FantasyCon 09

Minion One does most of the work around here, at least as far as the blog and the online shop is concerned. I've been lax, to say the least in doing my share of updating the blog for which I can only apologise.

As One mentioned, we all went off to Nottingham the other weekend for the annual British Fantasy Society convention called FantasyCon. Due to late registration, we didn't actually get round to having a dealer's table so spent the weekend milling about and trying to meet some writers in the hope of scrounging up some signed first editions we could surreptitiously sell! (Only joking - we don't do anything surreptitiously!)

I didn't see Sam for most of the weekend, though I did catch a glimpse of him one evening in a corner of the hotel bar chatting with Ramsay Campbell and a man who had obviously come dressed as HP Lovecraft and who had done a really good job: the likeness was remarkable.

One spent most of the weekend scouring the dealer's room for books, mostly to read, partly to sell, and came away with a huge hoard, most of which she's read already. I picked up a few books from the independent presses - we should all support our new writers and publishers, I think - and have been working through them.

The Catacombs of Fear by John Llewellyn Probert - a cracking collection of five stories linked by a framing sequence, written by one of the few remaining British eccentrics! These stories are great: good, solid horror stories, and John Probert - whom I met for five minutes - is an absolute diamond of a guy!

Conjure by Mark West - I didn't get to meet Mark unfortunately as he was only at the Con for one day but everyone who mentioned him said he was a good bloke. His book, too, is a good, fast read - it could actually have done with being a bit longer in my opinion, but it's another good 'un.

Bar None by Tim Lebbon - Lebbon's not really small press from what I understand as he's writing full time and has a large back catalgoue. This one's a good post-apocalyptic tale featuring a selection of fine ales as well; I may well pick up some of his earlier books on the strength of this. Oh, and he's a nice bloke as well who cheerfully signed my copy for me.

That seems to be the theme for my experiences of FantasyCon - it's just full of nice people despite the predominance of horror writers and I look forward to going next year.

British Fantasy Con 09 - Prelude

Works outing this weekend as Sam, two and I go off the Nottingham for the British Fantasy Convention. Sam will not actually be attending any events but will be sort of lurking, his only stated aims is that he wants to buy William Heaney a pint and win something in the bloody raffle.
We all feel the same about the raffle. It is so immensely long that everyone should win something just for sitting through it.
I will be enjoying Nottingham and meeting up with some familiar faces and Two will probably be reverting to some insane proto-two that lives only on cigarette smoke, beer and cheerfully drunken carousing.
So this weekend the shop is shut. Malcolm will be left to fend for him self on the cold hard streets and low will be doing whatever things low does to pass his time. Some of our customers have reacted badly. Passionate Spinster said that we were throwing her weekend plans quite awry and Not So Strange Brian had a momentary release into his Strange Brian state until he remembered that he didn’t spend his entire weekends with us any more.
To book matters I’m currently reading ‘The Collector of Worlds’ by Iliya Troyanov a novel based on the life of Sir Richard Burton- the subject is fascinating but the novel less so. These half-breed books, of fact and fiction (Faction?) when the author tries to embrace both historical scholarship and the immediacy of fiction, don’t really work for me. I’m with Tim O’Brien on this (writer of the excellent novel ‘The things they carried’ based on experiences of the Viet Nam war) a writer does not have to rely on the facts to create a truthful novel.
Or is this just because I have problems with the concept of honesty as an ultimate virtue it is so often presented as? Honesty too often says something unkind and excuses itself with a whiny “ .. but I’m only being honest!”
Bah moved on from books again with surprising speed didn’t I! I love books. I live books but I seem to have developed a phobia about talking about them. So does anyone out there wants to tell me about a book? I welcome all comments and will even give a prize of Learn French with Edgar Allen Poe for the most interesting/funny /prize worthy. Just add a comment to the blog and you have entered.
In the meantime have a fab weekend and I’ll let you know how Fantasy Con went when I’m back.

Two is off again today. He is entirely recovered from his birthday and has finally stopped celebrating. As a birthday present I took him to the London Aquarium and forcibly stopped him from trying to steal a Sting Ray –little tyke! He sure does like him some flat fish.

Sam and I have had a jolly day in his absence.This morning We broke Sam’s usual silence in the shop rule to play some CD of the radio show I’m Sorry I haven’t a Clue which reduced both of us to giggling hysterics and left low cold.

Later on the post man dropped off a parcel for me which piqued Sam’s curiosity to such an extent that he ‘ forgot’ it was addressed to me and open it. It is a start to play the Ukulele set, with a rather beautiful wooden blue ukulele on which even as we speak Sam with his hugely irritating talent for musical instruments is picking out Hey Jude. When /if I get it back it will take me months to get to that level.

But to bookish business, low is reading a T S Eliot collection but not the bits about cats. That terrible smell is now in the romance section and working its way through Barbara Cartland . Two is lost in the world of DC comics and I am reading The Postman Always Rings Twice and a Dylan Thomas collection- interesting to compare and contrast . Malcolm is not reading but does seem to be trying to eat the local paper.

Happy Birthday

It is Minion Two’s birthday today. Happy Birthday Two! We have been celebrating already. Last weekend two kindly invited me out with a group of his friends for curry and beer. I had a lovely time and meet a really nice bunch of people and ate the nicest spinach and chicken curry I’ve had in ages.

This morning we had birthday cake with candles with morning tea. I cooked the cake but it was damned edible for all that. We shared it with the customers that were in at the time which included Strange Brian and JR Hartley. Low popped in on his day off to join us and Malcolm refused to come downstairs to join us. (He is getting more and more antisocial the older he gets.) Sam made a speech and then gave two the rest of the day off.

I won’t reveal how old two actually is today, but just say you’d never guess it to look at him and remind him that he is older than me

Things in the Shop Part One

Online (at Amazon) we sell quite a few CD and DVD this is because Sam is pretty happy not to infer with my running it and has even allowed me to pick the stock and control a very small stock-buying budget . I thought DVDs and CDs would sell so I occasionally pick a few up. Such lassitude is not allowed in the shop where energetically enforced rules insure only printed matter is on sale .But you will find a fair number of rogue objects on our shelves . So keeping with the unofficial and until it was pointed out to me unconscious theme of hardly ever talking about books on this blog supposed to be about our book shop and its stock, I thought I would discuss things in the shop which are not even the slightest bit booky.

