I'm sitting here listening to someone dropping books. Aaagh!
Maybe I should only sell on the internet. They wouldn't get so mauled. I wouldn't wear my teeth down to the gums.
29 Feb 2008
Two Doris Lessing 1sts have arrived, one with a postcard from her to the ex-owners about a conference she wasn't able to attend. More for the bookfair. I shall have quite a rank of DL. She doesn't fetch huge prices despite the Nobel Prize but her earlier works (the best IMO) can fetch a respectable amount and I have two signed US firsts of the 'Children of Violence' sequence. It's nice to be able to sell books I really value myself, I can share my pleasure in them with the customer. One reason I don't sell gardening books any more - I have no idea whether they are good bad or indifferent because I 'm not interested in gardening.
No difficult customers so far, only charming ones and a couple of lads who had found some 'really old books' at the back of a cupboard. They turned out to be 1960's children's books. Not collectable in the least. But it made me feel old.
No difficult customers so far, only charming ones and a couple of lads who had found some 'really old books' at the back of a cupboard. They turned out to be 1960's children's books. Not collectable in the least. But it made me feel old.
29.02.08
Drafty morning. Cold. They got the forecast right for once. There's a nice pile of books to work through from a couple I like very much. Should be some titles amongst them I can put on Amazon, which is also good as my listings have dropped. Good takings still but ti helps the peristalsis to keep shovelling them in. . An exhibtion at the Steading this afternoon and I'm sharing a bottle of wine with H this evening. Promises to be a good day.
I pointed out to Gordon that Vanya could ask him to marry her today, which provoked an amusing exchange between them. Seems as if the moment one of them is ready to commit the other is having cold feet or thinking it isn't important. I wonder. Gordon looks like Billy Connolly now - shoulder length grey hair, very clean and wavey and bouncy, as indeed is Gordon. He's my age but wears better I would say. Maybe it's having a younger woman along with him.
Last Leap Year I asked P to marry me. But in jest. I knew I couldn't have put up with the mess. It was a sort of olive branch if I remember rightly. We had had one of the many cold spots. I suppose, as I am spending the evening with H we will talk about him so his ears should be burning. She is more recently out from under the Influence. I have had two years to clear him from my system. I hope his new billet doesn't ask him. He may be interested enough in her insurance to accept. Then there will be the time of fun. Then the waning of fun. Then the grumpy silences. Then he will spend long hours at the computer and there will be emails from other women. Then phone calls. Then absences. All reported openly and jovialy to her; enlisting her in his renewed enthusiasm for life. Maybe suggesting they join Swingers.co.uk where he is still listed. Worst of all, unless she is very strong and perceptive, the insinuation that whatever is wrong is her fault. H & I hav already compared notes you see. If it were just my experience I couldn't write all this, but it isn't. Gertie was very relieved that his conversation with H4 was received and taken note of. He felt a responsibility. H2 had H1 and me around and the Foundation - and is any way a strong perceptive woman. But we all have our weaknesses. I remember him telling me about the advice his grandfather gave him: 'Marry a plain woman. They'll always be grateful.' I think he took it to heart, choosing women with pleasant but homely faces. H1 looks fantastic these days so I'm really not being derogatory here, but none of us are stunners. The stunners tend to be put off by his advances. They've had too many. My daughter Sophie really disliked him. He probably came on to her. And Sheila; and Kate; and Jane who is so sweet - she seemed to get his measure quickly though like the rest of us she was amused and entertained and grateful (that word again!) for the attention... 'He makes you feel as if you've known him all your life' was her comment. He has askd two women to marry him in the past four years to our knowledge. Maybe more. Last summer the woman in Ipswich was startled to be dumped so abrubtly when she had suggested they might live near each other for a while to get to know each other first. He needed a billet so that wasn't going to work for him. She found out later that he had come on to her friend in a meaningful way, making her friend very uncomfortable. Oh you with the red umbrella out there, put it up. Put up your defenses before you feel the rain.
He did teach me how to be a good book seller - by being a bad one. More of that later. I just had to get that down.
I pointed out to Gordon that Vanya could ask him to marry her today, which provoked an amusing exchange between them. Seems as if the moment one of them is ready to commit the other is having cold feet or thinking it isn't important. I wonder. Gordon looks like Billy Connolly now - shoulder length grey hair, very clean and wavey and bouncy, as indeed is Gordon. He's my age but wears better I would say. Maybe it's having a younger woman along with him.
