The books are gone!
The locking of my precious volumes in a cramped lockup in Bluespace is on a par with the burning of the Library of Alexandria.
On the positive side I have now started ‘housekeeping’ the books which have survived the Entombment of the Tomes and I have delighted in the serendipitous juxtapositioning that my rather desperate shelving of the books I deemed ‘essential’ has produced. All the books were packed in a certain order and labelled, but the order and the labelling was not specific enough to ensure that the unpacking was a simple matter of putting books on shelves.
My favourites so far have included the following trios. ‘The New Republic’; ‘’Love Stories’ and ‘Taboo’ – which sound like the short pitch of a hopeful script writer to a move mogul. ‘The Devil in Legend and Literature’; ‘The Private Life of Plants’ and ‘The Faber Book of Pop’ which variety says something for what I regard as essential. And a final trio which is worthy of the old system of classification in the British Library which was determined by its location on a shelf and not by genre: ‘Early German Paintings 1350-1550’; ‘Spanish Verb Tenses’ and ‘Movie Classics’ – who said Renaissance Man was dead!
I expect to rediscover old friends and make some discoveries as I look at my depleted stock of reading material. The old order and placement of the books has been changed and a new way of seeing (Note: I haven’t seen the Berger book yet, I hope it’s not in store!) will give prominence to dusty volumes that have been overshadowed by brasher neighbours.
I have also left some space so that other books can be accommodated to cope with what I call ‘Literary Accretion’ - that process where a collection of books, without fuss and with circumspect poise, aggregates other volumes to itself so that one’s library grows with one hardly knowing how. Like Topsy, when you go over a certain critical number of books, they “just grow’d”.
I am beginning to understand the Spanish (or at least the Catalan) way of driving.
To the uninitiated (or British) the quality of driving in Catalonia, especially on motorways, is casually appalling. The lack of consideration; the overtaking on the inside; the kamikaze motorcyclists; the lack of indication; the suicidal approach to roundabouts; the speed; the lack of lane discipline; the driving too close; the parking – it goes on and on.
Yet if you listen to a typical road you will hear nothing more than the sound of the vehicles: no one uses their horn to signify horrified displeasure at the antics of their fellow drivers.
Why?
The answer is quite simple, though it has taken me some time to work it out. The driving is not a surprise to anyone; it’s what they expect and what they do themselves; it’s normal – so why pretend it’s abnormal by sounding your horn? Just carry on, ‘cos you’ll be doing it yourself before the end of your drive!
Never has my version of Zen been necessary to contend with Catalan drivers. Relax! Calm! Breathe!
And it works! I have stopped shouting at completely oblivious criminal drivers and I am trying hard not to become one of their benighted number.
I just rejoice in the fact that my use of the indicator lights (which I understand are fitted as standard in all Catalan cars) must mystify and delight my fellow road users!
I am making tentative approaches towards possible employers but I warm them all now: any rebuffs (real or imagined) and I shall retreat to the beach to top up my tan and eschew the world of work and read.
You have been warmed, sorry, warned!
The locking of my precious volumes in a cramped lockup in Bluespace is on a par with the burning of the Library of Alexandria.
On the positive side I have now started ‘housekeeping’ the books which have survived the Entombment of the Tomes and I have delighted in the serendipitous juxtapositioning that my rather desperate shelving of the books I deemed ‘essential’ has produced. All the books were packed in a certain order and labelled, but the order and the labelling was not specific enough to ensure that the unpacking was a simple matter of putting books on shelves.
My favourites so far have included the following trios. ‘The New Republic’; ‘’Love Stories’ and ‘Taboo’ – which sound like the short pitch of a hopeful script writer to a move mogul. ‘The Devil in Legend and Literature’; ‘The Private Life of Plants’ and ‘The Faber Book of Pop’ which variety says something for what I regard as essential. And a final trio which is worthy of the old system of classification in the British Library which was determined by its location on a shelf and not by genre: ‘Early German Paintings 1350-1550’; ‘Spanish Verb Tenses’ and ‘Movie Classics’ – who said Renaissance Man was dead!
I expect to rediscover old friends and make some discoveries as I look at my depleted stock of reading material. The old order and placement of the books has been changed and a new way of seeing (Note: I haven’t seen the Berger book yet, I hope it’s not in store!) will give prominence to dusty volumes that have been overshadowed by brasher neighbours.
I have also left some space so that other books can be accommodated to cope with what I call ‘Literary Accretion’ - that process where a collection of books, without fuss and with circumspect poise, aggregates other volumes to itself so that one’s library grows with one hardly knowing how. Like Topsy, when you go over a certain critical number of books, they “just grow’d”.
I am beginning to understand the Spanish (or at least the Catalan) way of driving.
To the uninitiated (or British) the quality of driving in Catalonia, especially on motorways, is casually appalling. The lack of consideration; the overtaking on the inside; the kamikaze motorcyclists; the lack of indication; the suicidal approach to roundabouts; the speed; the lack of lane discipline; the driving too close; the parking – it goes on and on.
Yet if you listen to a typical road you will hear nothing more than the sound of the vehicles: no one uses their horn to signify horrified displeasure at the antics of their fellow drivers.
Why?
The answer is quite simple, though it has taken me some time to work it out. The driving is not a surprise to anyone; it’s what they expect and what they do themselves; it’s normal – so why pretend it’s abnormal by sounding your horn? Just carry on, ‘cos you’ll be doing it yourself before the end of your drive!
Never has my version of Zen been necessary to contend with Catalan drivers. Relax! Calm! Breathe!
And it works! I have stopped shouting at completely oblivious criminal drivers and I am trying hard not to become one of their benighted number.
I just rejoice in the fact that my use of the indicator lights (which I understand are fitted as standard in all Catalan cars) must mystify and delight my fellow road users!
I am making tentative approaches towards possible employers but I warm them all now: any rebuffs (real or imagined) and I shall retreat to the beach to top up my tan and eschew the world of work and read.
You have been warmed, sorry, warned!
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