Aberfeldy is a very small town. Which is saying a lot,
seeing as your author is a native of what would be considered a glorified
village by most standards. How
does a town that doesn’t even have a train station support a bookshop as
fantastic as the
Watermill? It’s a mystery, but it certainly does, as when I visited there was not a seat to be had in the café downstairs. Perhaps that is the Watermill’s secret: it’s
not just a bookshop folks. The Watermill
also boasts a lovely café downstairs, and a rather swish art gallery
upstairs. Combined with the fact that
the building retains all the original mill workings and this is a bookshop that
is a joy to visit. With a dedicated room
for children’s books, and another containing a craft section with a selection
of stock better than the one your author currently curates, there is definitely
something for everyone.
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A display to tempt even the most reluctant crafter. |
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Pretty books for a pretty bookshop. |
They stock
Two Bad Mice cards, which are some of my favourites, and a host of other
stationery. Although the fiction section isn’t massive, it has an impressive
depth of range (possibly helped by their being supplied by Bertrams) and my
only complaint is the selection of classics on offer (a sign hanging from the
ceiling purports a proper classics section that is not in evidence – perhaps it
is instead referring to their range of stunning special editions?) When your author visited there were posters
promoting an event with Scottish artist/illustrator Keith Brockie and his new book,
and if similar events are a regular occurrence that could also go some way to
explaining the popularity of the Watermill despite it’s out of the way
location. On the whole, Aberfeldy seems
to be pushing itself as a cultural hub in an area mostly visited by people with
the disturbing urge to walk up steep hills in all weathers (him indoors and I
did The Birks on the same day – never again) and in addition to showing films
at the local community hub type place, work was underway to refurbish and lovingly
regenerate the old Birks cinema to its original purpose. As the granddaughter
of a projectionist, your author has been raised on stories of a time when there
was a cinema on every corner instead of a poundshop, and while old cinema
buildings do occasionally make lovely pubs and clubs, nothing is better than
the statement cinema architecture being home to the smell of popcorn once
again.