I dropped into the Tunbridge Wells branch of Waterstones* in my lunchbreak a couple of weeks ago, to find the place absolutely heaving with shoppers. You couldn't reach any of the bookshelves because there were tight packs of people sitting down on the floor taking up any space they could find. A few teenage boys stood blinking in the middle of the biography section, intimidated by the smell of expensive coffee and paper, trying to decide whether to stay or to flee. A line of people stretched out of the shop, up the pedestrian precinct and around the corner into Monson Road. In sub zero temperatures. Obviously there was a book signing about to happen, but who could it be? Normally three people turn up to a Waterstones signing, if the author's lucky. I remember being the only person to turn up to a signing by Paul Theroux once, and us both being very embarrassed about it. Obviously this must have been a draw several notches up from the best travel writer of the past half century... who could it be?
It was Sir David Attenborough, broadcaster, naturalist and national treasure. If I hadn't had to return to work I would have joined the back of the queue myself. He wasn't due to turn up at the store for another two hours!
If you haven't seen his latest Africa series yet, I recommend it. Then join the queue to buy the book.
*Sort of a UK version of Barnes and Noble, the bookshop chain that has eaten all the other bookshops.
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