Last Leap Year I asked P to marry me. But in jest. I knew I couldn't have put up with the mess. It was a sort of olive branch if I remember rightly. We had had one of the many cold spots. I suppose, as I am spending the evening with H we will talk about him so his ears should be burning. She is more recently out from under the Influence. I have had two years to clear him from my system. I hope his new billet doesn't ask him. He may be interested enough in her insurance to accept. Then there will be the time of fun. Then the waning of fun. Then the grumpy silences. Then he will spend long hours at the computer and there will be emails from other women. Then phone calls. Then absences. All reported openly and jovialy to her; enlisting her in his renewed enthusiasm for life. Maybe suggesting they join Swingers.co.uk where he is still listed. Worst of all, unless she is very strong and perceptive, the insinuation that whatever is wrong is her fault. H & I hav already compared notes you see. If it were just my experience I couldn't write all this, but it isn't. Gertie was very relieved that his conversation with H4 was received and taken note of. He felt a responsibility. H2 had H1 and me around and the Foundation - and is any way a strong perceptive woman. But we all have our weaknesses. I remember him telling me about the advice his grandfather gave him: 'Marry a plain woman. They'll always be grateful.' I think he took it to heart, choosing women with pleasant but homely faces. H1 looks fantastic these days so I'm really not being derogatory here, but none of us are stunners. The stunners tend to be put off by his advances. They've had too many. My daughter Sophie really disliked him. He probably came on to her. And Sheila; and Kate; and Jane who is so sweet - she seemed to get his measure quickly though like the rest of us she was amused and entertained and grateful (that word again!) for the attention... 'He makes you feel as if you've known him all your life' was her comment. He has askd two women to marry him in the past four years to our knowledge. Maybe more. Last summer the woman in Ipswich was startled to be dumped so abrubtly when she had suggested they might live near each other for a while to get to know each other first. He needed a billet so that wasn't going to work for him. She found out later that he had come on to her friend in a meaningful way, making her friend very uncomfortable. Oh you with the red umbrella out there, put it up. Put up your defenses before you feel the rain.
He did teach me how to be a good book seller - by being a bad one. More of that later. I just had to get that down.
28 Feb 2008
addendum
A well-dressed couple came in just now, found a book, new (remaindered) and the woman asked me if they could have it for £3. The price on it was £3.50. Without thinking I asked 'Why? I don't get it. It's only £3.50'
'Because it's traditional' said the bloke in a jocular tone.
'You wouldn't bargain in Tesco' said I, trying to keep it light.
'Oh yes I would' he replied. 'I've got a loaf for half price before now.'
Well, the customer is always right and so on but, remaining in good natured jocular mode, assuring them that when they made a purchase totalling over £100 I would consider giving them 10% off, I still refused to give them their 50p discount. They left the shop talking about how they always do that at book fairs.....
I would like to have continued the discussion really. If I were to embrace this bargaining culture I would simply put my prices up to allow for it. I might also have told them that I do give discounts on small purchases - if I like the customers. Probably just as well they left.
Not a bad score today though and friends from Croatia visited so it was also convivial.
'Because it's traditional' said the bloke in a jocular tone.
'You wouldn't bargain in Tesco' said I, trying to keep it light.
'Oh yes I would' he replied. 'I've got a loaf for half price before now.'
Well, the customer is always right and so on but, remaining in good natured jocular mode, assuring them that when they made a purchase totalling over £100 I would consider giving them 10% off, I still refused to give them their 50p discount. They left the shop talking about how they always do that at book fairs.....
I would like to have continued the discussion really. If I were to embrace this bargaining culture I would simply put my prices up to allow for it. I might also have told them that I do give discounts on small purchases - if I like the customers. Probably just as well they left.
Not a bad score today though and friends from Croatia visited so it was also convivial.
Customers - you've got to love 'em.