I mentioned the stuffed sheep some blogs ago in connection with the strange disappearance of the craft section. The sheep is not for sale but we do get asked to sell it quite a lot. Usually by students looking to spent their loans and grants in September. Occasionally it gets stolen. I’m not sure how, we have a camera and the thing is quite large but every now and then, it is just not there.

When I was newly employed , many moon ago, I discovered one such theft and was really worried about how Sam would react. Sam just grinned and told me not to worry it would be back. He was proved right at the time and has been ever since. When it disappears it is always back, waiting at the front door within the week. I’ve not idea why someone would steal it just to return it so quickly. But then I’ve no idea why Sam insists we keep it. Once a month, two or I have the task of talcing it i.e. covering it in talcum powder to keep the smell down. It has as previously mentioned alarmingly beady little eyes.

Other objects of interest on our tour today include;

A broken fiddle by the till. One of Sam’s many. I’m not sure what he does to them but he sure gets through them
Various scented geranium in pots – mine I’m afraid. I like them and everywhere needs living greenery.
Small collection of screwed up bits of paper, a ping pong ball and a damp child’s mitten belonging to Malcolm. We have no idea why he keeps them but he gets really offended if you try to move them.
A fish tank with no fish and no water. Used as the repository of lost and found things including the interest things we find used as book marks.
A pair of massive curved horns. Not sure from what but it must have been huge.
A pallid bust of Pallas as previously mentioned on this blog
A yoyo , packet of cards , and three juggling balls property of two
A huge collection of lighters. These belong to Sam, he collects them. Some of them come from pretty famous people according to Sam but he just keeps them all jumbled up in huge spice chest which takes up one of the walls of his office.
A photo of a smug looking ginger cat pinned prominently on the staff notice board.
The skull of a Giant Auk cast in bronze.
An long museum case with a snake skin in it . Really long and some sort of python . It is predictably referred to Monty and has on occasioned unnerved the unwary visitor to the Natural History section where he lives.

Pour Salt on it.

Another day without Sam, however he did phone in instructions this morning for Two and I on the important matter of Presuming Ed. Although we have been authorized to buy stock for years, Sam usually insists that he and only he deals with P. Ed.

He once told me that we lacked the essentially fiendish nature necessary for successfully making deals with him.
His instructions today were clear, if it looks like a bargain: consider it, if it looks like a completely fantastic bargain, be very very wary and if it looks like a steal spill salt on it. I assumed that wasn’t a literal instruction but one of Sam’s odder proverbs.

Anyway I think we did OK between us, new stock will be appearing on-line soon. We did I’ll admit buy a few items for quirk value – learn French with Edgar Allen Poe anyone? – but mostly we were depressingly conservative in our selection. Still we will see tomorrow when Sam is here to inspect the stock.

Just thought I’d end today’s entry by blatant plugging of an author who book we do not have in stock. I mentioned Kate Griffin’s A Madness of Angels previously. Really it’s very good, have a hunt round for it. It is good solid meaty fiction, a meal of a book -starter main and dessert. Not just, as I find so often, a bag of sweets which though lovely at the time, do leave you feeling ever so slightly sick afterward.

It is the story of Matthew Swift a London based sorcerer, of why he died and what happen after. The book has a long and slightly confusing prologue which makes total sense when you have finished the book, so please stick with it. I enjoyed it enormously. Kate Griffin is an author I would happily buy a drink for. (The ultimate accolade from a poor second-hand book vendor such as myself.)

Obviously she not Graham Joyce who is a fabulous writer but who gets my undying and slightly stalkerish loyalty because he once bought me a curry – but really please go and check her work out.

When I got in this morning, I found a small pile of feathers and no pigeon. Malcolm was asleep on the window seat looking smug. I fear the worse.

Sam is not in today so two and I have been taking liberties. Sam believes the shop should be a quiet place where the only sounds heard are the sneezes of customers as they take down books and displace tones of dust and of course the merry ringing of the till. Two and I therefore like to indulge in something more musical when Sam is safely away. Unfortunately this causes disruptions in the normal excellent working relationship between two and myself as our music tastes find little common ground. It is true that I have come to appreciate some of Metallica’s back catalogue but Toyah is a screechy step too far and two has gained an appreciation of the Hoosiers and Kaiser Chiefs but if I go any jazzier than that he begins to mutter under his breath in a most alarming manner.

However we both agree low will never again be allowed to play his choice of music. I was expecting dark and miserablist but the tuba solo throw me to start with, then when the bagpipes came in I felt quite queasy and all our customers left.

One of our favourite dealer-men is in tomorrow, Presuming Ed. I’m looking forward to it. He always brings us goodies, lots of good quality general stock but usually something special which disappears in the Sam’s private collection. Last thing I got from him was a unchecked proof of Kate Griffins A Madness of Angels, which is an excellent book if you enjoy the urban magic sub-genre, which I do.

Catch up

I’m very much back in work now. So I thought I’d catch you up on the news from Sam’s. First we are having a wedding. Jane our older S and M sister is getting married. Apparently the new trills in her life (from the books) have given her a sparkle which bought her to the attention of a certain gentlemen from the sheltered accommodation where she lives. In her sister's words ‘she snaffled the only decent bachelor in the place ‘
Both blushing bride to be and bashful groom came in today to ask two and myself to be ushers. How nice. We of course said yes. Apparently the wedding will be an epic affair and the bride as it is her first wedding will be wearing white and a veil. The groom seems a fine young man, being only seventy.
Malcolm has whilst I was away disgraced himself quite badly and is the current target of Sam’s icy disdain. Malcolm bought a live pigeon into the shop which we have so far been unable to capture. It has eaten Sam’s secret stash of ginger nut biscuits and blemished both books and the coats of customers which has hit Sam where it truly hurts –his pocket. I’m quite enjoying the gentle cooing as I work.
Strange (aka dashing but hairy) Brian continues to enjoy his bobble liberation having become a bit of a star on our local radio station with his spirited and eloquent comments on pretty much anything that occurs to him
Sam’s nephew, Harry, came in again while I was away. Two reports that he and Sam spent several hours in Sam’s office and raised voices were to be heard.
Two and low are well. That terrible smell has moved into the thriller section and we seem to have acquired a white marble bust of (Sam says) “Pallas to go above our chamber door” Due to Health and Safety concerns, i.e. it is very heavy, we are currently using it to prop open the door of the engineering section.

