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.
Thursday, 19 February 2009
Saturday, 14 February 2009
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.
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.
Monday, 9 February 2009
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.
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.
Friday, 6 February 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, 5 February 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, 3 February 2009
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.
"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.
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.
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