Harry Potter Makes Me Sick

Found it difficult to concentrate in the library today, too many distractions. There was a moment when it appeared there was a child bouncing on a trampoline but on closer examination it was a hairy Spanish student perched on the edge of a swivel chair, nursing a nervous muscle disorder in both calves. To his right sat a 70 year old, signed into someone’s Facebook account (could have been his own I suppose), but the details were masked with hunched shoulders, effectively smothering the monitor.

I had earlier left the cinema having been exposed to yet another Harry Potter and the first question I ask is am I the only person that hasn’t been taken in by this hype? There are many things that piss me off about Harry Potter, for a start there’s the whole twig-waving thing. If these wands were used to cast an incidental spell, then I could live with that, but they are used to create vast nuclear blasts. At least with The Lord of the Rings you get to see swords, bows, crossbows and arm to arm combat with believable villains and heroes who are not obsessed with their looks and their passage through puberty.

Then there’s the name itself, Harry Potter, there, it happened again, I cringed, every time there’s a need to type out those 11 letters I involuntarily cringe and why the long titles? They are annoying. Movie titles should be 2 to 3 words long, so you can bring them into conversation, like I went to see The Godfather last night, and yeah it was amazing, the thought of bringing the whole title of HP7 into conversation makes me want to vomit.

There’s also something quite irritating about Daniel Ratcliffe, it’s probably just the face, it’s the kind of face that attracts playground bullies with some ease; it’s the smugness, the goodness and the stiffness. It’s partly due also to Rowling’s plodding style of writing, yes I have read extracts in Waterstone’s, half-tempted to buy one of her earlier novels, just to see what all the hype was about, but it never got to the purchase stage. This plodding style is also evident in the Grint and Watson characters, which are nearly as irritating as Ratcliffe’s. I suppose I’m really trying to say that Harry Potter makes me sick.

The masses have been duped by the hype. I’m good at playing the hype game, I have an Iphone and a MacBook Pro and provide unpaid publicity for the Apple Corporation whenever the opportunity presents. You could scribble ‘fuck off wankers’ on the big screen and adult Harry Potter fans would still lap it up. Anyway why are we so obsessed with self-pitying children? We are being dummed down by dross. I’ll say it again because it feels good and it neutralises the cringe feeling, Harry Potter is shit. But Harry Potter (see, I just cringed again) is typical of the trend towards our culture of regressing adults back into children, and in doing so exploiting their purchasing potential. I’ve also heard adults at work talking about finishing a whole Harry Potter novel in a weekend, well so what? It’s a fucking children’s novel you morons!
End

Fat Rugby Coach

Felt inspired today, uplifted almost, swum a brisk 14 lengths in the local pool earlier before marching to the library. On the way picked up a cheese scone, prawn sandwich and some unsalted nuts, and I had an idea for a novel I wanted to flesh out. When I arrived I was disappointed to find most of the study desks were taken so I had to settle for a spot opposite the public toilet, munching into a prawn sandwich was not going to be an option, for a while at least. Vagrants use the public library toilet as well as toddlers and airport passengers stranded overnight. The toilet also boasts a permanently soggy towel and the toilet tissue is clamped so tight in its dispenser you struggle to extract one sheet unscathed at a time. Today Josef sat opposite me, to the right, he waved but I chose to ignore him, I need to start making it clear to him, and to me, that we are not friends. Besides, he was engrossed in a Japanese samurai slasher movie with plenty of gore and subtitles, whilst still playing backgammon and decimating a packet of stale, party size sausage rolls, stolen no doubt from the local Sainsbury’s.

I felt inspiration draining away as I stared at blank paper. My desperation was complete when I felt an earth tremor. Something had landed onto the chair and desk next to me. Hesitantly, I ripped out The Smashing Pumpkins from my ears and slowly twisted to take my first look at this monstrosity. I started from the feet, hobbit feet, without the hair, they were certainly flat and bloated, probably due to a water retention-related illness, then worked up. It’s knee, the one nearest to me, was scared, evidence of a recent operation and the thighs were designed to double up as shock absorbers. The thighs also resembled cured Parma ham joints, covered in a pair of yellow shorts. A grey T-shirt, stretched to capacity, failed to contain breasts and a stomach from spilling out. Perspiring heavily it snapped open a miniature notebook with sausage-like fingers and proceeded to settle. It was evident that he had recently enrolled on a distance-learning course, the end result being a Certificate in Rugby Coaching Level 3. His physique also suggested that he had a history of nestling his head and trunk between the buttocks of other rugby players. I then made the fatal mistake of assuming he was taking out his textbook, notebook, pen, pencil and calculator to study rugby coaching but I was mistaken. Within minutes he was logged onto Facebook and chatting to someone called Scarlett Princess, to discover the content of the chat I needed to have got a lot closer, this would have attracted unwanted attention. The Supremes’ ‘Baby Love’ shattered my concentration by breaking through onto the Fat Rugby Coach’s mobile, he fumbled around for a while, eventually locating the mobile, secreted between folds of fat somewhere between thigh and belly. He began to convince his ‘darling’ not to bother meeting him in the library because he ‘still had loads to do’, advised her to do the shopping, then pick up the kids from Gemma’s before picking him up at 4, it was barely 1 o’clock now, but she fell for it. Satisfied with a job well done, he left his Blackberry out, by his notebook, this time prepared for any further intrusions from Diana Ross and carried on chatting to Scarlett Princess. If only I could have got through to ‘darling’, maybe I could have encouraged her to sneak into the library, yep, that would certainly have made for an entertaining interaction.

