more conventional cream. The books kept coming.
Suddenly, the house was on the market again. This time with the local (and jolly nice) Sinton Andrews, rather than the world's least lovely estate agent, Foxtons. The wall diversified.
As well as books, it moved into videos. Magazines. Games and toys. In the last week the wall has gone positively bezerk, offering briefcases, china, pictures, glasses...
As ChrisC and I strolled down the road yesterday, he spotted two large removal vans outside the house. As we paused to browse the day's selection of bric-a-brac, a lady popped out the house and parked some more objects on the wall.
We chatted to her briefly, and thanked her for the wall-based entertainment we've had over the past couple of years. "It all goes! It always goes!" she assured us. I wished her good luck with the move, and headed on to work. I must remember to say hello to the wall occasionally, I bet it's going to miss its visitors.
Which, in theory, I don't think I approve of. Presumably a certain number of books were damaged by rain, or thrown by drunken revellers at their friends, or accidentally mislaid. Delivering them to a second-hand bookshop seems like a much more practical and less lazy solution.
However! I quite enjoyed having a steady stream of free books to browse of a morning. I rarely picked one up, but I did always stop to look at what was on offer.
Then the house was put up for sale, and we figured the books were just a sign of someone clearing to move out and would stop soon. The for-sale sign lurked in the garden for a while, then went away. The books kept coming.
The house's rather forbidding black rendering changed to a more conventional cream. The books kept coming.
Suddenly, the house was on the market again. This time with the local (and jolly nice) Sinton Andrews, rather than the world's least lovely estate agent, Foxtons. The wall diversified.
As well as books, it moved into videos. Magazines. Games and toys. In the last week the wall has gone positively bezerk, offering briefcases, china, pictures, glasses...
As ChrisC and I strolled down the road yesterday, he spotted two large removal vans outside the house. As we paused to browse the day's selection of bric-a-brac, a lady popped out the house and parked some more objects on the wall.
We chatted to her briefly, and thanked her for the wall-based entertainment we've had over the past couple of years. "It all goes! It always goes!" she assured us. I wished her good luck with the move, and headed on to work. I must remember to say hello to the wall occasionally, I bet it's going to miss its visitors.