You can't catch it from a blog you know.

It is always nice to be part of something bigger than yourself. I’ve recently had the life affirming experience of joining a growing army round the world and going down with Swine Flu. My version was pretty mild by all accounts but really, really unpleasant never the less.
Still the bits when I wasn’t feeling like death was the only option, were pleasant even enjoyable. Too tired to do anything around the flat, I lay on the bed for two days and read so many books. I’m currently enjoying the popular psychology /economic genre – I recommend Richard Wiseman’s .59 seconds and I’ve just started Nudge by Thaler and Sunstein. The book that triggered me off this topic was Derren Brown’s absolutely fantastic Tricks of the Mind which is a highly readable ragbag of interestingness.
Then when I was better I watched a bunch of old movies; Blithe Spirit –with Margaret Rutherford as the medium Madame Allcantie; High Society; Harvey; and The Lady Killers.

I’ll blog again soon and more cheerily I promise

What we are all reading

Very hot in the shop at the moment , so hot that Malcolm has refused to actually enter the premises and instead just lies in the back yard under my sweet peas. Sam had a bit of a shout at him, but Malcolm just looked at him , sighed and fell to sleep.

Currently I am reading Graham Joyce Do the Creepy Thing . I'm a big fan of Mr. Joyce but had avoided reading this novel for sometime as it is young adult, a classification I hate. Do we have a middle aged /old adult books ? No we don't . So why not let a book be judged by its own merits rather than as a class. Like all good young adult books Do the Creepy Thing is just a great book, full stop. Apparently To Kill a Mockingbird is now defined as YA . Sometimes this business does my head in .

Sam is reading Tasker Hepplewater's Mock Turtle. Which he says in rather too heavy on the mock not enough about the turtle.

low is reading signs of doom in the smoke which might be a book or just be one of low's statements of fact.

Two and Malcolm are n't reading. Malcolm is too exhausted by heat to remain awake long enough to focus.

Terrible Smell is now in Romantic Fiction. We are worried that it might have become hooked on Barbara Cartland.

Never Again

That's it - no more wine for me.

Sam's longest day party was a great laugh with customers coming from far and wide (Sam welcomed everyone to the evening, hinting that some of them had come from VERY far away . . . I've no idea where he means or why the crowd gave a knowing laugh) and really enjoying themselves.

I had a glass or two of wine and planned to simply sit back and enjoy the evening.  Despite Minion One's earlier post, I did actually notice her looking very nice in a dress but - and this is why I'm steering clear of the liquidised grape from now on - my attention was drawn to another lass who seemed intent on "easing my troubled soul" (her words)

I'm ashamed to say I didn't catch her name before she latched on to my face and, so it seemed, attempted to drag my troubled soul out of her mouth using her tongue.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur as she plied me with wine and wantonness.  I swear I kept seeing Sam grinning every time he glanced over at me.

By the time the party ended, I'd somehow drifted off to sleep and the somewhat fey lass had vanished along with most of her companions.  I woke to find Malcolm staring at me with a mixture of disdain and disappointment with more than a dash of contempt.  Before I could say anything, he turned and wandered off.

Minion One has been very gracious over the last few days, not really asking questions about my mysterious lady friend, but Sam has done next to nothing except grin and chuckle at me which is more than a little disconcerting.

"Perhaps now you can get back to work instead of mooning around like a love-sick teenager?"  he asked me this morning.  I had to agree that perhaps I could.

Whoever she was, she certainly took my mind off the customer from a couple of months ago . . . but I'm still not going to drink any more wine.

Party - the Aftermath.

I still have a headache from the party.
I'm not a girly girl but last Thursday I had something akin to a brain storm and ended up buying an actual dress, red, very feminine , scoop neck with roses on it . My usual work wear is jeans , a pony tail, DMs and a t-shirt covered in dust. So it was a bit of a change. Unaccustomed as I am to going anywhere as a girl, it all took slightly more time to get ready than I thought it would and I was later than I meant to be to the party.


The bonfire was roaring away. Alcohol was flowing and the music was pretty loud. I felt really quite odd facing up to all my friends in a different guise. SH was very complementary and told me if he was only 100 years younger he'd dance me off my feet. Malcolm pretended not to recognize me .
Low said I reminded him of la belle dame sans merci, who ever that is.
Strange Brian , now gallant if rather hairy Brian insisted on presenting me with a rose rather to the annoyance of his lady friend.


Two , well two had his tongue down some blond woman's throat and didn't seem to notice which goes to prove you can't win universal approval .


Still the party was fab Sam had put some pallets down and so we had dancing . Sam proposed his traditional toast to us all and as usual flung his wine on the roots of the old apple tree when he thought we weren't looking . He does it every year , if he doesn't like the wine why pour it ?


I did like the wine which brings me back to the headache.
Two is being very solicitous and has supplied me with bacon sandwiches and tea frequently - he is feeling no ill affects and instead wanders the shop beaming like an errant sunbeam.
It's been a while since I've done any actual book based blog so I'll have a lie down now and get thinking on my next blog.

Must Try Harder

I have been remiss in adding to this blog, Minion One keeps telling me. She's not averse to poking me when she's telling me, either, which simply reinforces the fact that she has very sharp fingernails that can pierce even the thickest T-shirt.  While Sam doesn't know a blog from a wiki, he fully supports One in her endeavours and has asked me twice this week whether I've "scripted anything for the electronic shop diary?" Low, the skeletal Goth who sometimes works in the nether regions of the shop, avoids me claiming my soul is "too dark a mirror" for him to look upon.

Even Malcolm's been staring at me with more disdain than usual.

It's been over a month since my lady friend broke up with me and I think I've just about worn out everyone's sympathy, even One's.  She's been a great friend but even the best of friends get bored of the same old story over and over.

So here's a promise - I shall attend Sam's Midsummer party this Sunday and buck up my ideas, get back on track and, at the very least, be more cheerful than Low.

And who knows?  Maybe I'll meet someone at the party?

Party over here!

Sam doesn’t do holidays, at least not the same ones as everyone else. We regularly open on Christmas day – strangely or sadly we have quite a few customers on the day and Sam serves up Mulled Paint stripper. But Sam does do Mid-summer big style.