Why Don't You Believe Me?

Some people have no inhibitions, especially in public spaces like a library, a place for quiet study and personal reflection. Right now there is a demented mother attempting to teach her six year old child the 3 times table, I kid you not. This child has lots of potential. He rebels against the banality of the 3 times table, taking the mother on at her own game (I discover that the child’s name is Oscar! Oscar for fuck’s sake!), and starts to count confidently, from 1 to 10, only missing out on 6, 8 and 9.

With Oscar and mother safely away from the library a psychopathic lunatic takes centre stage. Mr Matthew Carlton approaches the information desk where he announces that he has lost his library card. It soon transpires that he lost this card whilst living and working in Swansea, and then, after some confusion, it is established that the card, if ever found, could only be used again in the Swansea library, it is clear enough for me, but not so for Matthew Carlton who still wanted the card replaced, immediately. The Library Assistant, demonstrating incredible patience, for I would have spat at Matthew Carlton by now, managed to sit him down, calming him slightly. Matthew Carlton was happy enough to chat about his work as a Credit Controller for a factory in Swansea and about his brother who was recovering from a recent knee operation in Addenbrookes Hospital, but panicked when asked about his current address, what did this man have to hide? Or was he just extremely paranoid or was he indeed his own brother? Unlikely. Carlton continued in this vein, haranguing the Library Assistant and insisting that a phone call be put through to the Swansea library, to verify his details, it would not have surprised me in the least if the library in Swansea were able to verify that it was indeed the same Mr Carlton. Fifteen minutes later Matthew Carlton had managed to negotiate thirty minutes of free Internet time on one of the computers. I suppose everyone’s likely to give in to the demands of a Lecter-type psychopath, eventually.

My View Is Better

My writing has stalled due to a bizarre conversation currently taking place behind the dividing wall that separates a row of computers and the study area in the library. Two women, I’m guessing well into their sixties were both witnesses to a particularly grizzly road accident in the town centre several days ago. They seemed to be both scoring points off each other, one having a better view because she was closer to the kerb whilst the other had an even better view of the blood from were she was standing. The conversation was miraculously halted by the Library Assistant who asked them to quieten down but was unaware that they had broken the key rule of library stewardship and will certainly be dismissed tomorrow morning. This is a library for fuck’s sake, you are allowed to make as much noise as you wish, unless you are me and happen to be playing loud music through headphones and then you are submitted to an embarrassing assault from a platoon of Library Assistants, all intent on reminding me this is a library, and that I had ten seconds to shut the fuck up or else.

For those of you who are remotely interested, the road accident did indeed take place. I witnessed it, I was walking by after returning from Caffe Nero, and I could see two feet from under a blanket, and yes there appeared to be lots of blood on the tarmac, but unlike the two old women, I had a shit view.

It Can't Be Popcorn, Can It?

Sitting back comfortably I had earlier looked around the library thinking that, even with Josef playing backgammon with some random inmate from a Romanian labour camp, the atmosphere seemed calm and serene. There was a healthy blend of Ebaying, Facebooking and some good old-fashioned studying. Then Josef spoilt it all. From his holdall, which doubled up for a Tardis, he pulled out a popcorn bucket and proceeded to pour popcorn kernels into his Romanian gob. I was mildly surprised his infected gums and missing molars could cope with the incessant crunching. A Portuguese student sent me an alarming glare, but then had the good sense to wrap her headphones hurriedly around her face. The rattling in the bucket continued. At one stage the bucket had completely enveloped his head in his desperate search for the final few kernels. I know that he is skint, and there is no way he would pay to see a movie at Empire Cinemas, let alone purchase overpriced popcorn, how do I know? Well trust me, I know. I imagined that Josef, scavenging for food the previous night, found the bucket secreted beneath an assortment of shit in a bin outside the cinema. If only I could bundle Josef into a microwave oven, set to maximum nuclear blast and then watch, entirely satisfied, as those kernels started to blast out of his gob and arsehole!

