Still ejecting piles of books every day. I’ve impatiently upped my daily rate to two or even three piles per day: with an average of 15 books in a pile. The aim is to reduce the number so all books are actually contained in the two bookcases, as opposed to forming tottering piles on the floor or other surfaces. All filed neatly and properly (ie vertically) with space for new ones. Then I’ll finally be able to see exactly what I have. As opposed to what happened yesterday, when I discovered I’d absent-mindedly bought the same book twice on more than one occasion, and the duplication remained undetected for months. It’s all part of my grand scheme to convert what’s essentially a gathering of clutter into a vaguely decent working space.
I’m also using the process as an excuse to walk around town (getting some exercise into the bargain) and find new charity shops to bother. Some shops are clutter-domes themselves, and I feel bad about adding to their burden. Some have filters and rules about what they will and won’t take.
‘No technical manuals,’ says the frosty lady in one Oxfam bookshop. ‘No out-of-date travel guides. AND the books must be in a good, clean condition. We’ll have a look at you’ve got.’
Which to me sounds like my carrier bags will be thoroughly vetted while I have to stand there sheepishly, like I’m at Customs, with the possibility of still having books on my hands when I walk out.
I wouldn’t mind this undignified ritual if I were actually selling the things, eg at Music & Video Exchange. But as I’m donating to charity I think life’s too short, so I give the shop a miss.
The lady at another Oxfam bookshop, on the other hand, has something of a friendlier attitude on the phone.
‘Just bring it all in, we’ll take it! It’s not a problem. It’s good of you to donate.’
Which is exactly what I want to hear, of course.
One of the many inlay dedications, over ten years old:
Hope the New Year sees Orlando become massive. Thanks for all your love and correspondence in the past year, it means a lot. Love & friendship, xxx.
I’m pleased to find I did write back to those that sent me letters in those days. Proper ink on proper paper, proper stamps on proper envelopes. I met the girl in question at a club recently, for the first time in years, and was pleased to see she seems to have her life in order. Certainly more so than me, anyway. Though she wasn’t exactly falling over herself to talk to me, and I have a feeling I represent her embarrassing teenage past to her.
It’s odd to realise you’ve been someone’s Funny Little Phase, From Their Madder Days. But that’s fine. I’m glad to be of use. And I have my funny little phases too.
The books go into the bags, off to a new life.
