Where the bad boys hang.

Several visits to the car doctors saw me hanging around in town. Reading the paper, having a coffee, lunch, shopping, doing what visitors to a market town do. Some people might regard it as killing time. I've found that it is speed which kills and I prefer life in the slow lane, sorry about that Harry!

You know by now, if you have been paying attention, of my fondness for librarians. I could even agree to the idea of the pay scales starting at six figures. OK being congenitally prudent, in a fiscal sense, that would require politicians, generals and captains of industry volunteering their services and a few other adjustments, but what the hell, librarians and libraries are worth it.

A colleague of mine was forced to use the local library to work on her thesis. Space, family and a large amount of paper caused a retreat to the reference section. She found the experience depressing and saddening. I, on the other hand, reveled in the humanity of it all. If you really want to hang with the bad boys and girls, the library is the place.

At one level it looks calm and orderly and even soporific. There are real people quietly muttering to themselves as they keep warm or soothe some inner turmoil. Gentle wives shepherd wild haired old men as they move from fiction, to maps and newspapers searching desperately for their lost memories. I sit in a line of computers checking email watching the electronic intercourse of the terminally dispossessed. People draw facts, like dust into a vacuum cleaner, from towers of reference books, processing them, methodically, one by one. Frantic fingers scuttle across the pink pages of the FT absorbing share prices. Perhaps they have evolved the ability to do this through their finger tips. Laptop users, obviously training for the 2012 speed typing Olympics, hammer away with the gleam of gold and glory in their mind's eye.

It's warm, it's comfortable, it's civilised and the librarians provide a haven of peace and access to information and communality, a respite from this world of violence and terror.

I suppose seven figures would be extravagant!

The Luck of the Spanish!

I returned from a trip to the square mile of capitalism on Thursday. I had been learning how to be a better moneylender (in the nicest possible way of course) There on my doormat was a letter from Spain with my footprint on it. Imagine my delight to discover that I had been approved "for a lump payout of 615,810 euros". I had won the "euromillones loteria".
Joy was replaced by amazement on two counts. In the first place A is the one in our house who dices with probabilities, we jokingly refer to it as her pension fund. I have never knowingly, when sober, bought a Spanish Lottery ticket. Secondly, despite my Celtic origins I am an underachiever in the luck department. I am not complaining I am fortunate, very fortunate indeed, it is just that I think I have only ever won two things. One was a sherry decanter set with hunters and hounds etched on its pink glass. This went down well in our TT, non hunting household, but as it was one of my few achievements at infants school it was displayed prominantly in our living room. The second prize I am inordinately proud of. Doing the Guardian prize crossword has become a habit and knocking them off and faxing the solutions in is just a part of life. I was really amazed and happy to receive, unexpectedly, a copy of a decent dictionary. This was my reward for cracking a puzzle by the late, much loved by me anyway, Bunthorne. My general lack of confidence niggles away even now that (because Bunthorne was definitely regarded as a bugger among setters in the sloving fraternity) not many people had bothered that week.
But to get back to my win! Luis Alberto, Vice Presidente, for it was he, advised me that my name had been selected from thousands across five continents. All I had to do to claim my prize was to fax my details, including my bank details, to Don Pedro. Don Pedro is the Foreign Operations Manager ( Does he do broken legs and facial reconstruction?) of Vergino Europia Security company, alegedly! He is willing, I am led to believe, to smooth the way to my boodle for a mere 10%. Now let's see that would leave me with 554,229 euros and you can keep the change Don Pedro! I have to admit, replace the car, make a contribution to A's pension fund, start some cul-de-sac Rochdalist madcap enterprize. Nah, I tell you what, in the unlikely event that you are reading this Don Luis and Don Pedro here's what we will do.

I herebye renounce all title and claim to the 554,229 euros in favour of the following:
Amnesty International - 100,000 euros;
Oxfam - 100,000 euros;
Medical Foundation for the care of Victims of Torture -100,000 euros;
Medical Aid for Palistinians - 100,000 euros;
Grameen Bank - 100,000 euros;
fair finance - 50,000 euros;
Suffolk Librarians - 4,000 euros;
Dick Cheney - 229 euros on the strict condition that he has to purchase and wear a bright orange jump suit , a set of ear defenders and lace trimmed black blindfold, handcuffs and shackles, so that he can explore his inner self. It will help fill the time between now and 2008.

So! Sorry about that last one Don Luis and Don Pedro.
Hasta la pasta!

HAY TRES COSAS

TRES COSAS ME TIENEN PRESO
DE AMORES EL CORAZON
LA BELLA INES EL JAMON
Y BERENGAS CON QUESO

Baltasar del Alcazar - 1530 -1606

Three things ensnare the heart of this man in love:-
the beautiful Ines, ham and cheese with Aubergine.

Well that says most of it!

Trees 2

I wouldn't want to give the impression that I am heir to a fast failing country or that I go around hugging the woodwork but I do find myself thinking that some of my best friends are trees!

Photographer Watch

A recent trip to the south coast and a visit to A's friends and relations produced a clutch of opportunities to point and snap at the wonder of nature. Perhaps it is because I will never produce wonderful snaps of my own that I take such delight in snapping big boy (and girl) snappers. And boy was this a big one!


A visit to Westonbirt Arboretum, along with half the population of Bristol, Bath and Gloucestershire, gave a rare view of the species homo digitus cameraensis as well as fine autumn colour.

There seemed to be some disagreement about territorial rights; unfortunately the necessary man in the long white coat festooned in sweaters, floppy hats and sunglasses was nowhere to be seen.

Some of us just got a teeny bit over tired and emotional and decided to go for a cup of tea!

I'm sure anthropologist would have field trip in such circumstances. Maybe I should start a flickr photostream.
What is the collective noun for digital snappers?
Light Byte! Hmm.