Aren’t people strange? Those funny foreigners do the most bizarre things. Take the chap on the cover of this week’s book. He’s one of a race who dress up in incredibly uncomfortable clothes, balance ludicrous phallic hats on their heads, smoke a lethal weed and drink alcohol until they’re scarlet.

Oh, hang on – that’s us. Or it was, in 1939 when this book was published. The meaningless greeting of ‘How d’you do’ is dying out now but some things never change. The past may be a foreign country but although our national costume has become more casual there’s been no similar fall in the standard of national pastimes like binge drinking. Today those bright red faces are hidden under baseball caps but the superior sneer hasn’t changed one bit.

That 7/6 on the spine is a sight to cheer all collectors - it means that the book is almost certainly a first edition. it was the standard price all through the twenties and thirties.

This excellently self-aware dust wrapper hides an equally enjoyable book which is indeed a look at strange customs around the world. It’s packed with photographs and plenty of  fascinating tidbits. Some of the weird stuff is well known now – Maories rubbing noses, Japanese bowing – but one in particular caught my eye . ‘In the Sudan the European must not be suprised if the local magnate spits in his face.’ I’d never heard of that one and I doubt if the passage of time has altered the custom one bit. In fact I’d go as far to suggest that this particular ‘hello’ is more popular than ever and still absolutely crammed with heart-felt meaning.  

Of course, strange customs are all around us even here at home. Collecting books, for example. Is it a normal, rational thing to do? The rise of ebooks will make paper books obselete and once that happens new collectors will be thin on the ground, to say the least. Next week I’ll be looking into this knotty subject in more detail. It’s of great concern to every one who loves old books, not just collectors but also the trade. 

Which brings us to booksellers, and you’d have to travel very far indeed to find a tribe with stranger customs. I mean, what a life. Out they go each day on a buying spree, trudging grimly from bookshop to charity shop, flea market to boot fair, cursing the whole time and cuffing children and pensioners aside. They dream of Casino Royale and Famous Fives but each day is a living nightmare of Davinci Code paperbacks and Walter Scott sets done up in scuffed leather with one vol missing. Nevertheless they end up gradually filling a bag with interesting looking stuff based more on hope than expectation. Back home it’s straight onto abe (“Abe? Sorry? What – oh, abe. No, no – I never use it…”) and the cursing redoubles as they realise that everything they’ve bought is already listed, often for less money than they bought it for just minutes ago. Until – bingo! – they type in one like this and find there are no copies already on line. Hurrah! The swearing turns instantly to singing, the clenched fists unfold into rubbing palms and the scowl turns briefly into an avaricious leer. When there’s no other copy listed they can ask what they like for theirs, and reason seldom stays their hand. £50? £100? Why not £200?

One for the office wall. No matter what your job, it can't be as bad as cleaning the crap from a whale's intestine by - well, let's hope it's blowing, not sucking.

This explains why a lot of books on abe are so ludicrously, fantastically, fatally over priced. Once some ignorant fool starts a snowball of greed nothing can stop it, because sooner or later another one of the abebrigade finds the same book and wearily types it in. Hello – what’s this?  Only one copy listed? And look, it’s worth £200! Brilliant!

In an inspired moment of commercial genius on it goes for £190. That should mean a quick sale…

And so on.

You can find two copies of this book here. 

Bought for £4 in A and Y Cumming, Lewes, in January 2010.