Space Invasion

Made a vow today (9 May) never to go on a National Express coach again, even if bargain bucket special offers continue to be thrown at me. My arse and back are so sore now I can barely sit on the lavatory and fart. A cheap 2 hour journey from London Victoria to Stansted Airport turned into almost a 4 hour journey with an accident in Golders Green then again, more serious this time, on the M25. If I could have slept then the inconvenience may have been bearable, but throughout the entire journey I was sandwiched between a peanut crunching monster and a manic photographer.

Behind me sat a fat German who worked his way through several sacks of dry roasted nuts and believe me there is no worse a stench than the breath of a German who has devoured countless dry roasted nuts, I should add that the coach was overflowing, there was nowhere to escape.

In front of me sat a plump and excitable Japanese woman in her mid-twenties who held in her hands a complex-looking camera with an enormous lens, the type you see behind the goals at football matches. The problem was not the camera as such, It was more to do with the woman’s obsession with snapping at anything that moved, in fact she snapped at anything a sane human being wouldn’t dream of snapping at. She was demented. She snapped several times at a row of terraced houses in Golders Green, had she never seen a house before? Her bouncing around must have annoyed her friend, who was motionless for the entire journey.

She snapped her hands, her face and at the inside of the coach. She snapped at M25 darkness, several times, she also snapped at pylons, and at anything and everything and with every snap came an irritating click that appeared to emanate from a micro loudspeaker, followed by an even more irritating whirring sound.

Every so often her friend groaned out something in Japanese, probably something like good god woman has someone let off a firecracker into your arsehole, or something similar. She ignored him of course, as she continued to photograph his features.
Arriving at Stansted Airport, thoroughly exhausted, the manic snapper stood, wobbled along the aisle, and I’m not kidding, carried on snapping along in front of her. If anything her frenzy heightened when she spotted the terminal and continued snapping at the building. As she disappeared behind the automatic doors of the Departures lounge I sparred a thought for the poor bastards who were about to share space in an aeroplane with this complete fruitcake.

Slaughtered At Birth

Why do Library Assistants allow so much noise to go on without punishment? I mean the level of noise deserves to be challenged with a volley from an AK-47 assault rifle.

The worst offender today (10 May) is a trollop of a young mother with a screeching brat of a daughter. She hops from one computer to another, the mother that is, finding fault in everything. She lacks basic social skills and lacks any kind of IT skills. She is a heathen. Given the choice I would rather go out on a hot date with Josef rather then spend any time alone with this behemoth, but hang on that might be stretching it a bit. She soon manages to convince some poor sod in a yellow T-shirt quietly reading a book on malaria to give her a hand on logging onto Facebook, this man is in his 80s! Maybe she has learning difficulties and I’m being cruel, but right now I don’t care.

Oh Jesus, she has just crouched in front of me revealing the top part of a filthy purple thong. I think I’m going to vomit into an M&S plastic bag. As she stands I get the opportunity to inspect her gut at close quarters, which flops over the top of her jeans. This can only be the effect of recent childbirth, maybe the midwife shoved her afterbirth straight back in, what I do know is that she should have been slaughtered at birth.

She does, after a lot of confusion, manage to log onto Facebook and quickly informs her new friend in a yellow T-shirt that she is going out later and wants to find out where to meet up with her friends in Hertford. If her friends have any sense they will head to Swansea for the weekend and leave this behemoth to roam the back streets of Hertford until the early hours. As I said earlier, she should have been slaughtered at birth.

Body Odour, Prawn Sandwich

Some moron has decided to cut back on library opening times, without consulting me, and this left me in a predicament. Outside (11 May) in the heat I sit on a bench like a desperate alcoholic waiting for opening time, you would think I have enough time for a prawn sandwich.

One bite in and a decrepit old man in his 90s hobbles over and parks his arse next to mine and proceeds to scratch his chest. The scratching I can cope with, it’s the urine stench coming from his colostomy bag tucked inside his trousers I find hard.

With 8 minutes to go Josef arrives and to my disgust makes a beeline for me. Still reeling from the urine stench I sit there with half a prawn sandwich with one end bitten off praying that Josef internally combusts. He smiles, providing evidence that he has recently had another tooth booted in. He then accurately observes that I am eating a sandwich and I would have given him full marks if he had realised that the sight of him was making me thoroughly sick. This cretin wants to be my friend and I want to commit cold-bloodied murder. He then gives me an update on the heatwave in Romania, the typhoon in Japan and a recent operation on a friend in Golders Green. I ask if he has plans of returning to Bucharest, I pray he would say yes, later that day and never to return, but he responds by saying that there were no benefits and you have to get a job in Romania to survive, no fuck Josef!

