“Come on, nearly ten. We better get setup.” Imelda, the mobile librarian, led the way from the cab of Busey McBookface, our library on wheels, to the side door of the library itself.

“Is that the village school?” I pointed at the red brick Victorian building we had parked beside.

“No, they built a modern one on the outskirts. It’s the village community centre now. Lucky for us the yard is big enough for Bookface.” Barely. There was only a few feet of clearance on either end. I had no idea how she had managed to park in the space available.

She flipped open a series of lever-style locks and opened the door to the library, clipping it back to hooks to stop it shutting, then unfolded a set of metal steps, like you would on a private plane, but not as p...

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