Stud Marks on the Summits

[Tussockface]

Copies are always available to buy. There are 1800 copies around.

I've never quite believed this, as I've come to view SMOTS in the same way that Arthurian Knights regarded the Holy Grail: something prized in the pursuit, never to be grasped.

HOWEVER......

I've just returned from holiday.
Whilst strolling round a tiny, obscure mid-Welsh town, I happened to glance into the window of a nondescript bric-a-brac emporium. There, right in the middle of what passed for a display, sandwiched between a tome on how to develop one's inner self with the aid of crystals, and a teapot decorated with a manic banana motif, sat a pristine copy of Studmarks on the Summits.

Does it sound too pathetic to say that I gasped? That my heart missed a beat?

A slip of paper had been stuck between the pages, indicating a price of £3.
The sign on the door said "OPEN".
I pushed.
It failed to yield.
The shop was shut.
A small card, which I had overlooked, bore the ominous information: "NEXT OPEN SATURDAY".
It was Wednesday.

I spent a fretful night, tormented by visions of rival claimants.

The following morning, not wishing to arouse suspicion by an over-zealous approach, I waited until mid-morning and phoned the shop owner. Paranoid to the extent of twitching like an ornithologist inflamed by the sighting of a Vietnamese Fire Thrush, I muddied the waters by enquiring about another book I'd spotted in the window, and only threw in a mention of SMOTS as a late afterthought, feigning insouciance, and, studiedly, getting the title slightly wrong: "Something about studs across summits."

Delighted by the prospect of selling two books - something which would create a veritable spike on her annual sales graph - the owner readily consented to open her shop especially for me, provided that I could be there within the hour.

The sheep of Powys fled in consternation as I hammered the singletrack.

The red kites wheeled effortlessly across the skies and gazed in sharp-eyed admiration as I homed in on my prey.

.................................................. .................................................

The end of this account is mundane: I came; I saw; I purchased.



1,799 copies of Bill Smith's master work are still out there. Many will be treasured by those In-The-Know, and protected as specimens of an endangered species.
Yet there must still be others loose in the Serengeti of second-hand book stores and rummage sales. I hadn't believed it could be so, but the hunt can prove worthwhile.

And, yes, I must apologise for my smug expression as I roll over, sated after the kill.
And, yes, that low-pitched sound you can hear is purring.

But, mmmm .... those 581 pages just taste so damn good....


Now, I could do with a grail to use as a crisp bowl. Perhaps Scotland for the next holiday?

[Graham Breeze]

I applaud your good fortune. I went warm all over. I read your posting twice to wallow in the metaphors

It just proves the Latin expression that fortune favours the brave who tour in Wales.

[nightingale]

Tussockface
That is absolutely fantastic mate. Well done Great post as well. I would be jellous, but, your story is inspireing.
I will of corse ask to borrow it at some point Or buy it if you hit hard times. £4 should do it 33% profit. How could you refuse ?

[Tussockface]

To be honest, Nightingale, I hesitated to post the account, because - let's face it - nobody really revels in someone else's good luck.

However, the Great Wheel of Fortune is such that Fate will doubtless be gearing it up to bring me down again. Even at this moment, my cat may be ripping my copy of SMOTS to shreds and distributing key pages to his feline acquaintances.

My thanks to you and to Graham for your generous posts!

[Clash City Rocker]

To be honest, Nightingale, I hesitated to post the account, because - let's face it - nobody really revels in someone else's good luck.

However, the Great Wheel of Fortune is such that Fate will doubtless be gearing it up to bring me down again. Even at this moment, my cat may be ripping my copy of SMOTS to shreds and distributing key pages to his feline acquaintances.

My thanks to you and to Graham for your generous posts!

Now for what the rest of us are thinking "You jammy bastard"

[Tussockface]

Now for what the rest of us are thinking "You jammy bastard"

CCR, I can't disagree! When I glanced in that junk shop window, I thought I was hallucinating.

[stevefoster]

I've never quite believed this, as I've come to view SMOTS in the same way that Arthurian Knights regarded the Holy Grail: something prized in the pursuit, never to be grasped.

HOWEVER......

I've just returned from holiday.
Whilst strolling round a tiny, obscure mid-Welsh town, I happened to glance into the window of a nondescript bric-a-brac emporium. There, right in the middle of what passed for a display, sandwiched between a tome on how to develop one's inner self with the aid of crystals, and a teapot decorated with a manic banana motif, sat a pristine copy of Studmarks on the Summits.

Does it sound too pathetic to say that I gasped? That my heart missed a beat?

A slip of paper had been stuck between the pages, indicating a price of £3.
The sign on the door said "OPEN".
I pushed.
It failed to yield.
The shop was shut.
A small card, which I had overlooked, bore the ominous information: "NEXT OPEN SATURDAY".
It was Wednesday.

I spent a fretful night, tormented by visions of rival claimants.

The following morning, not wishing to arouse suspicion by an over-zealous approach, I waited until mid-morning and phoned the shop owner. Paranoid to the extent of twitching like an ornithologist inflamed by the sighting of a Vietnamese Fire Thrush, I muddied the waters by enquiring about another book I'd spotted in the window, and only threw in a mention of SMOTS as a late afterthought, feigning insouciance, and, studiedly, getting the title slightly wrong: "Something about studs across summits."

Delighted by the prospect of selling two books - something which would create a veritable spike on her annual sales graph - the owner readily consented to open her shop especially for me, provided that I could be there within the hour.

The sheep of Powys fled in consternation as I hammered the singletrack.

The red kites wheeled effortlessly across the skies and gazed in sharp-eyed admiration as I homed in on my prey.

.................................................. .................................................

The end of this account is mundane: I came; I saw; I purchased.



1,799 copies of Bill Smith's master work are still out there. Many will be treasured by those In-The-Know, and protected as specimens of an endangered species.
Yet there must still be others loose in the Serengeti of second-hand book stores and rummage sales. I hadn't believed it could be so, but the hunt can prove worthwhile.

And, yes, I must apologise for my smug expression as I roll over, sated after the kill.
And, yes, that low-pitched sound you can hear is purring.

But, mmmm .... those 581 pages just taste so damn good....


Now, I could do with a grail to use as a crisp bowl. Perhaps Scotland for the next holiday?

A masterpeice of a post, beautifully put together by Facemarks on the Tussocks

[Steve John B]

The end of this account is mundane: I came; I saw; I purchased.

Yeah, but what was the other book?

[Tussockface]

Something called the Gutenberg Bible. It looked really old, so I chucked it away.

[nightingale]

Something called the Gutenberg Bible. It looked really old, so I chucked it away.

I hear "the gutenberg bible" is ever rarer the SMOTS. Last one sold at sotherbys for £500,000 Are you certain you through it away