By Rhonda Bartle
Outside the TSB Stadium: a long, snaking queue of eager buyers in 2005
Friday 11.53am
It's Friday, 14 October, in New Plymouth. Katherine Mansfield's birthday. Outside the TSB Stadium, the clock is ticking, second by second, drawing closer to 12 o'clock. Soon the doors will be wrenched open and the 24 hr book sale will begin. It will stay open until exactly the same time tomorrow.
Four cheerful female friends head the snaking line of 200 book fair aficionados. Excitement hovers in the air over their loud, happy conversation.
They've travelled a long way to be here – three are from Palmerston North, the fourth from Upper Hutt. They've been queuing for four hours – since before 8am.
"It'll start getting intense shortly," one of them says. There's time for an interview, they reckon, but "only if you make it quick."
Four fast friends at the front line: From left to right Beth Drysdale, Mary Anne Dobie, Jane Webster and Sue Nicholson.
Friday, 11.55am
Mary Anne Dobie, Jane Webster, Beth Drysdale and Sue Nicholson have been holding first place in the queue since daybreak, in the hope of winkling out a few precious children's books.
They're looking for the old fashioned variety, those that date from the early 1920s, those that are getting harder and harder to find.
"We love these books," someone says. "We go all kinds of places to pick them up. You can't buy them in the shops any more, of course."
The best book they've found was at this exact sale, two years ago. "We found a copy of Dorita Fairlie Bruce's Nancy and the Six, which is pretty rare."
"I found a hard-backed Shelley," one of the girls says.
"Eek!" Another squeals. "We don't really want to say any more because then other people will know what we're looking for!"
Friday 11.57am
This is Mary Anne's first trip to the New Plymouth book sale. Because she travels to fewer places to find her treasures, she is considered 'less obsessive' than the rest.
Some of her friends have been as far as Dunedin to find theirs.
"Mary Anne goes to less book sales so this is special for her. We probably go to about ten a year," her friends say.
And it's not just about books they're all quick to point out.
"It's also a social occasion. We queue all over the place with the same people. We get to see how they are, ask how their grandkids are."
So, could this kind of strange gathering be considered a bit of a cult?
"A cult?" They carefully consider this. "No. A mutual interest group might be a little kinder," they decide.
Friday, 11.59am
The friends all swing plastic bags and have boxes at their feet.
"There are four of us in the car and we're not sure if there'll be enough room going back. Generally, we take two banana boxes each. At smaller fairs, we don't buy so much."
But the sale is about to begin. All eyes are on the man in the official's hat who arrives to hook back the doors and let the crowd in.
The girls are on full alert, shoulders back, boxes ready…
The old town clock chimes 12 o'clock in the distance.
Then the doors open and everyone is gone.