Our shop stands on the corner of the square and then there is a gap where a house fell down years ago. Then there is a row of little shops including Bobbitt’s the haberdashery which was last decorated in the 1950s and is just coming back into fashion now. The third side is made up of the high street proper and as such is mainly soulless units of Pound land, Starbucks and shoe shops. Then it is round to us again via some big old Victorian town houses which have seen better years. (I know I live in one of them.)

But inside this square is a patch of land which Sam has annexed into the property of bookshop. It is here that Sam holds the summer party. Sam is as you may have gathered, not a man of great sentient or with a overflow of love towards his fellowman but for one night he is the most benign of hosts, flinging open the gates to the area, performing magic tricks for the children, making people laugh and even playing contagiously catchy tunes on his fiddle.

Lots of people from the local area come, and some really strange strangers show up too.
Although the party is pretty much come as you are there are large numbers of people in costumes. Years ago I spend most of the evening talking to a very charming man who was suited and booted as a well off city gent, except that he had a beard of the most brilliant sky blue. We were getting on really well and he had just invited me back to his pad when Sam wandered over muttered something in his ear and my blue bearded friend turned pale and left in a hurry. Sam then told me to work behind the bar for the rest of the night.

Still I’m looking forward to this year’s party on Sunday if you are in the area it usually kicks off at six and we’d be delighted to see you.

The lurker in the shadows

Low doesn’t do hot weather whilst Two, Malcolm and I collapse into shady corners of the shop and demand ice-cream, Low ignores the sun and just keeps going. He doesn’t sweat or slow down he just keeps moving quietly and slowly round in the shadows.

Low is as previously mentioned the long standing, stand-in for the shop. He worked here before I arrived. Legend has it he worked here in the time of the sainted Ozzy, Sam's much missed partner in crime. (Ozzy is another story, Sam claims he was the wittiest and most intelligent being, excluding himself of course, who ever set foot in the shop. Ozzy is currently apparently traveling.)

But back to Low, Low is a Goth and alarmingly skeletal. Small children seem to find him utterly fascinating whilst he tends to unnerve adult customers who haven’t previously met him.

Sam maintains Lowe is in fact a confused corporeal spirit whose is unaware that he’s actually dead. Sam will say that type of thing, shake his head and add

A great shame! Someone should tell him, and help him cross to the other side! I would myself you know but he works for peanuts and I can’t afford to lose him.

Low is a good bloke. He is quiet but I think he’s just shy. He likes to hum while he works and he’s pretty tuneful. He has also been helping me get the courtyard back into shape so we have a nice shady little garden out there. The man definitely has a touch of genius with roses though.I don’t know what he did with them but the air round here is heavy with the scent of these velvety black red roses and they’re showing no signs of fading.

I find him pretty restful company . Two who is not yet quite his normal cheerful self says he is a poseur who knows nothing of the real pain of life. Much as I love two if he doesn't buck up soon I'm going to have kick his arse.

Hay on Wye

Just a quick one tonight as Minion two and I are off to the Hay on Wye Festival in a few minutes. If you are a second hand book shop fan (and if you aren’t why are you reading this?) you must visit Hay. The town centre is small but contains 30 odd major book shops some of which are specialist and others general. Plus it is beautiful and has a fudge shop. Only don’t try to stay in the town during the festival unless you have had the foresight to book 3 years in advance.

Two and I are just going to watch Dylan Moran, whose character in the TV series Black Books is the very pinnacle of second hand book shop keepers and of course have a look at some books.

We are busy again at the moment and our favourite stand in book seller Low is working with us I’ll write later this week and introduce Low to you properly

Milton he just gets funnier and funnier!

Miss S cornered Sam at the junction between Popular and Unpopular science today. She wanted to talk poetry; she’d spotted Sam at the desk reading Milton which Sam likes to declaim to us if the shop is quiet. He reads it out aloud in a very serious manner, lines like,

Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell;
And in the lowest deep a lower deep
Still threat'ning to devour me opens wide,
To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heav'n

Then he laughs like a hyena until he cries.

We left him there for 20 minutes before we rescued him. He would have done the same for us.

I've Been Busy

Our esteemed employer, Sam, has a variety of methods for letting you know he's displeased with you. There's the obvious shouting and waving of arms - admittedly it's mostly Malcolm who suffers this sort of abuse; there's the low growl in his chest that permeates the shop, echoing off the shelves, which is often heard after a customer asks if we stock any Dan Brown novels; there's the quiet, inventive swearing that follows those rare occasions when a seller persuades Sam to part with more money than he wants to - I once had to look up in a medical dictionary a word that Sam had used to describe someone and actually blushed upon reading the definition.

And then there's the cold, hard glare accompanied by glacial silence.

That's what I've been getting for the last couple of days.

One has been very kind to me - she's been making me tea and listening to me babble on and on about my woes - but Sam, I've discovered, has little sympathy for the broken hearted. As One has previously mentioned, these last few weeks I've been - I admit - head over heels with a lady friend whom I met through the shop. She had come in and asked about a certain author, I had offered my opinion and simply chatted with her. A few days later, to my surprise, we were out on our first date.

She started spending time at the shop, got on with both One and Malcolm (who are both excellent judges of character) and everything was going fine until . . .

Until it wasn't. She broke up with me a few days ago and hasn't been in the shop since. While One has been a good and reassuring friend, Sam has been giving me the cold stare and silent treatment. One actually approached him earlier today and asked why he was annoyed with me.

"Love at his age is a fleeting thing. It arrives quickly and then leaves but will always be replaced by a new one given time," he said, stacking some books. "Customers, however, once lost will never return."

The moral of Sam's story: never date a customer.

this week we have mostly been...

It had been a quiet week here at Sam Haine’s business has been ticking over nicely. Two and I have been working on a spring clean of the children, astrology and occult sections. They meet at a rather unruly junction mid shop, and as Sam supports a Venn diagram effect to book placement one shelf sports a solitary book entitled “Dr Dee’s first book of planets and their placements”.

The high point of the week was spotting Strange Brian talking to a young and attractive woman. No so unusual you would think for a grown man to talk to a grown woman, but rather a breakthrough for Strange Brian whose previous attempts to communicate have often looked dangerously like stalking.