With 2 minutes to go the masses have arrived and have hovered around the sliding doors. Josef asks if I’m going into the library, I just want to castrate him. The old man, suddenly alert begins to rise, and in the process releases an alarming defecating stench.

Left behind by my 2 new friends, I look at the half-eaten prawn sandwich not once but twice and decide that there is only one place for it and lob it into an already over-stuffed bin. Reluctantly I follow the odd couple in.

Mr Intense

There’s an odd sense of expectation today (3 June), perhaps it’s because the library is overflowing, maybe it’s because Mr Intense has entered the podium. He has an acute Obsessive Compulsive Disorder condition that’s incurable, he has a tendency to tidy the podium before he can settle down, he also has a clinical need to align chairs to tables and is drawn towards examining the contents of bins. Today he has a major freak out and attacks Josef, the Romanian backgammon player. He accuses him of being really annoying, which he is, but you don’t say that to Josef, because more than anything Josef is part of the fixtures and fittings, and is quite insane himself. Mr Intense is now sitting opposite me, he can’t settle, there’s something bugging him, he keeps glancing over to Josef, its more of a glare, it seems to suggest that if you upset me once more, just the once then I’ll no choice but to rip your larynx out, he really is that intense!

After a while he does settle and I begin to observe this freak. He appears to be settled but he is still on edge, I can feel his toes drumming on the carpeted floor. Not only does he have dandruff, lots of, do people still have dandruff? I thought that was something like leprosy and smallpox, kind of just went away, anyway as well as the dandruff, he has a very peculiar hairline, it kind of starts just above the eyebrows, and I’m trying to work out whether he’s wearing a very thick black t–shirt under his shirt or if he’s just lycanthropically hirsute, perhaps his mother mated with a llama. There’s also a constant film of sweat below his nose, which is disturbing. I have to say it once more though, I’ve never seen anyone so, well, intense!

The Cuckoo's Nest

Mad Woman In Red Coat arrives early again today (2 June). She has a look of complete insanity about her and that’s got a lot to do with her coat buttons, which are enormous, clown-like. The eyes are also dilated, is she on prescribed drugs? She sits down next to a retired stranger by the comfy chairs and newspapers and talks about her new shoes.

I am alone on the podium and it’s approaching 10am, there’s no Josef, no Mr Intense and no Big Nose. I begin to feel insecure, where is everybody?

The library staff members are also tense but also hyperactive. They laugh nervously, slam books into racks and jog when they can walk. Mrs Runningaround quickly glances at me as I bite into a banana muffin; maybe she to is wondering where all the psychopaths are?

By 10.30am normal service is resumed, library staff are happy, I’m happy. Josef appears, grinning, and quickly sets up his laptop and breakfast before heading to the toilet for his shower. Within 10 minutes Mr Intense makes an appearance and launches onto a swivel chair. Soon someone is working on the rusty microfiche viewer, another person causes the photocopier to malfunction and an Estonian couple arrive, inquiring about accommodation for the night. The library is quickly turning into the party scene from “One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest,” you have to be here to fully appreciate the mayhem. There’s only one solution, AC/DC’s “Highway To Hell” blasting at full volume!

Mad Woman In Red Coat

A new psychopath hits the podium today (31 May), it’s Mad Woman In Red Coat. The first thing that strikes me about the coat is the buttons, well they are not actually buttons; they are fucking teacup saucers and Jesus what a mouth! She spent over 20 minutes today hammering on to a Library Assistant about her retarded son who likes music and whether she can have half an hour on the Internet. She only wants to check her email because she is waiting for a free token to come through, for what I have absolutely no idea and to be honest I would take great delight in shoving that token right into her gob. She’s hovering around, reminds me a little of the rabbit on the wire at greyhound track racing, what is she up to? Ok, she’s gone for a piss now.

She spends over 15 minutes in there, which is not a pleasant place to spend 15 minutes in. There’s never any paper, and it’s where Josef, shaves, washes, brushes his teeth, pisses and shits, so enough said!

She’s soon out and about again and talking to random people and laughing out loud to comments that just aren’t even funny, for example, Mad Woman In Red Coat says to Library Assistant: “I see you are stacking books onto that shelf.” The Library Assistant wittily responds with “yes,” at which point Mad Woman In Red Coat, finding hidden meaning in the response, responds with uncontrollable belly laughs. My instinct tells me she should have been slaughtered at birth.

Ear Wax Epidemic

Today (30 May) Josef has surpassed himself. I didn’t think anyone could pick their ears with such burrowing intensity, but he has, and I feel thoroughly sick because he has managed to extract the last sliver of wax, the bit that separates the brain from the outside world, sniffs it curiously like a baboon then flicks it away, in the general direction of a rather startled AS student who, by the way looks not unattractive in red hair, pale skin, intelligent black glasses and a lilac dress – I’m guessing she’s well over 18!

