Is there any pleasure comparable to discovering a really good second-hand bookshop? I found myself in Chichester yesterday, suited and booted, after a meeting with the local Labour party. Within a few minutes’ walk of the Chichester Labour party offices (yes, they’ve had Tory MPs since 1924, but still maintain offices) I discovered Kim’s.

George Orwell, in an article for Evening Standard described the perfect London pub. From memory, it should have Victorian fittings, a barmaid who remembers your name, a garden, darts, and no radio or piano to spoil conversations (today, Orwell would say no jukebox or Sky Sports). No pub came up to his imaginary standard, although one or two almost managed it.

For me, Kim’s almost managed to be the perfect second-hand bookshop. The perfect second-hand bookshop should be arranged over several floors, including a basement, like the much-missed ones along the Charing Cross Road. There should be a sense of chaos, with books in crates and piles to the ceiling of what Virginia Woolf called ‘wild, homeless books.’  But in reality there should be a clear, order, with labelled shelves. There must be room for quirkiness, such as sections on the Occult, Anarchism or Nudism.

There should, of course, be a vast politics section, with hardback editions of the diaries of Benn, Castle and Crossman, obscure and out-of-print biographies and autobiographies by Labour figures (Ben Pimlott’s Hugh Dalton, Marquand on Ramsay Mac), a healthy smattering of Fabian pamphlets, and leftwing tomes published by the likes of Verso, Allen & Unwin, Gollancz, or Lawrence & Wishart. The joy of the perfect second-hand bookshop is the very real prospect of a ‘find’. This is a book worthless to others, but on your ‘wants’ list for years, and suddenly and unexpectedly in your hands. It helps if your mental ‘wants’ list is enormous, and the various series you’re seeking to complete are myriad.

There should be a reasonable chance that you open a political book and discover an author’s signature. I have collected a signed Harold Wilson, GDH Cole, Bill Clinton and Alan Clark this way. You might be able to stumble on a Benn, Thatcher, Healey or Callaghan if you’re lucky.

The perfect second-hand bookshop should contain books at least 30 years old, and older. The point is not to pick up a cheap copy of Blair, Mandelson or Campbell. That’s what charity shops are for. Many of the books should be Edwardian or Victorian. You should be able to touch a shelf, and feel the world before the invention of the internal combustion engine. The spines should resonate with gold leaf, and the pages wear their foxing with pride. Indeed, there should be nothing modern in the shop at all. Certainly no newspapers, carousel of greetings cards, or – horrors – shelf of new books.

In Kim’s I picked up a copy of William Morris’ News from Nowhere published by Reeves & Turner. It is a third edition, from 1892. Of course I already have News from Nowhere. In fact I have four copies, including the fifth edition published by Reeves & Turner in 1897. But to say ‘I’ve already got it’ is completely wrong. I may own copies of the same text, but there’s only one copy of this actual book, once owned by Wilfred Young (he’s signed the inside page with an ink pen), bought new from a bookshop in the reign of Queen Victoria, and now purchased by me in Chichester in May 2012.

Some veer towards the comic caricature of Black Books, with Dylan Moran and Bill Bailey too drunk or unwilling to sell any books at all. Most second-hand bookshops are little outposts of decency and civilisation, staffed by knowledgeable and unobtrusive bookworms. They are the opposite of, say, Primark which sells tasteless, disposable goods, and is staffed by people who don’t want to be there, and aren’t afraid to show it.

Last, the perfect second-hand bookshop should have a pricing policy which reflects the fact that it is a business, in competition with Oxfam Books who have the advantage of getting their stock for free, but also that the average purchaser of second-hand books probably doesn’t have a full-time job. The prices should be under a tenner, even for a decent hardback book, with a basket of beaten-up old books for 50p. At Camilla’s in Eastbourne I bought a copy of Beatrice & Sidney Webb’s book on trade unions for under a pound.

Orwell never found his perfect pub, but he did spent some months on a jobshare at Booklover’s Corner in Hampstead selling second-hand books while writing Keep the Aspidistra Flying. He didn’t like it, partly because of the dust and dirt, and mostly because of the customers.  I think he would have rather approved of Kim’s in Chichester.

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Paul Richards writes a weekly column for Progress, Paul’s week in politics. He tweets @LabourPaul

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Photo: Maki Aoyama