We were rather thrown by an unexpected arrival this morning. Sam had disappeared about business and we weren’t expecting him back until mid afternoon. So we were thrown when this guy, quite young, blond, far too sharply dressed wandered in asking to see him. I assumed he had something to sell and explained that although the owner was away I could look at his stock. To which he smirked and said

“I bet you could, darling “
Ick.
Seeing my unimpressed face, he stopped smirking and said
“Just tell Uncle Sam, Harry is here to see him.”
“Harry Haines?”
Said Two who had by now wandered over.
“No” he said like he was talking to simpletons “Scratch. Harry Scratch “.
When we final convinced him Sam was really out, he scowled, told us to be sure and tell his Uncle Sam that Harry had called and would call back and stomped off.

Sam has a nephew, wow. He always said he had no family and was heartily glad of it.
Mind you if my nephew was a charmless as Harry I’d disclaim him too.

The story so far.

It has been a while since my last blog for which I apologize. I have been away and Minion 2 was going to look after you but he is currently in love and so is no use to man or beast.
I went to visit my folks in Wales and spent some time in an old watering hole of Dylan Thomas, nearly every wall had a blue sign saying Dylan Thomas stayed here, or ate here or throw up and had to have a little sit down here. Still the bay was beautiful, the woods fecund and wild, the walking bracing and I saw seals.
But to business, what is happening in the shop? The S&M sisters have been in again. We had to find them a large print Karma Sutra, as a reference book so that they can check what exactly the books meant. Apparently they have started a reading group in the home and have a devoted circle of admirers who turn up to hear them read snippets from the books. The sisters were vaudeville performers once upon a time and so are ’more than capable of giving a spirited reading, which still carries to the back of the room‘ I am told. The mind boggles.

The JR Hartley addict has been in after some negotiation and I don’t know, probably bizarre blood rites in which he pledged his soul to the shop , or at least his wallet to Sam, been allowed entry to the holy of holies , Sam’s specialist collection. He left after several hours practically glowing from within like the Galahad having seen the Grail.

Malcolm fell from the top shelf where he had apparently been sleeping and alarmed a nun.

Horrible smell has now moved to the horror section, where it seems to be enjoying James Herbert. Minion 2 is trying to get it interested in other writers and keeps leaving Tim Lebbon books open for it.

Most curiously Strange Brian bereft of bobble, is slowly emerging from his habitual outfits in to some thing newer and smarter all together. Feeling unable to wear his hat sans bobble (“I mean it’s just a mockery isn’t it? “He said) the large duffel coat just had to go too. So he appeared in a leather duster which along with the furious beard made him look like the sort of person neighbours later describe as a quiet loner.
I found him in the sci-fi /steam punk section clutching his head and having a mild panic attack Sam correctly identified his malady and grabbed his spare hat from the hook by the door. It was his rather natty Blue Straw trilby with pink band; he firmly stuck it on SB head and yelled
“Keep it “as he rushed back to whatever.
When we next saw him he was wearing a shabby navy suit and the trilby. The week after the suit was upgraded to a smart sharply ironed number with crisp white t shirt. As SB was leaving I complimented him on the new look and put a white Gerbera in his button hole for him. He confessed he was thinking of trimming his beard a little. Wow, we might know what SB looks like any day now!

From Kettering with love

It is with great sadness that Sam Haines book shop must report the lost of a dear friend. For sometime the situation had be precarious, and the news we had all been dreading came though just after lunch.

Strange Brian came in; the bits of him that are visible to the human eye seemed distressed. After several false starts and the emergency administration of a cup of tea, Brian was able to break the news to us that the bobble had finally parted from his hat and could now be

“Anywhere from here to Kettering “.

Careful questioning revealed that it is extremely unlikely that the bobble is now in Kettering as the hat and Brian have never visited that doubtless fair city but who as Minion 2 asked who can really know the way of rogue bobbles?

People of Britain your help in this matter would be appreciated the bobble is of indeterminate colour and if found maybe returned to Sam Haine’s book shop at the usual address.

The Further Adventures of the Terrible Smell

Strange Brian, has forwarded a theory to explain the odd and
intermittent smell in the shop.
It has been particularly vibrant recently becoming so peculiar, so
specific unto its self that we have come to regard it as an entity in
its own right.
This is, in fact, what Brian maintains it is.
Brian walked in on friendlily banter between myself and Two about the
subject, which has be proven, despite his earlier blog on this subject
not in fact to be in any way caused by Two or activities of Two. Despite
it's affinity with Malcolm we have no reason to believe that they are
related either, and myself and Sam were discounted from the scope of
inquiry sometime ago.

(Sam incidentally always smells of heat, the smell of stones baked in a
summer sun, a curious smell but if you are the type of person to notice
these kinds of things you'd recognise it instantly. Two smells of
Chocolate and washing powder and Malcolm smells, often unfortunately, of
what ever he has been napping on, or near.
It is weird but I'm female and we notice this kind of stuff.)

SB when appealed to for his opinion first looked at us as if we were
deranged and then told us in tones clearly indicating that we should
know this, that the smell was in fact a pan dimensional being, only able
to manifest himself in our world as a non-corporal being. Apparently
this sort of thing is well documented in the kind of magazines Brian
reads. Brian further advanced the theory that he, the pan-dimensional
being, seems particularly fond of Arthur Ransome adventures.

When Two mentioned this theory to Sam, Sam looked grumpy and said
" I don't care what dimension he is from, this is not a library, go and
tell him to buy before he reads our books. I will expect this matter to
be resolved by the end of the week"

Now Two and I are left with an even more troublesome question, how do
you stop a pan-dimensional being shop lifting?

The adventures of the stuffed sheep or where is the Craft section?

"Excuse me! "
"Hello "I say looking up "can I help you?"
"Yes "says customer "I'm looking for the crafts section"
As this particular customer looks like a giant unraveling jumper, I'm
not surprised.
"It's through those doors" I say "up the stairs and second room on the
right , there is a stuffed sheep in the corner"
"Right" says lady and disappears.

Twenty minutes later there is a polite cough as I'm up the ladder in
Poetry.
"Hello again "I say "any luck?"
"No "says slightly flustered, hand knitted woman
" There is no Craft section. I've looked where you said and it's not
there."
"Hmm "said I. "I'll just check with you." which is code for lord
preserve us from the terminally confused.
So we go though the doors, up the stairs, past the first room on the
right and blimey she is correct. There is no craft section, there is no
stuffed sheep, and there is no second room.
"Err "I say "I'm terribly sorry. I'll just check with my colleague."
Minion 2 and I are currently sporting Spider man walkie-talkies,
borrowed from my nephew, they are handy for calling tea related
meetings.
So as bobbled lady watches, I contact Two.
"Two" I say "where is the craft section? "
There is a moment confused silence over the airwaves.
"Are you taking the piss?" Two asks.
"No" I hiss into the hand set, turning my back to knits with yak woman.
"Where the hell is Craft?"
"Um "says Two, his wariness carrying loud and clear "OK. You know the
double doors by the counter/Well it is through those, up the stairs, and
second room on the right. There is a stuffed sheep in it, you can't
miss it."
"I'm standing there now" I hiss "it's not here"
"What? "says Two " the sheep's missing ? "
"No " I say, "well yes,the sheep is missing, but so is the room"
"I'll be right there " Said Two.