Double Six Then Mayhem

It’s another day (29 May).

He’s just rolled double 6 by the sounds of it; celebrations are imminent.

Mayhem ensues.

Noise, lots of.

Can someone please drive a stake through his arsehole until his liver drops out of his gob?

Bursting Eardrums

He’s opposite me again today (28 May) and he’s obviously had some fresh clothes donated to him. Jesus after ten minutes he sitting back and ripping nine fucks out of a baguette, an Orang Utan would eat with greater etiquette. Oh God, how am I gonna get any work done today, he’s now cleaning bits of crust from his tooth gaps with his fingers, then he starts drilling his ears, quite incredible! He just won’t stop fuckin fidgeting, the whole desk is shaking, if I could just strangle him I’m sure people would clap and cheer, I would be the local hero, I can see the front page of The Observer: “Romanian gypsy & psychopath murdered by local hero vigilante.” The baguette by the way is a whole Sainsbury’s baguette – no filling – just baguette – oh just seen the yellow label – must be from yesterday, makes sense – and its reduced to 11p – and why 11p? Why not 10p or 15p? Now he’s started on his ear again. Please, please, please eardrum, please burst – ok even with my earplugs firmly wedged in, listening to the Doves blasting their tracks from “The Last Broadcast” – I can hear the sucking noises he’s making - in my fantasy his spleen is ripped out and shoved down his gullet. Surely his eardrums can’t take this level of abuse, when will they bleed?

Obviously there is no one out there that’s gonna believe this but he has just pulled out a tiny plastic bottle and has begun blowing bubbles – Jesus Fucking Christ! – Oh by the way the baguette has almost been devoured right down to the last few crumbs, a few specs have landed on my laptop, but to be honest, I’m beyond caring. I am close to throwing his face onto the floor and stamping on it, then ramming a cattle prod through his exposed eardrum.

30 minutes have now elapsed and he’s now ripping out the insides of a different loaf, a seeded bloomer if I’m not mistaken. I’m also pretty sure he’s not actually chewing anything – he’s just shoving bread into his mouth like one of those mincer type things that turns chunks of meat into mince meat – if only he could shove his head into one.

Another day of hopeless distractions.

Eating Bananas Like A Romanian

I’m a roll today (27 May), final stretch as they say and I’m determined to knock out another chapter. I’m prepared as well: laptop fully charged, orange fruit shoot to hand, notepad, pen, brain and AC/DC blasting out “Hells Bells” through the Iphone and there’s only one thing that can go wrong – the toothless slut from Romania (not Belarus as I had once thought) appearing and sitting opposite me, his plan of action today, was, well, quite simply to piss me off.

First, he gives everyone on the bench the distinct impression we are friends. Then he leans over and offers to wipe my laptop screen, I feel like an abused child when he does this and he has offered this service before on countless occasions and I have refused every single time, he doesn’t get the hint! His level of generosity scaled new heights today because he offered to install Vista (free of charge) on to my laptop, I could only nod my head very silently from side to side as I wearily plugged in my earphones as deep as they could go. My plan now was to avoid eye contact for the next three and a half hours.

This could not happen!

He obviously knows that everything he does pisses me off immensely. He has now decided to experiment with banana. I suppose what’s really annoying is the way he shoves the banana into his gob. It’s not just the eating of the fruit; it’s the whole build up, the whole preparation. Even now as I peep over my laptop screen he’s sitting there sucking on his sticky fingers, I’m sure by the way, he’s lost at least one more tooth since I last saw him, extra-terrestrial gum disease for certain.
Oh Jesus he’s taking his clothes off now! I can’t cope anymore and there’s nowhere else to sit. He quickly covers up by draping his torso with some kind of cape thing, or gown or maybe even some floral African smoking jacket. Anyway he has just eaten another banana. Ok I’m calming down a bit now and rocking to “Shoot to Thrill.”

2 hours later............

The creativity, the spark I had earlier has gone.......... and it’s all because I’m sitting opposite a banana –abusing fruitcake from Romania. He’s now eaten at least 8 (eight) medium-sized, fairly ripe bananas. Can you actually overdose from eating too many bananas? I’ll have to do some research later. No, make that 9 (nine) bananas, for those that are actually interested in the actual process, well once the fruit has been peeled, this is done quite skilfully I must add (he uses both lips and thumb and forefinger to undress the fruit), the whole banana is inserted into his mouth, and I kid you not when I say the actual chewing process doesn’t even start until the whole fruit has disappeared from sight!

10 (Ten) bananas

2 further hours later.............

