Their names remind me of Terri Doolittle in Jumpin' Jack Flash, playing the computer key board and warbling: "This is Bliii..iind Terri Doolittle. I wan'me a Jack bam-bam bam-bam. I wan'im come back bam-bam bam-bam. He's screwing ma mind bumbum bumbum. Ah'm busting ma behind bambam bambam...

The young Billy Holiday

Alarms and excursions.

It has been an up-beat and very full week. Sophie came up on her summer visit from London; I treasure the time we have together and appreciate the effort it is for her to get here. It's a horrible journey whichever way she does it; train this time, hot, crowded and noisy for eight hours. That's a true test of love. Her visit coincided with Sandy's induction as a weekly boarder at the local prep school. This was all a rather last minute decison and much panic ensued over the acquisition of uniform, a kilt, 3 pairs of everything else including very purple rugby socks, gum guard, tuck box etc. etc. and much sewing on of name tabs. No-one asked me to help with that chore mercifully. They know how enthusiastic I am about sewing. No owl was required nor a cauldron. Shame really. He appeared last evening after the first three days looking cheerful in the extreme. So far he seems to love it, even the rugby. (He still has both ears.) It's the first time I've heard him rave about a lesson - history kicked off with the Aztecs, always a good one to catch the imagination of the bloodthirsty ten year old. They were given pieces of the Aztecs greatest gift to mankind (apart from football which IMO is of debatable benefit) - chocolate.

The shop has been discreetly quiet - well, hey, what else has it been all summer? At least I had plenty of time to sit and gather strength between family meals. The vinyl has been quite a challenge, wading my way through checking it and trying to locate other copies for sale on the net to give a guide to scarcity and possible pricing bands. A kindly fellow from the seller's board gave me assistance with the LP's but then I got the idea, found the appropriate sites and managed the EP's and singles on my own.

I've become accustomed to the radical drop in income now and am adjusting my sights accordingly. Thank the overlighting forces I don't have rent to pay! A consigment of a newly printed paperback edition of a local book 'In the Shadow of Cairngorm' arrived yesterday and is already selling well thanks to the large number of Stewarts in the area. It contains a lot of their family history between its covers. Coincidentally I had an unscheduled meeting with one of the Stewarts who is the best customer for these books (even in the days when they were hardback and expensive.) Peter Stewart installs security equiptment and I inherited a system he put in the shop here for the last owner. I have ignored it for five years (I never switch it on because I know I'm going to forget how to switch it off or get something wrong.) Peter had told me it needed servicing, warned me repeatedly that there would be a reckoning one day and I had stubbornly ignored him because I hadn't wanted the thing in the first place. The day of reckoning came at 6.30 Wednesday evening when the battery started to run out. It alerted me of its imminent death. And then it alerted me again, and then again, and finally I had to ring poor Peter who was having his evening meal. He came rather grumpily (understandably) and rescued us from a night of switching the thing off every ten minutes. I owe him a free copy or two of this book now!

Tomorrow our son, grandson Finlay, and pregnant daughter-in-law arrive from Cornwall so more family meals and chaos are promised. Extra chaos as the fireplace will be ripped out of my living room. I was never going to light it (the chimney is blocked!) It made a traditional centre piece but is rather overwhelming in a small room, the fire back being very black cast iron. Costa will take it away to his large house down south and I will have a nice low bookcase/TV shelf built in its place. Everyone's a winner.

Vinyl

These tunes were everywhere in my youth. Tea for Two on this Art Tatum EP, and Tiger Rag

Cat in the hat syndrome

The sun did not shine.
It was too wet to play.
So we sat in the house
All that cold, cold, wet day.

I sat there with Sally.
We sat there, we two.
And I said, "How I wish
We had something to do!"

Too wet to go out
And too cold to play ball.
So we sat in the house.
We did nothing at all.

So all we could do was to
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
And we did not like it.
Not one little bit.

The reason for this addition? Twofold. Firstly it is wet wet wet wet and I am sit sit sit sitting. Secondly the book came in recently and I can't get the jolly anapestic tetrameter out of my head. Everything thought is coming in on the same beat.

(None of the following will be written in it though.. too demanding making it make sense.)

I have forty vinyl Lp's and 60 EP's to sell now. They are taking a lot of time to sort, photograph and price before putting them in an ebay shop. Most are jazz and many are desirable (I'm fed up with the word collectable.) I wish I could play them, especially the Bessie Smith, but don't have the equiptment .

I also picked up a nice set of leatherbound Dickens, the complete works in 20 vols. I wasn't hopeful when offered them - too many Dickens around even in leather to be getting excited but these are handsome and I can decently ask a good price for them. They will grace a private collection somewhere. There was a 1st ed. of Cobbett's Rural Rides, half bound and a Yeats Folio Society. Altogether a good haul. The Austens were sadly faded and the Potter's (Beatrix) very tired. Evidently a family who loved their books though.

It is much more interesting when I can buy books. The discipline of holding back has been agony.

Requests.

Mazo de la Roche (three specific titles.) The story of the Union flag for children with special attention to the story of the flag of St. Andrew. Puree recipes for nervous mothers with first babies. Guides to whisky distilleries. A book with pictures of posies 'because my girl friend wants me to paint some posies of flowers on the bathroom door.'

A sample of requests from my day. Not ONE of which could I satisfy from my shelves. I had books illustrated with paintings of flowers, some of them even in posies; I had a book about flags that included the history of the UK flag, but both were declared much too expensive to be bought at £5 - £10 a piece.

Each request involved a long conversation which sent the seekers out empty handed but happy, feeling that at least I had done my damndest for them.

Tracey Emin again

It took me a while to understand the Chillside post and even longer to tumble to the fact there was a pre-dated post added about TE. Doh! Not very bright-brained here yesterday.
It was an excellent piece of writing Chillside, and a good expression of your response to TE's work. Plenty of people seem to think she's 'important' but not many make a good case for just why she's important. I'm going to hold back any more personal responses until I've seen the exhibition in Edinburgh, but for the moment I have to say that it all sounds a bit passé to me. Stream of consciousness/women's angst/kitchen sink stuff might be newish in the world of tactile art but not in literature. Doris Lessing explored it all with intelligent perception, in a more measured way, in the Golden Notebook - even to the distasteful smell of her own menstrual blood. There were plenty of women's writings that added to that over the 70's & 80's and onward. The whole 'woman's world, woman's psyche' thing has been done. Self-expression and emoting on our messed-up lives is more or less accepted mainstream coffee-shop chat nowadays. I thought artists, who are generally seen as being in the van of current thought-forms, might have moved on a bit by now.

I wonder if TE will manage to change my mind?