Sign outside the old Head Office of W.H. Smith & Son, damaged by shrapnel from a German bomb on the night of 10th October 1940. W.H. Smith were based in this building on Portugal Street between 1920 and 1976.
I came across this sign one lunchtime, and thought the idea of making an order to despatch reading material to all parts of the world sounded incredibly romantic and wonderful. I then realised you can just do that anytime, anywhere these days.
I suppose the romance was in making your way to a particular building, queuing up, and meeting with a clerk, who would then take down your order.
The internet is more convenient, but less special. I’m not sure what I’d despatch, or who I would despatch to, anyway. Or why I find romance in queuing.