Years ago I worked part-time at a Camden bookshop, before having my first series of children’s books published by Grafton. The bookshop is long gone, its site now occupied by a Tortilla takeaway.
My Saturday task was to cash up the takings, put them into a leather satchel and post it into the night safe on the wall of the next door bank. Another member of staff was supposed to come with me and watch my back as I deposited the satchel, but didn’t that night for some reason. Camden can be a lively location, especially on a Saturday night.
Suddenly I felt what seemed like a gun stuck in my back. ‘Hand over the bag!’ said a gruff voice behind me. I was a bit tired after a long day dealing with occasionally awkward customers, so I whirled round and swore (rather inventively I believe) at the would-be robber. ‘Hey!’ he said, backing away, ‘Only a joke!’ and ran off. I was furious but shaken. My slightly battered cardboard cut-out of Snowy (and one of Tintin too), once in the bookshop window, was given to me when I left working there. Only rarely do I think of that scary event, and what might have happened if the robber really did have a weapon. Snowy lives in my work/bed room, a positive if only cardboard companion from the pages of the marvellous Tintin books.
Page from one of my many notebooks recording an excellent Snowy lookalike competition once held at Somerset House. I can’t actually remember who won, but maybe not the human entry? Who knows. Do contact me if you or your dog entered! Woofy!
