F1 in my head

I was going to have a lie-in this morning...unfortunately I had a nightmare and so I'm up early.

The nightmare was a strange one...I was at work, at Christmas, and attempting to merchandise the charts - with ten Lewis Hamilton hardbacks and twenty Lewis Hamilton paperbacks...

The thing is, last Christmas there were 7 biographies of him, plus his official autobiography. But if he actually wins the championship this year then my nightmare might become real!

I think this dream was a delayed reaction to the broadcasting bias of the British Grand Prix last Sunday.

Don't get me wrong, I loved watching it. It was the first race this year that I've watched with Emily and Brychan (which always makes it better), plus the fact it was a wet race meant that lots of people spun off in humorous ways (most of them near to Sebastian Bourdais - I think he has his own gravitational field that was throwing people off).

The problem with it was actually the same problem that has plagued all the races this year - ITV and James Allen having multiple orgasms over Lewis' ability to "race".

James decided to compare Lewis' race to Senna's race at Donington, which made Anthony hit the roof.
Let's just go into that shall we... Lewis was second on the first corner, and took five laps to pass his team mate (who rather obviously moved off the racing line) - Senna was fifth on the first corner, and first by the end of the first lap having passed Schumacher, Wendlinger, Hill and Prost (that will be passing his three championship rivals and another driver for good measure).

I think that if James Allen compares Lewis to Ayrton one more time, Anthony will track him down and follow Coulthard's lead.

Now, don't get me wrong, when Lewis started racing last year I was looking forward to seeing a British driver racing for the championship. But after ITV have declared him the "People's Champion", decided that every single track guide lap should be one of Lewis', interviewed his dad rather than show an interview with the race winner (on the numerous occasions the winner has not been Lewis)...

Plus Lewis himself has changed from a guy who was very eager to push himself as a normal home-loving guy, British first, black second; into a guy who has *moved* to Switzerland "to avoid the media scrum", who has a celebrity girlfriend and lots of new celebrity friends (like P Diddy, who did a Black Power salute when Lewis won at Monaco), who cites Nelson Mandela and Martin Luther King as his two biggest heroes (but then muddled up a MLK quote in his press conference).

*breathe*

I shall stop ranting now, but this fabulous cartoon sums up the Hamilton hype quite nicely.

Tired

I am a very tired bunny after a long day at work featuring various amounts of abuse from various bitchy middle-aged women.

So I am going to bed and may be more intelligent tomorrow...although that won't be hard.

(but I have got Beef Bourguignon for dinner!)

Essential Bookselling Traits

(inspired partly by a very strange conversation that I had with Faye).

A booksellers job is harder than you think. Not only do you have to sell books to people, you also have to decorate things with bits of cardboard, lift heavy weights, have the kind of brain that can solve complex crossword puzzles when all the clues are missing and also read minds.

You must not react angrily when a customer calls you a liar because the book they want to buy is only in hardback but they've seen it in paperback somewhere else, oh yes they have! Or they read in the paper that the new Anthony Horowitz book is out today and the fact that you only have it in hardback is obviously some kind of a con. I really thought that this particular customer was going to explode with indignation. In the end she just stormed out of the shop - and then came back today and bought it, from me, pretending that she didn't know who I was... "I saw this yesterday but didn't think your colleague could be right when she said it was only in hardback" - MY COLLEAGUE??? That would be the OTHER tall blonde girl we have on the staff, the one that is also me...

As well as the thick skin needed to deal with those people you also need actual thick skin. This is because the biggest enemy of the bookseller is papercuts - on my worst day I had a total of 15, that's including the one just above my right eye where a shelf strip whipped up and caught me. All those nice bright pieces of cardboard that you see, actually covered in blood smears on the back. (but we make a point never to bleed on the actual books).

The genius mind is needed to help out all the people who come in asking for that new book "about tractors", "the blue one that was on tv last night", "those bikers, the hunky ones", "that one about him off the telly, you know, the tall man" (answers at the end). This does often give a sense of achievement as you've been able to work out exactly what these people are talking about.

Heavy lifting comes in not only with lugging piles of books about the shop attempting to make neat piles on tables. The tables and browsers have to get there somehow after all. That 7ft tall dumpbin in the kids section? Dragged up the stairs by me and Faye (she pulled, I pushed) and then dragged into place by Chris as our arms had turned to jelly.

Heavy lifting is also needed when you are carrying one of those big armfuls of books and then a little voice says "Do you work here?" One day I will answer "No, I'm a shoplifter", but until then I will say yes and listen to their enquiry and then find them the book they want, all without putting the armful of books down because if you dare to do this the customer will look at you with disgust and decide that you are being rude.

