I have a particularly vivid memory of spending an entire rainy afternoon at my grandmother's house reading her original copy of Snow White - carefully turning the crumbly-edged pages, my fingers touching the ragged linen edges of the hardcover - the smell of the old ink, the slight dampness of the paper. In that moment, a love of all things old and precious was born. Vintage books have always held a strange allure for me. There is something so moving about all those colourful spines with gold lettering that have bravely held together someone else's words for the children of the future to behold. Magic.
