Fascinated, today, by the architecture of empty buildings.
The arches and pillars of a boarded up cinema,
the doors firmly bolted on a church. The idea
of the silent darkness, undisturbed for decades
inside these grand old buildings too precious
to knock down, too expensive to re-open.
Limbo buildings that once were focal points
but now get barely noticed. The hotel reminds
me of The Three Peewits in a Powys novel but probably isn't.
I'm left holding her umbrella while she goes inside to investigate
a piece of furniture: a chest of drawers with thin layers of paint
washed over the wood to achieve what I think is called a distressed look.
I'm feeling pretty distressed myself until I discover on old book shop
on three floors. An armchair and a grandfather clock and various
things that catch my eye and are priced right.
Unfortunately, what grabs me is what I already have
on my own shelves at home except for a poetry book
that comes at an inflated price
because it's signed by the long-dead author
before stepping out into the rain once more.