Foyles, the old lady of Charing Cross, is no longer on the shelf

Good on Foyles. It's nice to hear the dotty old lady of Charing Cross Road is in profit (well, pre-tax profit: let's not go wild) for the first time since the Nineties. Not that profit ever really seemed to be the point.

Part of the pleasure of visiting Foyles is the memory of what it once was: its Sovietic till-lines, its books arranged by publisher; its Esperanto-speaking booksellers, drunk by 11am. It had the distinction of being the most shoplifted-from bookshop in the world; mostly by its own staff.

It functioned as a temple or museum, though. Long out-of-print books would still be in stock; but nobody would know they were there, let alone where.

I once found a lone hardback of William Empson's The Royal Beasts, which was nearly what I was looking for, under a big pile of travel books. I'd put money on it having been the only one in London.

The new Foyles now actually works as a bookshop, which some will regret but I think is an improvement. And modernising hasn't meant turning into Starbucks. It has good stock, tons of floor space, sane staff.

Also, it now hosts well-thought-out bookish events in its gallery. I've interviewed A S Byatt and Michael Chabon there in front of intelligent audiences properly interested in books.

Its boss, Sam Husain, is a nice, sensible man — more accountancy than bookish, but optimistic that customers will value a place to browse and buy physical books. I'm pleased he was proved right.