Left the library in the safe knowledge that the freak from Romania had just started a new backgammon game, and he never willingly aborts a game. I cursed my luck because apart from raging with frustration I had achieved little else today.

Big Nose

Josef is back today (26 May) after a couple of weeks, and I thought he was dead which is a bit of a blow actually. His stench today resembles boiled in piss cabbage. He has no laptop and he looks desperate. You will probably think I’m making all this up but he is just sitting there opposite me, twiddling his fingers looking at everyone else’s laptop. He thinks we are friends. He looks over at me nods and smiles. Jesus he is insane. Just a moment ago he leaned over and asked if he could hook up to my USB port and play on some hand-held Russian-issue computer console, I said no – but what I really wanted to do was to rip his remaining teeth out with pliers.

He’s now eating stale bread, and making so much mess, oh no, he has started to piss Big Nose off. This could be fun! This lanky greasy git with long hair is doing an OU course in Advanced Space Exploration, it looks very molecular, he always brings his own food and lots of it, but anyway all you need to know about him is that he has a huge conk! Ah! The predicted bust up after a misunderstanding. Josef asks Big Nose about his course and what the snooker balls (I kid you not!) are all about and Big Nose freaks! Says something like “Why are you so bloody interested? It’s got nothing to do with you, now just leave me alone!” Enough Said! Josef continues to twiddle his fingers, smiles gormlessly and blows stale breath through the gap in his front teeth.

Noisy Library Assistants

Am I kidding myself but I'm sure I remember a time when libraries were sanctuaries for peace and quiet where one could concentrate on intellectual pursuits. Horse shit I hear you say and you are probably right. I remember as a child being thrown out of a library for whispering to a friend, mind you I had just dared and persuaded her to take her shorts off in a public area, but that’s another story and we were nine at the time!

But Library Assistants today don't even bother hushing noisy bastards up; in fact they positively encourage them by barking instructions across the podium. It’s as if they need to demonstrate their apparent computer knowledge, and now they have become liberated from days of chastisement. And they are always turning up to check up on something or other but they just stand on the podium, hands on hips, looking lost. Mrs Runningaround is the worst offender. Always rushing around, breasts being stretched and pulled in all directions, whilst and huffing and puffing, but what’s the bloody point! Yes, the library can do without Library Assistants and we would be better off without them I say. Today (25 May) ………

Couponwoman

Somebody recently accused me of making all this up but I challenge anyone to spend one hour in my local library and not find a complete psychopath intent on library mayhem. Anyway let me move swiftly on to Couponwoman. I first spotted her several months ago (24 May) when she lumbered over to my desk and sat next to me. At first she appeared quite normal, working through a simple Sudoku. Normality ended ten minutes later when she started drawing out the grid for a Sudoku on scrap paper, from another newspaper then started to complete it. I was intrigued as I gawped through clenched fingers. A blue striped canvas bag sat by her side, which I assumed contained her washing but I was completely fooled. The bag contained a multitude of magazines and newspapers and other crossword cuttings and Sudoku puzzles. I was perplexed. Many of these puzzles seemed to date back decades. There must have been thousands of puzzles in that bag and it must have weighed a bloody ton!

Occasionally she would produce a pair of scissors and start cutting out crossword puzzles then pasting them into a scrapbook, messily, childlike, and completely bizarre but Couponwoman was manically content so who am I do judge. Oh, and why Couponwoman? Well periodically she would cut out coupons, anything really, 2 for 1 offers on toothpaste to special offers on frozen sausages to free night accommodation offers in the Loire Valley with all the usual catches, but somehow I couldn’t see Couponwoman in the Loire Valley. She would then stack the coupons into neat piles then rubber band then together. Couponwoman also comes complete with a nasal deformity, meaning she needs to clear her throat and nose every other minute. My only regret is that Couponwoman hasn’t met Josef yet, but there is still time.

Dating Websites

When I first started making a reappearance at the local (23 May) I felt quite self-conscious about walking in with a coffee but now I have no shame and often walk in with a fruit and seed bar and once strolled in with a low fat salmon and cucumber sandwich but this is nothing compared to what some of the local gluttons have consumed lately. Can you imagine what it's like trying to concentrate on a piece of creative writing when some pig several feet away is gargling a fruit trifle out of a plastic tub/carton/cup thing and another is stripping the flesh off the carcass off cooked chicken, its slightly off putting. To be honest it makes me feel quite ill witnessing so many overweight people stuffing themselves in public but I cope, accepting that this is the way of things, but there are times when you can't help but turn your head and think "what the fuck?"