Two and I stare at the space where the room was. Mrs Woven from thistles
has left in a huff convinced our blank incomprehension is an elaborate
prank.
"Do you think " 2 asks "that Sam has , err , moved it ?
"The entire room ?" I say with it must be admitted, awe in my voice.

Sam comes back from a buying trip that afternoon.
"Boss" I say "have you ... um .. done anything with the Craft
section?"
Sam gives me a pitying look, that we usually reserve for terminally
stupid customers.
"No "I say hurriedly "it's gone. Really Boss it has." Beside me 2 nods
"Hum" says Sam and starts off. Two and I follow behind. We go through
the doors, up the stairs, and there, second door on the right is the
craft section.

I think the stuffed sheep looks more cynical than usual.

Ain't love loverly ?

Spring is in the air and lovers appear like mushrooms on the wooden pallets we have rotting in the back yard of the shop.

Clearly there is something about bookshops that brings out the romantic side of some people. Maybe it is the quiet , maybe it is the long winding avenues of books, whatever, everywhere you look this week there have been couples playing peek a boo round the shelves. Frankly it is all quite sickening.

Worse than this Malcolm seems to have been smitten too with the love bug, already given to alternating between poetic languor against book shelves and
macho posturing in the window he has now added singing/caterwauling and coming in to the shop really late to his talents. We have no idea who his paramour is but frankly I hope the situation resolves itself shortly, the anticipation is unnerving us all.

To more practical matters, I am reading a series by Patricia Briggs featuring Mercedes Thompson, a mechanic and coyote shaped skin walker. I have a love-hate relationship to the bit-chick-lit genre. I love the idea but so many of them end up going all Anne Rice/Laurel K Hamilton on me. My ideal of character development goes beyond the character acquiring more and weirder sexual partners. But so far Patricia Briggs is OK by me.
Minion 2 is reading The Seven Basic Plots by Christopher Booker
Malcolm, for reasons explained above, is dozing in the poetry section and Sam is reading The Green Dogs of Sorrow by Marshall France, which he says is magnificent but flawed.

I meanwhile, am off to do something about those rotting pallets.

What would your cat say about you?

One of the best things about working in a bookshop and are there are many good things believe me, is the sheer number and variety of books I am daily surrounded by.
SH has a liberal policy toward the stock, if no customer actually dares wrestle it from your hands and if it is going back into the shop at some stage: he is quite happy for you to borrow it.
(This is one of the ways he retains staff, I have become so attached to a lot of the books acquired this way that I daren’t leave in case I have to give them back!)
My most interesting recent acquisition is a fab collection of short stories by Saki. If you have never encounter this fantastic writer I hereby gift you with a snippet of a short story called “Tobermory"
Synopsis- At a country house party a visiting professor announces to the guests that he has perfected a procedure to teach animals’ human speech. He demonstrates this on his host's cat. Soon it is clear that he omitted to teach Tobermory to be silent about certain facts…

Major Barfield plunged in heavily to effect a diversion.
"How about your carryings-on with the tortoise-shell puss up at the stables, eh?"
The moment he had said it every one realized the blunder.
"One does not usually discuss these matters in public," said Tobermory frigidly. "From a slight observation of your ways since you've been in this house I should imagine you'd find it inconvenient if I were to shift the conversation to your own little affairs."
The panic which ensued was not confined to the Major.
"Would you like to go and see if cook has got your dinner ready?" suggested Lady Blemley hurriedly, affecting to ignore the fact that it wanted at least two hours to Tobermory's dinner-time.
"Thanks," said Tobermory, "not quite so soon after my tea. I don't want to die of indigestion."
"Cats have nine lives, you know," said Sir Wilfred heartily.
"Possibly," answered Tobermory; "but only one liver."
"Adelaide!" said Mrs. Cornett, "do you mean to encourage that cat to go out and gossip about us in the servants' hall?"

See the full story at http://www.sff.net/people/DoyleMacDonald/l_tober.htm or of course better still buy it at a good book shop near you.

From The Mouth Of Babes

We've been doing a pretty good trade via our on-line shop over the last couple of weeks since Minion1 set it up though Mr H isn't that impressed.  He's something of an old school book seller and feels that people should actually come into the shop and earn the books that they leave with.  Thankfully neither Minion1 - who does most of the on-line selling - nor myself pay that much attention to him.  When it comes to technological matters, even Malcolm knows more than Mr H.

Minion1 came up with the great idea of including compliment slips with the books that she posts out with our blog address on them - if you've found your way here because of that, or if you've just stumbled in through the ether in a random fashion, feel free to post a comment as we're always glad to get feedback.

Talking of feedback, a mother and daughter were in yesterday looking for a particular book and spent ten minutes or so hunting round in the children's section before they found it and eagerly brought it to the counter.

I swapped a few pleasantries with them - the daughter, who was about 8 or so, was quite sweet - as I jotted down the details in the ledger before noticing the mother lean forward and start to say something.

"Umm, I'm not sure if you know,"  she said.

"Your shop smells funny,"  the daughter said with a big grin.  She turned and pointed back to the children's section.  "Over there smells reaaaaaalllllllly funny,"

"Ah, yeah, we're not . . . er . . . we're not quite sure what it is,"  I said honestly.  The smell's been lingering for some time but there's no stain, no damp, no obvious cause.  Indeed the scent itself isn't readily identifiable and it seems to come and go; some days it's there, others it isn't.  The only one who seems to actually like it is Malcolm.

"Well, just thought I'd mention it,"  the mother said.

"Not a problem,"  I said.  "Enjoy your book,"  I said to the girl.

"Your shop smells funny,"  she said again, laughing this time.  "You smell funny, too!"

