Stretching

The scene: An English-language bookshop, somewhere in Prague.

The players:

The bookshop salesperson, earnestly pretty

A well-spoken customer, elegantly dressed

A new customer enters. She appears to be constructed entirely from wool.

Salesperson: Hello, can I help you?

Woolly customer: No, no thanks. Just looking.

Removes enormous fuzzy hat and begins to unwind two layers of scarves. A nose emerges.

Salesperson: Ok, just let me know if you need some help.

Woolly customer: Yes, thanks.

Leans casually against a bookcase in an effort to push her right arm towards her coat buttons. Attempts to look nonchalant.

Well-spoken customer: So anyhow, I was saying to P. that next time I came we simply had to review this. It's quite extraordinary, and so very moving.

Salesperson: Yes, of course.

Well-spoken customer: But of course, I really should have come on Friday not on the Saturday, so I'm very sorry about that.

Salesperson: Really, it's no trouble at all.

Well-spoken customer: Well thank you, dear. And heavens isn't it cold? We've had eleven metres in Bucharest, if you can believe it, and it's been minus 16.

Meanwhile, the woolly customer catches sight of her hair in the glass and discovers that the removal of her hat has back-combed random sections of hair into three poorly-executed fuzzy quiffs.

Tries to smooth hair down. Removes gloves. Tries to smooth hair down again. Realizes she has a choice between looking mad because of mad hair, or looking mad because of her attempts to de-madden her mad hair. Decides to remove all her outer layers and leave her hat on.

Pauses in satisfaction at clever resolution of seeming insoluble dilemma.

Salesperson: It's been very cold in Slovakia too. Minus twenty or twenty-one I think.

Well-spoken customer: Heavens, that's terrible. It's supposed to be moving here too.

Salesperson: Yes, it's already getting quite cold.

Well-spoken customer: And later, moving towards England.

Salesperson: Next month I hear.

Woolly-hatted customer worries that the wearing of a solo outdoor hat indoors might appear vaguely trendy and hipster-esque. Wonders if the armload of woolens is sufficient to counter this impression. Remembers that anyhow she is now closer to the mad cat lady age anyhow. Wonders if she should get a cat.

Well-spoken customer: Anyhow, dear, I really must be off now. Thank you again very much for your help.

Salesperson: It's not trouble at all, thank you. Here are your things.

Well-spoken customer: Goodbye dear.

Salesperson: Goodbye.

Well-spoken customer leaves in a blast of cold air. Woolly-hatted customer wanders over to the cookbooks and thinks about stew. Somewhere, an espresso machine grinds on.

Sweeping up

So, now that we have that dreaded catch-up question post out of the way, what else is new?

Well, there’s all the various scandals, storms and tempests that have been going on in the corners of blogland that I used to frequent, and occasionally lurk in. Here is a totally scientific and accurate statistical assessment.

1. 1,394 internet squabbles over who has the right to review books.

2. 2,587.6 arguments about the fairness of “mean” reviews, and whether the only criticism permitted should be constructive, helpful, and gently eased by the presence of fluffy chubby cupids and rainbow unicorns.

3. 982.92 monologues about why Bad Reviews Are Good For You and should be swallowed by authors, preferably whole and before breakfast, rather like castor oil.

4. 1,187.3 monologues about why Bad Reviews Are Not Your Business If You Are An Author. If Bad Reviews did not exist, tender, delicate and easily-led readers would otherwise fall for the seductive wiles of Harriet Klausner & co. These fiendish producers of uniformly sunshiny reviews have but one foul aim. They are trying to convince Poor Innocent Readers that Every Book in the World is Brilliant, Wonderful and Amazing.

