An aptly named shop, as my entrance into it signified the end of many things for me. The end of my spending money. The end of my languishing arm muscles, as I foolishly refused a bag, and was forced to leg it down the high street to get to the car. The end of my chances of finishing the Reading List. Et cetera, et cetera.
Located in Seaton, Devon (my favourite seaside town for many reasons, including a fabulous bakery, hot boys in coffee shops and a lack of children), The End is literally full of books. When I first walked in, my initial thought was ‘this is what my house will look like in twenty years time’.
Scratch that. My room looks like that already.
Seriously, the place is full of books. The shelves are full (as in, at least two-deep full), the back room is a teetering labyrinth of tomes, and the desk in the corner is surrounded by the literary equivalent of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. And the most astonishing aspect is the fact that the owner knows every single book in that establishment.
Possibly the friendliest, most helpful bookshop worker I’ve had the pleasure to meet, he spent at least fifteen minutes perched on a ladder (practically dismantling the shop) in order to find me the books I needed. Wanted, technically. In the meantime, I dashed around trying to absorb all of the titles and make a decision between Euripides and Waiting for Godot.
In the end, I didn’t make a decision. I bought both.
The prices are decent (around three pounds for a regular sized novel (ha! sounds like a coffee order) in good condition), and a wide selection of plays, poetry, art books, biographies, cookbooks, popular fiction, literary fiction – you name it, he’s got it.
So, if any of you are down in the South West, I’d seriously recommend paying this brilliant establishment a visit. You won’t regret it, even if your bank balance might.
NOTE: I wasn’t asked/paid/bribed/blackmailed/whatever into doing this review. I merely did it because of my overwhelming love for this bookshop.