Library Hunting

The hour of five this morning saw me up and helping J print off a load of work documents before he sets off South. ‘I am such a nice person’, I thought happily, as I waved him off. ‘I am going to stay awake and do lots of good things!’

Well, good things I have done – although my awakened state is more like a stupor than anything ‘zippy’. But I have managed to organise research (for a local magazine feature, rather than the novel – that puppy is still waiting), and this afternoon set off to the local library to prowl further into the subject.

I mentioned here that the local library is an odd place to hang out – the reference room was the place time forgot, but the building was nice and old and who cared if it needed modernising? It had history. Unfortunately this is now more like it had history, as it appears the local council cared (in a slap dash ‘bugger we’ll have to do something about this book problem’ sort of way) and have decided to relocate the whole thing. I harrumphed at the shut door to the old library, and peered crossly at the notice telling new patrons where the temporary library was being housed. ‘Oh over there’, I thought. ‘Righty-ho’.

Nothing against care homes, but it appears Tuesday is the day for my local borough to let all residents out for a stroll. And, as if in sympathy, my shoelace kept untying itself so I was either shuffling along at the same speed, or stopping to lean against walls (in a non-yob way) and re-tie them. No matter whether I did double or triple knots, I’d go a few yards and there they were, trailing along beside me.

Nor did it help that I’d somehow lost the new library. I walked (or shuffled) around in a large circle, wandering into the park to see if perhaps it was in there (it wasn’t), coming out again and peering around tiredly. I went back to the closed library door and this time noticed the map. 'Ah, now that would have been good to know', I muttered to myself as I set off again, catching the glances of sympathetic bystanders as they watch ‘yet another one’ shuffle her way down the street, cursing shoelaces.

I did eventually find the new library, and my word, it is a shiny new place reminiscent of Borders. The staff were amazingly helpful and it was so much nicer to search for books. I thanked the nice kind person who helped me find my books on old London, and said as much to her, feeling ever so slightly disloyal to the old building. She said a lot of people had mentioned that, and I got the feeling this new library may be here to stay - and I contributed to it! See - this is what happens when you start at five - nice old buildings get doomed.

Anyway, I am back home (obviously) and have already eaten dinner. Surely bedtime isn't that far away? Oh... 5.40pm. Rats.

Reference room of joy

I took my umbrella for a summer’s walk to the library yesterday afternoon, hoping that I would find the reference room open. This is an old library in a nice building, and there is something about the people that live in the reference room that intrigues me. It is like time has stood still in there, so to discover that the same man works there as when I was last in the reference room (1999) didn’t surprise me a jot.

The usual suspects were draped across tables in the silence – old men (one of which wanting the phone directory for Ipswich), a couple of students with weighty tomes in front of them and mixed range of folk on the out of place computers to the side of the room. An elderly gent asks the lady at the counter why his hotmail isn’t working. She looks flustered, as if answering I.T questions was not the reason she applied all those years ago to work in a library.

A strange metamorphosis comes over me when I am in a reference library.

I suddenly feel all worthy.

I drag down the Writers Yearbook 2007 from on high and scan it knowingly, flipping to the magazine listing section. A few new ones catch my eye, mainly as they offer to pay for articles, should you be so lucky. I scribble down the editor details and look for an email, even though I know full well I should just pick up the phone and call them.

Why are people (okay, why am I) so scared of speaking on the phone? It is not like they know me, so what is my problem with this? Relying just on email is not the done thing, and I just know it. Sigh… You would never think I once interviewed Will Smith, would you? I jot down phone numbers of everywhere in grim determination. I guess I think that I will somehow commit an appalling etiquette faux pas. What a thing to be scared of!

I then hit on the jack pot. I ask the lady behind the counter for a directory that lists London magazines and she looks relieved to be asked a question about books. She takes me unerringly straight to Benn’s Media – which lists them all. Oh praise be libraries, I think. So now I have...

Angel – North -- Belgravia – The Resident –The Westender – Southwest –Upside – Northwest

…to think about. The only concern is Angel and North’s editor is one and the same, same as Northwest and Upside. Which have the same www as Southwest, and six of these publications have the same phone number, so do I pitch my idea to one at a time or all six? And perhaps their content is syndicated, rather than original? It looks like only Belgravia and The Westender are independent, or at least have a different phone number. Okay… my mission today is to call them all and see if I can pitch an idea. Gulp.

Oh, and we passed the landlord inspection with flying colours, I have to say.