This is of course, all part of a plot to ensure that Poor Innocent Readers lose significant chunks of their lives lurching from one ill-penned book to the next, constantly lured on by yet another review promising, “The greatest Secret Virgin Doctor Billionaire’s Sheikh’s Secretary’s Love Child in the Magically-Endowed Camper Van novel to ever exist, both now and in the hereafter.” The sunshiny review producers are doing this because

a) they lack critical faculties

b) they aren't actually reading the books they review

c) they are in it for the free books, even if they are crap

d) they are succumbing to the dominating cultural norms inculcated by the patriarchy that women must always be kind, sweet and nice and never say anything nasty to anyone.

e) they are a bit odd

f) all of the above

5. Some stuff that I mainly skimmed about why ebooks rule. See 2 posts below for the why of the skimming. Anyhow, death to paper. Death to paper publishers. Death to the old model of publishing. Oh, but it must be CHEAPER. Blabla long tail, blabla wisdom of crowds. And stuff.

6. A frustrating number of competitions, largely useless to me as I live outside shipping distances. That said, I tend to regard said competitions with a largely unbothered eye, since I don’t particularly worry if the book I’m reading carries the signature of the author (unless maybe the author is Eric Hobsbawm). The frustrating part is more the way the frenzied posts clutter up the more entertaining blogs.

7. Breath by breathless tweeting and live-blogging from assorted conferences and whatnot. Again, geography.

8. 35,843 arguments about what constitutes either acceptable romance, or acceptable tools of romance marketing. They kind of blur after a while, presumably due to shock value.

9. Some people who write blogs now have published, or will be publishing books (paper or otherwise). Good on them. More importantly, does this mean they are allowed to blog any more? Or only on certain posts? Discuss, or just pull it out as an ad hominem argument in the middle of any of the kerfuffles of your choice.

10. The thrills and excitement about a hot new YA author making the rounds and everyone writing about how they are so much MORE than just YA, and why YA is the bestest ever and we should not be ashamed to read YA because really it’s better than some of the other things that are published. It probably is, but I don’t see how this becomes a moral question.

11. Jean M. Auel has published a new Clan of the Cave Bear Book. Suppressing my suspicion that we have another Virginia Andrews on our hands, I am compelled to cry out with unmitigated prehistoric pleasure. Long Live Ayla, the Mother of All, the Creator of Everything, the Inventor of the Bra! She who will invent the internet and dining-table centerpieces of ochre-glazed pinecones! After she tames the dinosaurs and turns them into ostriches! Long Live Dongelar! Long Live his most significant asset! Long live the improbably-named cave lion, Baby!

12. Fan Fiction. Le Scandal. Le Kerfuffle. Le Distress. Les up-mixeds wacky relationships that ruin your reading of the original text forEVAH. Never more can I read the Big Book of Dinosaurs. I am forever plagued by the memory of that disturbing piece of fanfic involving the pachycephalosaurus and the procompsognathus. And the velociraptors. Oh the humanity.

Enter, pursued by a bear

Once upon a time there was an evil auntie who had a blog. First, she was a fake auntie, then a real auntie, but always there was the blog.

Sadly, the evil auntie had a job, and as the years progressed the job sucked up more time and energy. And so the blog withered and dwindled.

However, it had not been wholly forgotten by the evil auntie, who would occasionally drop by to see if it had been infested by spambots, or turn around post ideas in her mind. But the actual writing of the actual post, well, that was always going to be trickier.

However, as is the wont of evil aunties everywhere, this evil auntie was somewhat bloody-minded and couldn’t quite give up the idea of the blog. And so she eventually returned. And thus, the most evil entry to date came about. The dreaded, fearsome and horrific catch up question post.

1. Where have you been?

A. Busy. Stuff. Slow internet. Work. More work.

2. But geographically, where have you been?

A. Prague. Still Prague, more Prague. Some holidays.

3. Gosh, you must be older now.

A. Yes.

4. And that monkey? You know, the one that, er…

A. Monkey? What monkey?

5. Umm… that monkey? You know, the one that got bored with writing Shakespeare sonnets, and… er…

A. …awkward pause… I think you may be confusing me with someone else.

6. Yes, yes of course. No monkey. So Prague? Still? Wow, you must really like it? Job going well, that sort of thing?

A. There has been that world economic crisis.

7. Ah, yes. Haha. So, um… what have you been reading?

A. Cookbooks.

8. Oh, FF’s sake. Now you’re really being bloody-minded.

A. I’m interviewing myself in a virtual vacuum, and vaguely annoyed by the fact that I felt the need to euphemize my language. Of course I’m bloody-minded.