Rude is something you cannot be when working in a shop. When customers walk past the big obvious pile of the new Ewan McGregor/Jeremy Clarkson/Wilbur Smith/Martina Cole and say "Do you have the new Ewan McGregor/Jeremy Clarkson/Wilbur Smith/Martina Cole book?", and you point and they say "Where?" and you walk over to the big pile of books and get one for them and they don't bother to say thank you and just sigh because it took you all of 10 seconds to walk over to the pile next to the customer and hand it to them, but you took too long....

Yes I have had one of those days...

So, to recap. Hide like a rhino, genius brain, very strong, ability to keep a smile on your face while you're wishing that they'd never been born.

Then you smile and say "Next please. Can I help anyone?"

"about tractors" - A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian.
"the blue one that was on TV last night" - Planet Earth.
"those bikers, the hunky ones" - Hairy Bikers (not Ewan McGregor, lose five points).
"that one about him off the telly, you know, the tall man" - Paul O'Grady.

Homeness.

Home is strange. It's mainly strange cos dad isn't here, although it still only feels like he's just in the garden or in another room. He's just popped out for a second, not died and gone forever. The other reason it's strange here is that this is the longest time I've spent in this house in five years, which means it's the longest time in five years that I've spent with my mother.

I love my mother, in a way I'm glad it was dad and not her (partly cos if it had been her I'd be working out a way to move back here for good to keep an eye on dad) but it doesn't change the fact that we get on better 150 miles apart. So far I think she's made me cry at least twice each day - and that's not cry about dad (although I'm closer to crying because of it) but cry cos she's said or done something. At the moment I am either perfect, or doing everything wrong - usually both at the same time.

The thing that is stupidly hard, is trying to get computer access. Now I knew I wasn't going to get hours of it, but getting five minutes is a fight. I'm also not allowed to blog or go on Facebook - and the blogging thing also includes reading my blog to look for comments, not just the actual blogging thing! Tonight she made me promise not to even look at my blog but she said I could look at my Facebook page (I think she hasn't realised you have to log on for that). So this blog is coming to you via Anthony, I've emailed this to him and he will cut 'n' paste it for me. Being unable to blog is a lot more restrictive than I thought. I can never handwrite fast enough to get my thoughts down while I can type fast enough. So all sorts of "deep and meaningfuls" have been lost to the ether and my poor silly brain.

We are busy doing things to get everything ready for Thursday but I still have lots of downtime when mum has to go make phonecalls or write emails. Thiis is currently mostly filled by sitting on the sofa working on her birthday cross-stitch (which is coming along wonderfully and she loves the fact that dad knew about it and kinda helped pick it) and watching the first season of Scrubs. I haven't seen much of it before. Partly cos it was always Emily's thing, but also cos it was something I wanted to see from the beginning and in order (like CSI). Darling Emily started educating me on Saturday by putting on her Season One DVDs and today I watched 11 episodes. Not all in one go, but three or four at a time. It's weird watching something that's only 30 mins an episode, can't get used to it. But I am enjoying it very much and hope that Season Two is round here somewhere so that I can carry straight on with it. I am enjoying finding out where some of her jokes come from, I watched the "Banana Hammock" episode earlier and burst out laughing.

Yeah, so apart from the lack of bloggage (and being able to read other peopels), life here is actually good. Yes I still have bad moments where I cry about dad, but the shock hasn't worn off yet so I still get to float around in a peaceful cloud. (Just give it a few more weeks...) Talking of peaceful clouds, I'm going to go have a hot chocolate with marshmallows on top and explain to mum that I haven't been blogging but emailing, and leave Internet Explorer open so she can check up on me...

Grand Prix

Gosh I rather dislike that boy (listen to me being good and not swearing like I want to).

For your viewing pleasure I bring you Hamilton and Alonso before today's incident...




...and Kimi, being his fabulous self. This one's for Emily:

Monkey brains

Yesterday I went upstairs to cover Maggies break and took over seeing the rep from Elsevier. I'm flicking through the catalogue of books that mostly don't apply to our store and I said to him that most of these books seem like the one on monkey brains that another rep showed me the other week. I was a bit embarrassed when the other rep turned out to be him as well.

This then led to a conversation about time speeding up recently, since it had been a month since he'd been in and it had only seemed like the week before that I'd seen him. He was saying that he'd just had his birthday and that he couldn't believe how old he was when he didn't feel it, and how stuck he felt when he thought of all the things he could be doing.