"Samantha!"  the mother said, half laughing herself.  I called the girl a cheeky monkey, glossing over the minor incident and watched them both leave.  Once they'd gone, I glanced round to make sure neither Minion1, Mr H nor any customers were nearby and subtly tried to sniff at my T-shirt.  I couldn't smell anything, but Malcolm soon wandered over and seemed happy to spend time with me.

The uncanny Mr S H

Beginning of last week a gent came into the shop .He sort of hovered in the door way peering at the stacks for a bit before committing himself to stepping in to the premises. Myself and MR H were front of shop, Minion 2 and Malcolm were in Children’s classics trying to pinpoint the cause of a recurring yet intermittent peculiar smell (long unnerving story), our visitor was not a regular, he was well dressed with a long, strongly featured face and the air of one who was under a compulsion to do something unpleasant.
Sam Haine’s is organized so that the stacks within sight of the door sell mostly modern paper backs, this stops in Sam‘s words “the casual shopper cluttering the serious aisles”. After our visitor had assured himself that we were a proper book shop, he disappeared in to the depths.
When he reappeared several hours later he looked entirely different. His previously immaculate camel coloured coat was covered in the thick grey fur of dust which clearly showed that he had ventured into one of Sam’s avenues. His face was flushed; his eyes bright and he carried a huge pile of books.
As I began the task of sorting, recording, and pricing the books, he talked to Sam.

“Absolutely marvelous selection you store” he said

Sam agreed.
There were a few more remarks of the innocuous sort then he asked a question it that particular, seemingly careless but oh so earnest way that all second hand book shop seller’s recognize as the call of the true addict.

“Do you happen to know if you have a copy of ... (let’s call it Fly Fishing by J R Hartley)? I had a little look for it, couldn’t see it but thought I’d mention it.”

Sam made a show of seeming to search his memory before confessing that he wasn’t totally sure but he thought he might have seen it on the shelves somewhere. A look flashed across the man’s face, greed and glee. It is the look seen on children’s faces over some inexplicable object of total desire but which adults often learn to hide.

“Well “said our gent “unfortunately I have an appointment. I’m already late! But if you do find it maybe you could give me a ring on this number? I may even come back tomorrow”

Sam agreed and took his card and after paying enough to cover mine and Minion 2 wages for the week, the gent left.
Sam idly tapped the card against his teeth for a few minutes then walked into the stacks, he returned seconds late with a book, put the card in it and put it by the till.
“He’s worth two more visits “ Sam said “ then give him this , then One, as you hand it over , do be sure to mention that you are sure we have a copy of the very limited , very rare ,practically unheard of sequel somewhere in the shop.”

Something tells me we have a new regular.

Changing Tastes

The Sisters came in today with their usual shopping trolley - the old fashioned, pull-along ones with the rectangular body that always seems to be decorated with a tartan pattern - full of Mills & Boon books to exchange for more of the same. They're both in the 80's at least but are still light on their feet and almost constantly giggling to each other, real high pitched tee-hee-hees. Every few weeks they come in with a stack of romance books and let me or Minion1 go through them while they get another load. As I was sorting out how much credit we could give them they scuttled away into the stacks and shelves and less than ten minutes later they were back with another selection.

We swapped pleasantries as I went through the novels they'd selected - the standard contemporary romance with a dash of historical - until I paused.

"Are you sure you want this one, ladies?" I asked, holding out Forest of Bondage. The cover, while not terribly risque, was a little different from Wedding Bells at Wandering Creek.

"Ooooh," said Emily, taking hold of it and thumbing through the pages. Jane leaned in and the pair of them quietly read a couple of paragraphs, their eyes widening, their pencilled on eyebrows rising higher up their foreheads towards their too-black hair.

"Oh yes," Emily said, handing it back to me. "We'll take it,"

"Do you have any others?" Jane asked. "Like this one, I mean," she said, tapping the cover.

"Ah, yes, yes we do," I said and directed them over to the small erotic fiction section.

"Could we borrow your steps?" Jane asked; the books are on one of the higher shelves and neither of the Sisters is taller than four and a half feet. I pulled over the steps we use - Minion1 watching and laughing quietly from the Horror section - and helped Emily climb up.

When they returned to the desk, their arms were laden with Nexus, Black Lace and other titles: Slave of The Spartans, Memoirs of a Sex Toy and The Old Perversity Shop.

"We'll take these instead of those," Emily said, pointing to the Mills & Boon books, she and Jane tee-hee-heeing as they viewed the scantily clad ladies on the covers. They paid for the books and head out into the cold street.

"I pity the men down at the old folks' home tonight," I said to Minion1.

"I thought a lot of men liked the idea of two ladies together," she said.

"Not when their combined ages is over a hundred," I said. We leaned back from the desk and looked out of the bay window, watching the Sisters walk away, their shopping trolley full of erotic fiction, M&B having given way to S&M.

Book reviews.

The Digital Plague is the third Avery Cates novel by Jeff Somers.

Avery Cates once small time criminal and assassin has climbed from the grim underbelly of a society ruled by a violent police force in the pay of a techno freak government., to an exulted positions as ‘king’ of his own little shit heap. Somers presents Cates as an antihero, unlovely, amoral and yet somehow with a code of honour making him a freedom fighter of the underclass, or some kind of dark James Bond figure. There is also a wider story arc about the dissolution of society with the police and government turning against one and another and the emergence of something even worse from the chaos surrounding this.

A good novel always raises questions in the mind of its reader. The most obvious question raised by sci-fi tends to be, could this be true, is this our future?

The question The Digital Plague raised for me was "why oh why am I reading this crap?" Somers clearly has a great imagination he has created a complex and believable society but his technical ability to translate those ideas into good storytelling is severely lacking. I once, out of the kind of curiosity known for killing cats read a book by Dan Brown. Somers and Brown share similar traits, the short snappy chapters, dialogue to make your teeth hurt, and a ridiculous attitude to pacing which demands a cliff hanger at the end of every chapter however contrived.

If you liked Dan Brown’s novels this is the book for you. If you prefer something coherent and in the slightest bit engaging, please be warned this is not it.

First Internet Sales!

Woohoo !

Great news we had our first internet customers today! Mr H was amazed and then quickly disgruntled. He isn’t entirely sure he is ethically comfortable with people buying his books with out being secretly vetted by himself as he lurks in the stacks or proving their worth by finding the book and retracing their steps to the cash desk, a surprisingly difficult task in Sam Haine’s as the stacks do, I swear, move by themselves at random intervals during the day.