Next time: the dreaded what-have-I-missed post.

The story of last month (mostly)

Look! Ebook
Look! Ebook
Ebook! look!

This nice e-book!
This nice e-book!
I cannot read
This nice e-book!

Do you like,
E-ink displays?

I do not like this,
Ebook haze!
I do not like
This ebook maze!

Would you like it
PDF?

I would not like it
PDF.
I’ve said this to you,
Are you deaf?
I do not like
This ebook maze
Although I like
E-ink displays.

You can buy A
or PM.
Would you like it
DRM?

I cannot shop A
And PM
I do not like this
DRM
I do not want it
PDF
I’ve said this to you
Are you deaf?
I do not like this ebook maze
Despite their nice e-ink displays.

Please download our
Free software.
A table here lets
You compare.

No free software.
No questionnaire.
A or P M
No DRM
I do not want it PDF
I said before, are you quite deaf?
I do not like this ebook maze
Despite their nice e-ink displays.

Would you? Could you?
On a MAC?
Encrypted files,
Ever hack?

I would not
Could not,
On a MAC.

You must find your
PID.
Then plug in the
USB.

I cannot find my USB!
Nor anywhere my PID!

I clicked the link for free software
But these devices cannot share.
Why can’t it read acsm?
Sod this bloody DRM.
I’ve lost all these old PDFs
Why did I change IP address?
I’m lost inside an ebook maze
Seduced by nice e-ink displays.

A Palm! A Palm!
A Palm! A Palm!
Could you, would you,
On a Palm?

Not on a Palm! I cannot see!
Not on a MAC! No! Not for me!

I downloaded the new firmware
No memory! None left to spare!
I like to read things now and then -
Reboot connection, yet again.
The plastic case does not impress -
I click and wait for its refresh.
I fear how fast my temper frays,
Sharp shocks can harm e-ink displays.

Hey!
In this shop!
Here in this shop!
Would you, could you, in this shop?

I would not, could not,
In this shop.

Would you, could you,
Amazon?

I can not, CAN not Amazon!
Geography bars tech’s new dawn.
Interest here may start to dwindle
In the distant light of Kindle.
Not in this state. Not with this card.
Two years to wait. Why is this hard?
E-hopes have turned to e-dismay
Dust forms on my e-ink display.

You do not like
This nice ebook?

I do not
Want this
Ebook pain.

Could you, would you
Join th’e-club?

I would not
Could not
Join your club.

Why not try out
With ePub?

I will not, still not, join th’e-club
I want to read books in the tub.
My favourite books I pass along
In ebook world, this would be wrong.
I’m geographically constrained
The books I want, I can’t obtain.
I do not want to tweak software
Converting files makes me despair.
I do not have a shiny MAC
Encrypted files, refuse to hack.
I do not like this ebook maze
No love left for e-ink displays.

I do not like
This strain.
Ebook.

I will no longer
Take a look.

You do not like them
So you say
Read here! Click there!
And you may.
Click here and you may, I say.

Look!
If you will let me be
Once more I’ll try
You will see.

…
…
…
Beep
…
…
Whirr
Whirr
…
…
Boop.
...
...
Grrreee-
-oop
…
…
Bing!

Hey!
The download worked. Take a look!
I’ve found and filed my first ebook!
And I can read it in my bed
And it can bookmark what I’ve read.

And I can read it on the train
And in the dark, but not the rain.
And I can buy, A or PM
Although I still hate DRM.

So I will read it in my flat
And I must stick to this format
And I must read on my PC
Until I find my PID
And I still hope one of these days
Won’t just admire e-ink displays

At last I've read
My nice e-book!
IT
Degree
I should’ve took.

