This quiet little book-nook in Kings Cross was where our parents used to take us in the 1970’s. The area was a lot more grungy, bohemian, in those days of the Rex Hotel and disco queens, despite changes in drug use since then things are a lot more sanitised now.
Clays was where I used to go as a teenager for Miss Chapman’s suggestions on books to read. She unwittingly shaped my reading; she led me to authors such as Anais Nin, Marguerite Duras, and other women writers in those days of Margaret Reddy’s, “I am Woman”.
It’s never been a bookshop that I haven’t gone to, knowing that it was always there as a comforting recluse. But as of now, it isn’t anymore and only by chance did I go there last week to find that it was closing after 60 years. No doubt, as someone in the shop said, it will become a real estate agents or something that makes a lot of money, unlike your favourite bookseller.