Saturday mornings are hard graft with the garage to prepare for the sale (heavy going at the moment because it is so full) then the internet orders to wrap and post so I can be at my seat before the first customers MIGHT arrive. There are always a few early birds in the town.
The day started badly, with instant coffee. Horrible. Should have gone yesterday to Tesco for real coffee. Didn't. The instant in my cupboard is also out of date, left by someone who wouldn't drink the real stuff. All over now. 'And This Too Shall Pass' even the terror moment when only Instant is in the cupboard. I must remember to pass that wisdom on to my Coffee Worshippers. A quick sortie to the temple and I am savouring the full flavour of Illy. Very nice.
Last evening was nice too. The exhibition first. Pretty bibelots; fine carved, burnt wood dishes smelling of smokey firesides; beautiful bronzes of birds and fish. Good to look at and not have to dust. Paintings. Well, am I wrong here or do all oils or acrylics done by folk at a certain level of skill look alike? There were some brilliant light studies but so many of them were slabby textured impressions of rocks and sea and sky. Each one very agreeable as far as colour goes and quite effective but , may I use the word derivative here? Is what makes a great artist great simply the ability to picture something in a new way? I'm no art critic so that's enough of that.
Then to H's. V and M turned up, which was a happy surprise for me. We sat by H's fire and got through two bottles of red with some Tesco Finest. Good grief this is beginning to read like an advert for Tesco. Do all book sellers find they eat on the hoof? Hand to mouth? I used to cook a lot but there never seems to be time for it nowadays. Book selling is for Life not just for 9 till 5.
We talked of many interesting things until about 10.45 when we finally got around to talking about Mr. Toad. Then there was a discussion about his badness. There were two voters for his essential badness; two vacillating voters: maybe only one. Mr. Toad (the character in the book) might have caused the same discussion between Ratty and Mole. Only this isn't a story and real people get really hurt. He is smart; he understands human psychology; he can outwit those who attempt to counsel him. He glories in his powers of persuasion. He uses his size and blue eyes, his charisma, quite deliberately. IMO he knows that what he is doing is using people ruthlessly and he never shows remorse. There is always the justifiction that he didn't make them do anything they didn't want to do. No. But he knows their weakness and uses those weaknesses. He plays his audience be it male or female. He is the disarming bad lad; the loveable rogue; the sensitive; the damaged soul. Whichever role is needed. The consumate actor who hardly knows he's playing a role. When Gertie suggested he fits the profile for the psychopath/sociopath I was horrified. But I looked up the diagnostic 'test' which is a list of questions. We could tick enough boxes for P to score that somewhat scary title.
Very few people on this planet are totally bad but there are many sick ones.
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