(with apologies to Dr. Seuss)

Strangely wistful

"Hello."
"Hello, Evil Auntie Peril. This is AYSAVMCL speaking."
"Hello, Attractive-yet-shy-and-very-married-Czech-landlord. Why are you calling apart from a strangely unsettling attempt to freak me out by introducing what seems to be a chick-lit-like element to my unsuspecting blog?"
"I do not understand."
"Oh yes, I forgot that you are very literal, which leads to some very awkward silences if I don't concentrate on the meaning of the actual words I am saying."
"Maybe it is bad connection?"
"No, it's okay, AYSAVMCL. How can I help you?"
"I am outside your flat. Can I please enter to read gas meter?"
"Sure, no problem."
"I will only go just inside to look at gas meter."
"Yes, that's fine."
"I need to check it today, but I will only look at gas meter."
"That's okay."
"So I will go now into your flat, and just look at gas meter in toilet."
"Of cou-- No. Wait!"
"I am entering your flat now."
"No! AYSAVMCL! Stop!"
"I am sorry, I could not hear what you have said because of noise of the key."
"AYSAVMCL! I forgot to say! There is a spider!"
"I don't understand."
"There is a spider in the toilet! You must be careful!"
"It is okay. I will only check gas meter."
"No. You don't understand! A big spider!"
"Yes, yes. This is fine. I am checking gas meter no-- arrrrgggghhhh!!!"
Crunch. Crunch. Sinister laughter.

...or, in a Clue: The Movie-style alternate ending:

"Yes, yes. This is fine. I am checking gas meter now."
Crunch. Crunch. Rustle.
"The number is 6945833002. This is very good. Thank you for respecting my request about control of the thermostat in colder weather. I have killed the spider for you. Goodbye."
"Goodbye."

Back again

It was a dark and stormy night. The sound of footsteps shuffling across the kitchen floor could scarcely be heard above the swish of the rain. The click of the bathroom light was hardly heard above the monotonous whoosh of the wind. A thick silence filled the flat.

“AAAARGGHHH!!!”
Waggle.
“AAARRGGHHH!!!”
More waggling.
“AAARRRGHHH!! You’re back! You were gone!”
Bounce, bounce.
“Go! Leave! Begone!”
Bounce. Waggle. Bounce. Pause. „Nerozumím.” A slightly cynical bounce.
“I banished you! I made the typhoon winds of death with the floppy bottoms of my pyjama trousers at you and you scuttled away. Then I hoovered up your web. Several times. And mopped the floor to remove scent trails and spider germs. In case you use scent trails. You were gone!”
„Nerozumím.” Defiant bounce.
“What do you mean you don’t understand? Of course you understand. I will make the typhoon winds of death again. Understand this, you eight-legged freak!”
Wwwhhhhhffffff. Flap. Flap.
Bounce. Bounce. Snicker.
“Damn. Wrong pyjama bottoms. Can we talk about this?”
„Mluvte česky.”
“What do you mean, ‘Speak Czech’? Have you been talking to Mrs. Jana? You’re a spider. Spiders don’t get to be picky about language choice, especially when they invade my loo.”
„Mluvte česky.”
“No. I refuse. And stop with the Czech speech marks. It's annoying. Like your legs. Get out.”
„Mluvte česky. Or I will crawl on your pathetically exposed big toe.”
“AAARGGHH! No! Gerroff!”
„Chachá!”
“Now you’re being weird. Just because ballroom dancing is strangely popular here, and still an extracurricular activity pursued by many teenagers as part of a well-rounded education is no reason to be making laughing noises in a knowing dance-referenced way.”
„‘Ch’ is like loch. This is how Czechs laugh. Stupid foreigner.”
“I know that. I am trying to distract you while I reach for the loo brush. Stupid spider.”
„Co? Co že?”
Swish. Splat.
„Áááááá!”
(slightly muffled by the wooden door lintel) „At last, my revenge is complete! This door corner is forever mine! Never again will you be able to blithely visit the toilet in the middle of the night, with carefree unshod feet! Know this, stupid toilet-brush-wielding speaker of inferior Czech! I Vill Be Back! Chachachachachá!!!”

Oh crap.

Hunk mail

I found this letter while I was clearing out the recycling. Could have sworn I asked these guys to take me off their mailing list.

Dear Beautiful, Wonderful Ladies

Outside today the sun is shining, the flowers are blooming, and the birds are singing. It’s a beautiful day, and one that we treasure, just like we treasure all of you. We treasure your beautiful souls and your beautiful womanly natures, just like we know you treasure our souls and our beautiful manly natures.