My grandson has also got tonsillitis so is upstairs watching Chucklevision whilst his mother cracks a few spines to put bread on their table. I am on my Second Cup already and thinking of starting a Coffee worshipping cult. Right now though I have to devise a booby trap for customers who take books out of my window display without asking then damage them putting them back carelessly, as happened recently. I have already made it hard for them and put up a notice, but they still sneak in hoping to get a quick peek unsupervised. I change the display weekly and many weeks it doesn't matter if someone takes a book out (though they wouldn't do it in a dress shop, or a china shop, or any other shop in fact so why in a book shop..... I checked with the Red Cross ladies - people don't even do it there!!!) This week I have displayed the wondrous books I bought from D last week. D is an ex-University prof. ex- headmaster of a notable local Academy, long-time book-collector who lives in a small council house filled with fine bindings and fascinating ephemera. A box of magic. At the moment he is loving Victorian Scraps and has some huge ones. I think they are ugly but respect his amusement with them. You can tell he doesn't do much cooking in his kitchen because the work surfaces are covered with these things, enormous peacocks, Little Boy Blue, be-bustled ladies and so on. Everywhere else in the house are books. In his entrance hall, in pride of place, is a handsome book with the front board facing utwards bearing the proud title 'Pig Sticking' in gilt, alongside a pig who looks quite complacent about the whole thing. Pig sticking apart, Donald likes the same books as me. Art. Literature. Poetry. Children's books. First edition moderns ( I REEALLY want the Sylvia Plath 1st.) Then there are the fun ones stacked towering against the wall in a spare room upstairs. I nearly killed myself playing pic-a-stick with one, trying to get it from under twenty others without taking the whole pile down. The topmost book fell on my head. There are no truly precious booksin that room so no harm was done except to my head and who cares about that I hear you say... if you are a bibliophile too.
Back to my window display and the booby trap. I have rigged up a string of bells bought from the nice young woman who has opened an gift shop at the other end of town. Into this string I have threaded a Greek goat bell which makes a noisy jangle when provoked. They will have to limbo under it with an arm and most of the books this week are too fat to get back past it wihout ringing that bell. A tall cat with a winsome expression, from the same gift shop, carries a polite sign around its slender neck asking those who wish to look to ask me first. I just know it won't stop some trying, but that's customers for you. The nice young woman and I often exchange stories on this topic. There are some people who simply aren't aware of their surroundings and dump their wet bags, macs etc. on top of goods displayed on her counter. When I had a counter they did the same. I remember a book fair at which I had many books displayed front up on the green cloth. Most where in protective plastic. One collectable paperback children's book was not. Naturally the wet mac went on that!! She, the young shop owner who I will call Kerry as I don't know her name yet, is also plagued by the folk who HAVE to touch EVERYTHING and can't manage to put it back where they found it. And so on. I can forgive anyone almost anything if they pay me enough but it's rare that these folk buy. They are Mystery Shoppers sent by some evil corporate Divinity to test my quality of service and Sellers Ethics.
I have only once been aware of having a book stolen. That morning I had turned a book front board out to attract attention to it. It was a large handsome modern novel called 'The Book Thief.' I suppose it was too much to resist. Or maybe they misread the title. I know who the thief was. Over the last couple of years I have been visited by two teenagers, brother and sister, who have tried local schools and found them not to their taste. Their mother has given up and now 'home eductaes' them. Which means sending them into my shop to sit and read books which they never buy whilst she shops. That would be harmless enough only one day I became aware of a savoury smell drifting from their end of the shop and went to find them with Cornish pasties and a bottle of pop each having a picnic up the corner. Pushed too far, I threw them out. They came in another few times but the last time their mother (who is also exasperating and always asks to have books put aside for her which she never picks up) took a nicely bound unopened copy of "The History of Western Philosophy' out from the shelf, cracked open the spine and ironed the pages with a plump fist to show the kids something or other. When I winced and protested she made her usual speech about 'home educating.' I asked her to go to the library where she would find the same book and she could educate away at their leisure without damaging my stock. That was the day I lost the 'Book Thief' and I haven't seen them since. I think their absence is probably cheap at the price.
Back to my window display and the booby trap. I have rigged up a string of bells bought from the nice young woman who has opened an gift shop at the other end of town. Into this string I have threaded a Greek goat bell which makes a noisy jangle when provoked. They will have to limbo under it with an arm and most of the books this week are too fat to get back past it wihout ringing that bell. A tall cat with a winsome expression, from the same gift shop, carries a polite sign around its slender neck asking those who wish to look to ask me first. I just know it won't stop some trying, but that's customers for you. The nice young woman and I often exchange stories on this topic. There are some people who simply aren't aware of their surroundings and dump their wet bags, macs etc. on top of goods displayed on her counter. When I had a counter they did the same. I remember a book fair at which I had many books displayed front up on the green cloth. Most where in protective plastic. One collectable paperback children's book was not. Naturally the wet mac went on that!! She, the young shop owner who I will call Kerry as I don't know her name yet, is also plagued by the folk who HAVE to touch EVERYTHING and can't manage to put it back where they found it. And so on. I can forgive anyone almost anything if they pay me enough but it's rare that these folk buy. They are Mystery Shoppers sent by some evil corporate Divinity to test my quality of service and Sellers Ethics.