Several weeks ago an incredibly obese creature manoeuvred his way over to a PC then loaded his blubber carefully on to a swivel chair, cue bum crack and anal hair. The chair groaned under this mountain of lard. It reminded me a little of those special drilling machines that used to hide in one of the pods in Thunderbirds, the one that used to fall apart slowly under the strain of being overworked in a rescue operation. Lard actually took a sideways glance at me as the remaining doughnut icing sugar fell away from his cheeks; he looked ravenous. Completely distracted now I had to follow his login and monitor his Internet traffic. His Facebook seemed quite cluttered so I couldn’t make out too much but after a few minutes he had logged onto a dating website. Some people have no shame! He had his back to the rest of the library and please trust me when I tell you there was at least another three voyeurs curious as to what was going to happen next! He then proceeded to send messages to women half his age and size and making arrangements to meet up in the local area, I was sadly following the messaging! I couldn’t help but imagine the battle scene where 25 stone of saturated, salted fat would collide with a 7 stone stick insect in the dining area of an exclusive restaurant. Content with his arrangements he boldly lifted his bulk like a clapped-out Citroen, before moving on to his next feed. I could write no more that day, I was exhausted!

I'm Stumped!

Typical really, when you have this surge of creative energy and you are writing something that is really quite good then crash! Something happens, like someone has just ripped the battery out from your arse and then your creativity falls apart like a badly packed kebab. Well this happened the other day (22 May) when I was writing about the discovery of a particularly grisly murder when a local halfbreed crept up to the back reception area with a newspaper tucked under his sweating armpit. I had the perfect view from the gallery section of the library podium, overlooking the action that was about to take place. Anyway Peter Cook couldn’t have written a more perfect script and it went something like this:

Library Assistant: "Yes, can I help you?"

Very Old Hunchback: "I'm struggling with 16 across, capital of Mongolia, 2 words, I have for a few days now."

Library Assistant: "I really have no idea!"

Very Old Hunchback: "Well I can't finish the crossword then!"

Library Assistant: "Shall I try the Internet for you?"

Very Old Hunchback: "That's cheating."

Passer By: "It's Ulan Bator."

Very Old Hunchback: "See, she knows."

The Library Assistant looked around bemused and this could have gone on forever but for the phone saving her. The distraction was long enough for this lonely maniac to drift off to another part of the library, probably looking for Esmeralda.

Help Me!

The library was relatively calm yesterday (21 May), long enough anyway for me to read through a draft of a chapter. I did actually spot someone studying, but this could well have been an illusion, I hadn’t eaten, was hungry and was probably delusional, the calmness could not last for long. Soon in walked this tattooed animal, rippling with muscles, wearing a yellow vest, Bermuda shorts and black Dr Martens. He then stood in the middle of the podium (the raised section where all the PCs and study desks are laid out), flexed his muscles, breathed in deeply, waited until he had everyone's attention then announced to the world that "it fucking stinks in here!" Obviously everyone looked away immediately, avoiding any eye contact like the plague, because, trust me, this creature of doom was a category A psychopath. The Librarian Assistant hesitated before offering a floral aerosol can but this was of no help, if anything this seemed to annoy him even more. There was only one place this crazy person could sit, and that was several feet from me; he then instantly started fiddling around with the PC. Then he sprang up, screaming "now this computer doesn’t bloody work, what's wrong with this place." Admittedly, the PC had stopped working as soon as he started glaring at it, so he was moved one PC closer to me, this way I could join him in viewing BNP heavy metal boot boy music videos on YouTube, this lasted for a full 55 minutes. Obviously high on crack cocaine he departed the podium minutes later to the relief of, well at least me.

Introducing Josef

I met Josef several months ago (20 May) when I first started writing in the library, and yes he is another psychopath and perhaps the head honcho of psychopaths. Straight away he offered to clean my laptop screen and in my innocence, and ignorance of Romanian customs, I accepted. Fool! He pounces now whenever he sees me, not only offering to clean my screen but is keen to play online backgammon with me and lend me subtitled Romanian horror films and for some reason is convinced I'm a huge Michael Jackson fan. I try my very best to avoid him like Swine Flu but he appears from nowhere then passes his charger over my shoulders, asking me to plug him in, the sexual connections are sickening. I'm not even sure he speaks English and I'm only assuming he's called Josef because that's the name of his avatar when he plays online backgammon with random weirdos in Eastern Europe. I'm pretty sure the only words I've ever uttered to him are "alright" and "cheers" (and that was only once when he cleaned my screen).

Please tell me how I can concentrate on doing any creative writing in this house of madness! Please remember that Josef is the type of maniac who jumps and screams whenever he rolls a double six, I also sit there waiting for the ultimate embarrassment, where Josef jumps and embraces me with Romanian kisses; such is his excitement whenever he wins at backgammon. I can also remember a time when I saw this nutcase on the railway station platform, and yes, he had his laptop propped open, playing backgammon! He also wears a bandana, has a gap tooth and stinks like a chicken shit house.