This treasuring of each other is especially important in these difficult times. The world is experiencing a global economic crisis. Times are hard for everyone, even those gifted with natural panther-like grace and hard-edged masculine lines.

And because we are deep, and our hearts are as big as our manly chests (they would be bigger, probably, except that because of biology our hearts have to be inside our chests), we feel. We feel with every sinewy fibre of our beings the feelings of others. This is called empathy, and it’s a beautiful, wonderful gift because it means we share your joys, we share your laughter, and we share your beautiful sparkling tears.

But this gift, like the six-foot bejewelled sword that Loynz wields as he strides manfully through the lush grass, has two edges. It can cut us, and when it does, we bleed.

We feel so deeply the deep pain and anguish of anyone who is not blessed with the personal resources we are blessed with. We are choked with unspoken, yet deeply-felt, emotion when we hear of beautiful, wonderful ladies forced to downgrade their habitual choice of personal grooming aids. We clench our fists with barely concealed rage at the thought that out there, there are ladies, some already sadly cursed with a taste for ill-fitting leisurewear, who must compromise themselves (but never their shining integrity) in order to finance their dry-cleaning bills.

Remember, dear beautiful wonderful ladies, WE CARE.

One of the deepest griefs we feel is that there are so few of us, and so very many of you. If we could, we would reach out and personally help every single one of you at this difficult time. But to do this, we would have to be many more than we are now. And that would make us less unique and special, which would mean that somehow, the magic would be gone. And that would be a great tragedy, because as Abz said only the other day, “What the world needs now is love, sweet love,” and our love is the greatest gift we can give to the world.

But it’s so hard for us because we know how much you need us at this difficult time. And because we love you all, and want to show you our love, we have decided to help by sharing with you knowledge from the immense store of wisdom we have learned over the years. Wisdom that will help you to weather the storms of life. And this way, with every step you take in this magical journey called life, you will think of us, and how much we love you, and this will make your life better, too, in strange and beautiful ways.

To begin our journey of knowledge, it seemed right, at this difficult time, to share with you some of the secret wisdom that we have learned over the years spent as millionaires, billionaires, magnates, tycoons and otherwise extremely wealthy individuals.

1. Acquiring start-up capital is difficult. A good option is to force your irresponsible (step)mother with the gambling problem that led to your current financial predicament to donate the jewels that she acquired in an ill-advised affaire with a French marquis.

2. When these turn out to be fake, acquire a run-down gambling hell in a high stakes card game and turn it into a fashionable venue by playing on its (and your) seedy reputation.

3. Alternatively you may choose to find your fortune in India or another exotic locale. Once acquired, it is acceptable to refrain from any mention of the exploitation of the local population as the basis of your wealth. “Trade” is nicely vague.

4. If you are a vampire, the fine print of your contract with the Lords of Hell contains a clause that requires you to open a Goth-themed nightclub or casino.

5. Do not worry. Your innate sense of style will ensure that it never becomes tacky or unfashionable. Black is always in.

6. It is also worthwhile spending some time trying to understand compound interest. But not all your time. Accountancy is not for those staring down the barrel of immortality.

7. Do not worry too much about reading books on management theory. Not only do they lack attractive covers, but they will have no bearing on your success. “Lean” is only ever relevant if it is associated with the words “whipcord” and refers to your physique.

8. Do not worry about a slightly shady background if it gives you an air of ruthlessness and danger. By now, however, you should be rich enough to refrain from stealing toilet rolls from motorway service stations unless it serves a higher justice.

9. Accents are sexy. And an excellent way to avoid awkward explanations.

10. All of this advice relates to heroes only. But it should help you dear beautiful ladies in your quest to find your own hero. It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a good fortune and a high-powered job must be concealing her desperate longing for babies and an alpha male beneath either her icy or adorably ditsy exterior and the excessive consumption of dessert. Check out the way her eyes shine with unshed tears at "baby panda bear" screensavers if you don't believe us.

Until next time, dear ladies, we send you all of our deepest, sincerest love…