The smell of old books is one of the most evocative I know. I'd miss that. I'd miss second hand book shops with vertiginously steep staircases and mysterious damp patches, where the shelves stretch up into the darkness and the only way to reach them is to use the ricketty old step ladder with a sign saying 'not for customer use' which makes you ache to know what they're hiding up there. Shops where it is acceptable to browse for hours, purchase huge quantities and feel virtuous. And, at the till, over the owner's shoulder you can see rooms, inaccessible to the public, which contain as many books again or more.