I went to another world recently. Not a wizardy fairy-filled world nor an inter-galactic time-warped world, but one stuffed with millions of words, thousands of pages and probably over one thousand combined years of writing. I’ve been in many a bookshop and library over the years, but never a bookshop like this – an antiquarian bookshop – and I was enthralled. It’s true I didn’t have much of a clue about most of the books I was looking at, or their importance when they were published or their significance now, but oh, the smell! Or should that be aroma? Isn’t it true that good food smells nice and anything rotten just smells, whereas old books and herbs are aromatic? My dictionary tells me that Aromatic means ‘having a distinctive and pleasant smell’, which leads me to conclude that if something smells good and of one particular thing, then our brains will identify it for us without us having to think about it, ie – an old book.
Only an old book smells like an old book. Only an apple smells like an apple. I was in the company of an apple tree and a lady recently and she was voicing her disappointment with the fruit, as it ‘didn’t taste of anything. Just apple.’ But I digress.
Anyway, back to the bookshop. Some fabulous books. On the dustcover of one particular book was a photograph of a member of the clergy with the words ‘Arrested in 1932 for ****** and eaten by a lion in 1937.’ You just don’t get that sort of thing on the covers of modern books.
But who will buy all those old, old books?
At what point do they stop being an item to be kept and treasured and become a paper-mite-infested, out-of-date irrelevance? Never, shout book lovers the world over. Yet I have this debate with myself every time I rehome books. How long will they do the rounds of charity shops, car boot sales, etc? Until they become tattered and dog-eared and no longer look good, despite the message inside? I will confess to not being an Early Adopter, but an up-to-a-point troglodyte, joyfully and deliberately old-fashioned when it comes to books. I am happy to use my books as coffee cup coasters or pile them high to ensure my bedside light is raised another few inches; I couldn’t do that with a Kindle (other electronic reading apps are available.) (Apparently.) And if you’ve read this far and are interested in what happens to old books, here’s a Radio 4 link should you want to have a listen.
Is that the pulping machine I hear?
Recently, I came across this rather perplexing – and not to say intimidating – sign. Apart from the unexpected use of a comma (but no full stop) and the over-use of capitals, it was the menacing use of the phrase ‘or similar’ that intrigued me. What is similar to skateboarding and rollerblading? Apart from Heelys, I cannot think of any other footwear with wheels or balls that enable perambulation. Wheelbarrowing? No. Skiing? Well, no, for obvious reasons. Maybe it was a cost-saving exercise; instead of a separate sign declaring No Cycling or another instructing No Scooters, the Anti-Fun Police in the civic offices just went for an all out ban on the latest craze in whichever decade it could apply. I assure you that where I saw this sign Rollerblading would not have taken place on a sunny seafront by young people with pepped-up pecs and buttocks hard enough to crack nuts. No. This sign was erected in an area not known for its wealth or health. Clearly an epidemic of skateboarding and rollerblading had occurred at some point in the past serious enough to warrant the cost of designing, creating and putting in place a large DON’T sign. Tax-payers money well-spent I say. But wait! If you dare to contravene this instruction and find yourself whizzing down the road and in to the arms of the, er, Rollerblade Police (or similar) you will be fined! How much, I wonder? And what would the charge be? Contravening byelaw 47 I guess.
k
along a long pier, (English readers will get the reference to ‘a long walk off a short pier’ – but it might be universal!) where I came across an Enthusiasm of Primary School Children. They were having a nearly-the-end-of term day out doing all sorts of extra-curricular activities, but there was one thing that they all did that made me smile and think: all of them knelt down on the pier floor and peered through the planks to the sea below, squealing with delight.
And yet to see the same sea all they had to do was stand up and look around. But I guess there was no thrill in that; it didn’t hold the same magic as seeing it rushing beneath their feet – maybe subconsciously they thought they were flying. But whatever – they were entranced – looking through the floor, they could see the sea! Their delight was so genuine and so without logic that I too was entranced, but by them. Later that same evening I came across a beautiful wild creature living very happily among us humans. I only managed to get the one (not very good) picture of him before he ran off with a mouthful of food after giving an M&S carrier bag a good ransacking. I feel I need to write a story around him. Or has someone already done that..?
Jacci Gooding, Author 
You must be logged in to post a comment.