The dialogue descends to a level which, however appropriate to the halls of the established church, is beyond what can be put into print and the item is fought over until the stronger shopper tramples the weaker and runs off with her (yes, I am afraid it usually is her), now damaged, prize.
But then it isn't all like that and, to some, buying old clothes or books is an adventure into the past. What fun to wear a dress that was made in the 30s. What fun to read an old edition - particularly if the previous owner has made margin notes.
I once saw a copy of Bertrand Russell's book, ABC of Relativity and was delighted to find that the copious notes which the previous reader had inserted in the margins of the first two chapters got gradually thinner thereafter before running out about chapter seven.
That's about where I got lost as well, so each of us had begun in the much the same way, reading it, slightly ostentatiously, no doubt, and perhaps in front of somebody we wanted to impress, with serious little "Ah, yes, indeeds" muttered half under the breath as we turned the pages.
Then the process got slower, rather like somebody trying to drive a car over a ploughed field, before we each became completely bogged down at the start of chapter eight. Never mind, it would all become clear on reading chapter seven again.
Actually, on a more careful reading, that chapter wasn't easy to understand either. What about chapter six? Hmm, chapter five then. The reading was getting less ostentatious now. No?
Well back to chapter four and inch by inch we are driven back to the end of the introduction, which isn't all that transparent either. You cannot go on that sort of trip with somebody, even somebody from a different century, without feeling an affection for them.
I suppose that there are people who are as happy reading an old book on a Kindle as in a leather-bound first edition. Perhaps they read their books on aeroplanes or trips abroad. Perhaps they don't have many friends, so often read them in restaurants sitting alone at a corner table.
All these are perfectly good excuses but if you prefer to do your reading in a deep armchair, in front of a fire, with a brandy to your right hand and a dog at your feet, there is no substitute for the smell of leather binding and, until Amazon invents a special scented Kindle, the best way of achieving that is with an old edition.
One of the mysterious things about old books is how they are valued. At first sight you might think this was simple. If people like to read old books, then presumably the older the better, so you would have thought that older books would command the highest prices.
Then you might think that the better the physical quality of the book the easier it would be to read, so that would affect the price too. Actually that isn't the point. To be valuable an old book needs to be rare and, of course, to be a well-known work. For that reason, first editions of an author's first work tend to be more valuable than first editions of its successors.
Fifty years ago, getting a book valued was an adventure in itself. You would go to the auction house or second-hand bookseller and an expert would be sent for. He would be stooped and bearded, with thick glasses and nicotine-stained fingers. He would also be formidably knowledgeable.
"Has it got the misprinted "A" on the second page?" he would spit out at you when you put your prize volume before him.
"Certainly not", you would reply, trying to wipe the page unostentatiously, "I have always looked after it very carefully".
"Hmmph", he would say, leering at the page like a pirate assessing a Spanish coin (but without biting it), "it's the common one. Not the sort of thing we would be interested in." You would leave feeling dirty and rather ashamed, holding the book under your coat.
Now it is easier. The internet is full of information on valuable boks, how they have done in recent sales, etc. You get your prize possession and check it against the descriptions of those that sold for thousands. Not quite the same? Oh dear, only a fiver then, less than you paid for it. Never mind, you weren't that interested in the value, were you? You just wanted the pleasure of reading it in front of the fire.
-John Watson is the editor of the UK weekly online magazine The Shaw Sheet where he writes as "Chin Chin".