I have only once been aware of having a book stolen. That morning I had turned a book front board out to attract attention to it. It was a large handsome modern novel called 'The Book Thief.' I suppose it was too much to resist. Or maybe they misread the title. I know who the thief was. Over the last couple of years I have been visited by two teenagers, brother and sister, who have tried local schools and found them not to their taste. Their mother has given up and now 'home eductaes' them. Which means sending them into my shop to sit and read books which they never buy whilst she shops. That would be harmless enough only one day I became aware of a savoury smell drifting from their end of the shop and went to find them with Cornish pasties and a bottle of pop each having a picnic up the corner. Pushed too far, I threw them out. They came in another few times but the last time their mother (who is also exasperating and always asks to have books put aside for her which she never picks up) took a nicely bound unopened copy of "The History of Western Philosophy' out from the shelf, cracked open the spine and ironed the pages with a plump fist to show the kids something or other. When I winced and protested she made her usual speech about 'home educating.' I asked her to go to the library where she would find the same book and she could educate away at their leisure without damaging my stock. That was the day I lost the 'Book Thief' and I haven't seen them since. I think their absence is probably cheap at the price.
27 Feb 2008
Not a great score to close the day + £18.50 /- £100. The £100 was for some interesting stuff though, amongst them a history of Scottish music, and 'Memoirs of a Rifleman Scout' by Major F. M. Crum, who was a wizz( if ever a wizz there wazz) at sniping. I've already sold it over the telephone to a fellow bookdealer in Berwick at a healthy profit, the sale to be finalised at the Edinburgh Book Fair in in March. So next time the rat catcher comes in... I shall keep quiet about it. He isn't interested in MY triumphs as he sees me as the expert (!) and therefore someone he would like to impress. Touching really. With a gin in my hand and a nice piece of business transacted I can feel comfortably superior...
... until I remember that bum deal I made last week when I'd forgotten to change the Charity shop price in a book....
It keeps the ego in its place.
And so to bed. As someone said. It's a bit early but I have a fever. Bed means getting into my nightdress and rolling myself in a blanket to watch 'Die Zweite Heimat.' I'm going through it for the 3rd time. I don't want to have to give it back it is SO good. In my fever last night I was talking with all the characters. The terrible thing is that knowing as I do about Ansgar getting his foot caught in the tram door and dying, I wanted to tell him to take more care, but, as in Pauley's Peepholes (by??) I wasn't allowed to affect the passage of events. I woke up pouring sweat and crying.
Also fretting about who wrote Pauley's Peepholes. Probably John Wyndham. I shall Google it now.
... until I remember that bum deal I made last week when I'd forgotten to change the Charity shop price in a book....
It keeps the ego in its place.
And so to bed. As someone said. It's a bit early but I have a fever. Bed means getting into my nightdress and rolling myself in a blanket to watch 'Die Zweite Heimat.' I'm going through it for the 3rd time. I don't want to have to give it back it is SO good. In my fever last night I was talking with all the characters. The terrible thing is that knowing as I do about Ansgar getting his foot caught in the tram door and dying, I wanted to tell him to take more care, but, as in Pauley's Peepholes (by??) I wasn't allowed to affect the passage of events. I woke up pouring sweat and crying.
Also fretting about who wrote Pauley's Peepholes. Probably John Wyndham. I shall Google it now.
Third coffee
Slow day. Three copies of "Punch' gone and that's it. Too much time left for the devil. Those rats are my favourite customers incidentally. Would there were more like them!
I received a book this morning from another Amazombie. "Thy Father is a Gorbellied Codpiece!" is the title of this work and enables one to create 100,000 well rounded Shakesperian insults. (There's now a 'slag each other off/be nasty to each other' thread on the Amazon sellers' site to help booksellers cope with the stresses of dealing with Sentinel, customers who can't read, and other Amazombies who are into God and so on. ) Apart from the fun of it ,the book has also made me think about the depredation of our language. Folk just don't seem to have the time to turn a fine phrase any more. It's all 'LOL' 'IMO' & IMHO' & - I have to confess I can't think of any others right now, but you get my meaning I hope.