I was once trapped in cosmology for an entire afternoon and was only able to navigate my way out when Malcolm leapt on to the old love seat at the front of the shop, sending up such a smog of dust that he and Minion 2 sneezed repeatedly. Following the sound of these muffled explosions I was able to reach familiar territory. The really weird thing is that in all that time no one heard my cries for help!

At least that is what they said.

A Spider in a dress

Every single person who has made it though the doors today has said some version of:

"Cold enough for you?"

How Minion 2 and I laughed, how droll, how original of you Sir/Madame now please shut the bloody door!

The shop is freezing, Mr H told us not to worry, we would be so busy re- stocking the shelves today from his recent buying trip, that we wouldn’t feel the cold. However he and Malcolm have spent the day in the office with the portable fire "doing the accounts", which is more like drinking tea, listening to Radio 4 and eating all the ginger nuts biscuits.

The passionate virgin came in again today, her real name is Miss Annabelle S-. Not that I have ever been invited to call her that. She is an older woman, very thin, very floral smelling and with, I think, the look of a hungry spider wearing a dress. She only buys romance and true crime and politely insists on being served by either Sam (who hides from her) or Minion 2 whom she thinks is a troubled and poetic young man in need of a woman’s guiding influence. I am, of course, not worthy of note although she did once inform me that really, I could be passable if I just tried a little.

Today she bought The Pirate’s Paramour and The Baron’s Bed-warmer plus Goriest Crime Scene Photographs 1942- 1956 volume 4.

She held on to holding Minion 2 hands as he passed over the change, looking at him sorrowfully and saying,

"Poor boy let me warm your frozen hands. You poor Darling boy,"

I lurked behind the shelves with a fly swatter; we keep for this very purpose just in case she made a sudden lunge at him and tried to drain his blood.

It is the sort of thing which happens all too often in second hand book shops.

Believe me; the industry is rife with undead attacks. I can only imagine it is something to do with the compounded weight of all those ideas in one place, the smell of ancient ink is like catnip to weirdoes.

Good news today is that http://www.amazon.co.uk/shops/samhaines2 will now take you to our Amazon store which will be updated with new stock as soon as my fingers thaw.

Currently Reading

Minion one is currently reading, The Complete Lord Peter Wimsey short story collection by Dorothy L Sayers and The End of Mr Y by Scarlett Thomas.

Minion two is currently reading The Terror by Dan Simmons and a stash of old DC comics that just arrived in the shop.

Malcolm is asleep on How to Kiss a Copy of The Encyclopaedia Britannica.

Mr Haines is reading Jacob Wrestling by James Mortmain.

Scoring With Fish

I'm glad Minion1 has set up this blog - the Amazon shop should be up and running soon so we can start selling some of the more recent books on-line. Sam (the owner) has a huge selection of older books tucked away but they're not the sort of thing most people come in to browse for during their lunch hour. If I'm honest, he tends to be dismissive of paperbacks, even the good stuff we buy in from people, preferring his old, dusty books that really do deserve the word "tomes".

He has no interest in this new electronic side of things, though, so Minion1 and I can go about our business, making a bit more money for the grumbling old man.

One of our regular customers, Strange Brian, came in today. We don't call him that to his face, of course, but it doesn't stop him from being strange.

He nodded to me as he wandered in - Minion1 was stocktaking our crime section - and headed straight for the sci-fi/fantasy section and began working his way through it. Every third or fourth day he comes in and looks through the entire section, starting in the top left with the A's and working over the two cases down to the Z's. We don't exactly do a roaring trade in sci-fi so most of the stock is the same as what he's seen earlier in the week, but he does it every time.

This morning he found something, a battered old copy of Patrick Moore's Mission To Mars, and shuffled over to the desk.

"Hey, man," he said.

I've no idea how old he is - he has a big, bushy beard which makes him look like he's in his fifties, but his eyes aren't wrinkled at all behind his round glasses and his hands are smooth. With the woolen bobble hat he always wears (complete with tattered bobble dangling by a thread) that covers up his ears, it's only his cheeks, nose, eyes and hands that we've actually seen. The rest is always bundled up in a thick coat whatever the weather.

"Hey, Brian, how are you today?" I asked.

"Good, man, good. You see the match last weekend?"

I had no idea what match he was referring to but played along - he's strange, like I said, but he's a good guy. "Yeah, yeah, pretty good game, eh?"

"Yeah, totally. That guy with the fish, man . . . what was he thinking?"

"Guy with the fish?" I asked.

"Yeah, I didn't see that coming. No wonder he scored."

Brian stared out of the window into the street. I shrugged and took the book, jotting it down in the sales register. He gave me money, I gave him change and the book.

"Y'know, yellow's not your colour, man," Brian said.

I glanced down at my clothes automatically even though I knew I wasn't wearing anything even vaguely yellow. As I looked up, Strange Brian headed out the door.

Customers: one of the constant, weird delights of working in the Sam Haine bookshop.

Review of Sam Haine's Book Shop.

Sam Haine's Book Shop is a book shop of the old school. This invariably means that the opening hours are erratic and arbitrary, dependent solely on the owner's whims. The shop itself is a grand old building that has clearly seen better days if not better epochs. Legend has it that the building was originally designed by either John Hawksmoor or Nimrod of Babylon. Should you be fortunate enough to find the well hidden entrance in the impressive facade, and still more fortunate to find the door unbarred you may enter its labyrinthine by-ways.
The stacks are spread over several floors and organised by a system of Mr Haine's own devizing. It is said that those who are able to to discern and decipher this schema of Mr Haine will instantly understand the secret of life itself. Many poor and misguided souls have tried to grasp this greatest of mysteries and may be seen still roving the stacks, gibbering shades of their former selves.
Mr Haine retains two assistants who must learn the the place of every book relative to certain fixed points within the shop. This extraordinary feat of memory excuses the often pained and harrassed look these unfortunates wear daily. Let me say this of the stock.....

Here this unpublished review, recovered from the spontaneous fire which flared in the gardening section, finishes; the only other marks on the paper are some red brown stains which Mr Haine maintains are Raspberry Jam. Hartley's probably.
Welcome to the ditigal home of Sam Haine's Book Shop. We sell via Amazon.co.uk and a link to our store will be posted soon. Thank you for your kind patronage.