At the library

Fish got to fly, and birds got to swim,
Sometimes I think that life can be grim –
Can’t help worrying all the time.

Is it any wonder I am glum (I refuse to say ‘depressed’ - the word is becoming devalued) the way I am treated? But perhaps that isn’t the cause of my glumness; it may be just a question of genes – most things are. It would be nice to think we were born with a ‘clean slate’ but we are not. I’m getting a feeling of déjà vu now – like I’ve said this before. But that’s okay: some things are worth repeating.

Carole came back from her run, all sweaty, and complaining of ‘jogger’s nipple’. She sat down to her bacon and eggs, without showering! Nobody seemed to notice the odour – except myself.

I have always felt I was different. Don’t think I’m blaming anyone – I am not. We all do what we can: nothing more, nothing less. But that isn’t the point. What is the point then?

The point is: trying to understand. Trying to understand ‘us’, the human race. Because it is only by understanding that we may make things better. We are groping in the dark, but that is no reason to give up. We must try, no matter how disappointed we get sometimes; when the world seems just as bad, despite all our efforts. Because we are moving forward in this great evolution experiment - maybe only in inches rather than the feet, yards and miles we would like to move, but I truly believe we are moving forward.
Of course some people could be helped by a swift kick up the arse – and, who knows, it may be your duty to help them!

And it is no answer to sink back on the comfortable bed of fundamentalism’ – religious or otherwise; be wary of ‘easy’ answers; beware of false prophets. We need to think for ourselves; it’s hard work, but it’s the only way.

So if – like Tony Hancock – you “…go down with your gunship, spitting furious blanks at targets out of your reach, and beyond your imagination.” well, at least you will have had a go.
Not a bad epitaph that: He had a go.

By the way, Hector did bring that magazine back. I couldn’t see what it was called but it was shrink-wrapped!

I cleared off before Myra broached the subject of sleeping arrangements with Carole. I walked to the public library. I enjoy a walk. Also I love libraries. All those books: other worlds, waiting for you to enter, and get lost in.
The trouble with public libraries is that you get people loitering about in the warmth, because they have nowhere else to go. I went into the toilet and there was someone in one of the cubicles, smoking! In retrospect I think I should have challenged him. I didn’t – but perhaps I should have. What is the world coming to: smoking in a library!

I asked the attractive young lady at the counter if I could join, since I was temporarily resident in the area. ‘No problem’ said. When I gave her my address: Briarwood, 52 Balthazar Crescent, Colingbroke, HENDON, I thought I saw her face twitch slightly – but perhaps I imagined it.
I wonder why library staff all seem to be women? (I’ve just realised, the way I wrote that sounds like there are one or two here who may be men in drag - I don’t mean that, of course, just that you don’t see many men working in libraries.) Is it because women are better at being librarians? Classifying, cataloguing, stamping books an all that stuff? I’m not complaining: there are some quite lovely ladies working here: classy, refined. Even if you don’t go in the library, you may catch a glimpse of one or two of them, standing outside the back door, having a fag.

Anyway, I selected two books: Tipping the Velvet by Sarah Waters and An Honourable Deception ? by Clare Short. (I am not a political animal – as you know – but I thought it might be interesting to hear old Clare spilling the beans about what went on in Cabinet leading up to the Iraq war. I think I’ll read Tipping the Velvet first.

Another good thing about this library: they have a snack-bar where you can get a good cup of coffee and a very acceptable toasted teacake. They also have a computer suite with internet-access – I am sitting here now, typing this piece. They’ve got a few Christmas decorations up. Christmas! I am no Scrooge but I just cannot stand all this run-up to Christmas thing. It brings on my OCD. I would like someone just to surprise me and say ‘It’s Christmas morning!’ I’d happily go out on Boxing Day
and buy presents for everybody.

From here, I am going to a supermarket for my prunes and then to Boots the Chemist for my personal requisites. I shall probably take luncheon in a pleasant looking café –Mrs B’s –, which I passed on the way here. I am not going back to Briarwood until it gets dark.