Talking about the devil (nervous look over shoulder) I bought five nice clean looking vols. from the Red Cross thinking they would look fine on the shelves. Found myself reading the blurb and then the first vol. and then the second and now I have binned them. Christian 'End of Days' stuff written in the style of Dan Brown. Very Yuk.
About three feet away from me lies a nude (probably) body that my daughter is working on. No, I haven't opened a bordello, although the way trade is going today that might not be a bad idea. The nude body is behind a door and I have music playing so I can't hear the groans. Its all a bit gothic. My daughter is an osteopath so hopefully is turning Quasimodo there into an upright biped again.
Probably another coffee at this point would be a mistake. I could try uploading another image. All this is very new and fun. Probaly shan't type another word on it but for the moment it does improve the shining hour.
I received a book this morning from another Amazombie. "Thy Father is a Gorbellied Codpiece!" is the title of this work and enables one to create 100,000 well rounded Shakesperian insults. (There's now a 'slag each other off/be nasty to each other' thread on the Amazon sellers' site to help booksellers cope with the stresses of dealing with Sentinel, customers who can't read, and other Amazombies who are into God and so on. ) Apart from the fun of it ,the book has also made me think about the depredation of our language. Folk just don't seem to have the time to turn a fine phrase any more. It's all 'LOL' 'IMO' & IMHO' & - I have to confess I can't think of any others right now, but you get my meaning I hope.
Talking about the devil (nervous look over shoulder) I bought five nice clean looking vols. from the Red Cross thinking they would look fine on the shelves. Found myself reading the blurb and then the first vol. and then the second and now I have binned them. Christian 'End of Days' stuff written in the style of Dan Brown. Very Yuk.
About three feet away from me lies a nude (probably) body that my daughter is working on. No, I haven't opened a bordello, although the way trade is going today that might not be a bad idea. The nude body is behind a door and I have music playing so I can't hear the groans. Its all a bit gothic. My daughter is an osteopath so hopefully is turning Quasimodo there into an upright biped again.
Probably another coffee at this point would be a mistake. I could try uploading another image. All this is very new and fun. Probaly shan't type another word on it but for the moment it does improve the shining hour.
Second coffee.
So here comes a young chap who wants a copy of 'The Glass Bead Game.' I haven't got one but he is happy to have mentioned it and feels I now respect his learning. I direct him to the erotica. We have got through the preliminaries so can get to the point.
And here's the local rat catcher in his moleskin britches and wide felt hat. He has taken a stall in the Saturday market to sell books. He is going to tell me of his recent triumphs in this new endeavour, how he bught for 1p and sold for £30 to the guy down his street. I smile and grit my teeth. Why does this never happen to me? Does it really happen to him? Was he sent to this planet to stop me getting complacent. Sales have been good but - well, I should be doing better obviously. I should be scooping up the 1p prize at the boot sale and making a 3000% profit. Only then I wouldn't be manning my stall here and I'd have to pay someone and I think I need another coffee.
And here's the local rat catcher in his moleskin britches and wide felt hat. He has taken a stall in the Saturday market to sell books. He is going to tell me of his recent triumphs in this new endeavour, how he bught for 1p and sold for £30 to the guy down his street. I smile and grit my teeth. Why does this never happen to me? Does it really happen to him? Was he sent to this planet to stop me getting complacent. Sales have been good but - well, I should be doing better obviously. I should be scooping up the 1p prize at the boot sale and making a 3000% profit. Only then I wouldn't be manning my stall here and I'd have to pay someone and I think I need another coffee.
I've just been having a clear out......
So far four people have been in today each starting their approach with: "I've just been having a clear out..." "I'm not buying at the moment" I reply, then, with hardly a breath: 'But what have you got?' I just can't help myself. The shop is full, the garage fuller, the floorboards at the top of the house under a severe strain but - well, this might be the lot that brings in the local book I can ask a highish number with several happy gamboling noughts after it and be sure of a sale at some joyous future moment. Or just a Chalet School 1st ed. That would do. The good people name their prizes clearly, hoping to enroll me in their enthusiasm for what this morning was a box of junk that might raise a quid or two. The list depresses me. I wave them away with a sigh to the charity shop next door. They are fed up with me. The charity shop will be fed up with me... they have enough books too.
It's time for coffee.
It's time for coffee.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)