We had a chinwag about this for a few minutes before he went, but it really got me thinking.

When I was little, 28 was old. I know that about 9 years old I thought that when I was 27 I'd be married and have kids, that was an aim right up until this time last year in fact. Not a big aim, but the kind of childhood aim that stays in your subconscious and hangs about there, occasionally making itself known. Last year I really felt I'd failed this aim that I'd had for such a long time, and it took a bit of work to acknowledge that although it was a valid aim, it just didn't apply anymore.

I think part of the problem is that the media feeds such a constant image of not good enough. Celebrity magazines say that you're not thin enough, or your life is not worthwhile if you don't have these sunglasses, that dress, those shoes. Lifestyle magazines try to sell you the perfect home, the perfect cleaning product to clean your perfect new gadget with. Advertising is designed to sell you a product by selling you the image (and I'm the advertisers dream according to my dad) but the whole of the media seems to be going this way. Even book prizes do it, the idea that you HAVE to read the Booker/Orange/Costa winner or not be a serious reader.

TV programmes show you the dream of quitting the rat race and going to grow vegetables, but they gloss over the hard work and focus on the "goodness" of eating your own produce. Relocation, Relocation did a programme when a mother and daughter followed their dream of going to run a pub in the country (which our new manager was raving about it being a fabulous idea), but it never mentions the fact that someone has to be up early for deliveries, someone up late to close up and you never get a day off. (My parents have friends who own a pub, and all this was mentioned when once I said I'd like to do it)

It's no wonder that we sell so many Pop Psych books, the world just seems to be set up at the moment to tell you that you're not good enough. Your job isn't paying enough, you should love your job, you should be going to these places on holiday, you should be recycling more, eating better, reading these books.

For a long time I thought it was just me, doing my whole paranoia thing and feeling generally insecure. But having a chat with a guy who said that he harbours dreams of living like Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall but knows he wouldn't like the hard work bit has helped me realise that it's something affecting other people than just me.

I don't know if I'll ever manage to be free of it, but knowing this is helping me look at it that much clearer.

Snow

I love snow.

I love the crunchy squeaky noise when you walk in it and the way walking in deep snow feels. I love walking where no one else has walked and leaving my own little trail. I love watching it fall and being outside and catching snowflakes on my tongue.

I hate the fact that this morning when I got to work the town centre was grey and slushy and depressing, no hint of the snowy loveliness I'd just waded through (in the park, I went right across the grass and got funny looks). I hate the people who seem to think that cos it's snowed they don't need to clean their dog poo up (no, I didn't tread in any).

Most of all I hate the idiot driver who speeded up at the crossing tonight when the lights turned red and absolutely fucking SOAKED me. Bastard. I'd stood right back to avoid it, then the lights went red when he was well away from them and I stepped forward and he sped up to go through. If I was less cautious I'd have been in the road in front of him. So yeah, he's a wanker.

But on a lighter note, my cats are undecided about snow. Foley made a snow angel cat in the back garden, and Esme had a fight with a snowy bit of hedge. Now they are both right next to the radiator and looking grumpy.

But I still love snow.

At last

Someone has finally talked about the real issues in BB.

I watched very little of it, mainly cos I can't stand the programme.

When the Jade row happened, I must confess I didn't see most of it as a racist thing, just as a Jade thing.

It's about background, not skin colour. Jade would probably have had a stinking great row with Tara P-T if she'd been in there.

The thing about it that shocked me (that shouldn't have done) is the way the media have reacted. For the last few years they've written stories about Jade and secretly loathed her, this affair gave them the chance to rip her to shreds.

Class issues run a lot deeper than anyone thinks. In the comments on the BBC article, someone says that "chavs" are working class and that it's the middle class that disparage them. I don't think of chavs as working class, to me they are the benefit scroungers, the people who could be working but can't be bothered. If you're on benefits because you need them and are entitled to them then fine. If you'd sooner claim than do any work then off to the workhouse with you!

The Yeti always used to call my parents middle class. He'd laugh at me because I was used to certain things, like proper cheese instead of cheese slices, and having salt and pepper grinders rather than using packets you've lifted from KFC. If being middle class is having a certain standard of living, then that's me. But I know for a fact that if I quit my job and had a couple of kids I could be living in a council flat free of charge and picking up more in benefits than I earn working.

Whatever I am, I'm someone who has respect for other people and for myself. Something that's lacking in a lot of places these days, especially in the media.