Introducing Gunner Rommel

Feeling rather desperate today (19 May) I queued up outside the local. With ten minutes to go before opening time I sadly recognised several of the diehards, even sadder, several recognised me. Gunner Rommel hobbled over to me and instantly started complaining about the country going to pot, he felt the need to inform me that Britain never actually declared war on Germany around the time of the Great War, I just wanted to sit somewhere warm and eat my low fat blueberry muffin. With eight minutes to go I played along with his game and went into a rant about the global domination of financial institutions which took Gunner Rommel by surprise a little but nevertheless he encouraged me, no, he was toying with me, by letting me know that an uncle of his had actually shot (murdered?) several Germans (soldiers I presumed) stone cold dead in the last war. I met this white-haired lunatic for the first time today, I’m not kidding, but with two minutes to go we had solved the North Korean crisis and were entering the library at 1pm on a Sunday (why on earth 1pm?) discussing increasing our military presence in Afghanistan. Praying that we would separate soon, as I was acutely conscious that library staff would assume a certain affinity between me and this mad man, I was relieved to see him wander off to the easy chairs to grab a copy of the Sunday Mail, what else?

Return Of Couponwoman

She’s back (8 Jul) and obsessive as ever. Her behaviour hasn’t changed one bit. What is she up to now? She has surrounded herself with plastic carrier bags stuffed with old newspapers and magazines and she seems to be completing a sudoku puzzle but she can’t settle or relax. She seems to be completing her puzzle from an already printed solution – She’s cheating! Even more disturbing I can see straight into her coat pocket stuffed with 3 extra-large packs of Fox’s Crinkley Ginger biscuits. Why? Another mystery is soon solved – I was prepared to place a bet that her other pocket was also stuffed with biscuits but she surprised me by pulling out a small Evian bottle half filled with an odd coloured liquid which looked very much like infected urine – perhaps she was saving it for a hospital appointment, or for an appertiff for later. She’s now racing through the sudoku puzzles but the odd thing is this strange woman is not solving any mathematical conundrums – she is simply copying printed & solved sudokus straight into her blank sudoku, bizarre!

Josef then enters the library to my great annoyance. I dislike the bastard immensely. Whenever I set eyes on him I instantly imagine his body being blasted, at close range, with an automatic assault rifle. His first action is to greet me, which embarrasses the fuck out of me. It’s always fascinating to observe the reaction in others, who witness his revolting antics for the very first time, like today, 2 young students witnessed Josef meticulously peeling back the plastic wrapper off a cold Pukka pie, as if preparing a feast, then through the pie, in its entirety, into his gob. The students were stunned, but for me the reaction was hilarious!

Brass Bands & Kabanos

THIS IS A LIBRARY AND THERE’S A BRASS FUCKING BAND PLAYING TO KIDS TODAY! (1 Jun)!

I will try and complain at some point but something quite hilarious happened earlier. Some poor sod of girl made the mistake of striking up a polite conversation with that fruitcake Josef from Romania, something about his enthusiasm for cleaning his laptop, – and now he is stalking her – she is blanking him of course, she realises that he is insane, but I’m not sure if this is the right response, perhaps she should just tell him to fuck off. His helpfulness is now completely over the top, offering her food, repositioning her chair to make her feel more comfortable and offering his Michael Jackson DVD to her on a semi permanent basis.
You really have to be here today - it’s more like a bazaar than a library. The Mad Woman In Red Coat is back again – this time on the podium and talking to some little kid – I hope they know each other, he does look frightened though – I should start recording some of this shit. Her son by the way has just come in and he is a dead ringer for her and he is a pig! He is walking around in a coat buttoned all the way up and emptying crisp packets into his gob. The headphones are on btw – “Oscillate Wildly” by The Smiths is such cool music.

Josef update: The girl has managed to escape however in the past 30 minutes the Romanian has devoured an entire uncut loaf – I think they are called bloomers – they are wide and fat – family loaves – and he just shoves huge chucks into his gob – then he stuffs kabanos salami sausages into his gob – eating them whole, in their entirety – This thing has to be extra terrestrial – from another galaxy without a doubt.

Massive Mistake!

There’s a very odd atmosphere in the library today (4 June 2011) – It’s packed but very quiet – and it’s very dark outside – bad omen, something will kick off, that’s for certain A pretty Spanish student (maybe Ryanair – she’s short enough) strolls into the study area –really don’t know how she does it but she manages to squeeze in between Mr Intense and some other random psycho – Mr Intense is not happy – you can tell when he’s not happy because his nostrils flare – Oh no! she’s asking him something – ok I can see now – she’s politely asking to share Mr Intense’s double socket so she can charge her laptop, reasonable request, - but massive mistake – he freaks!!!!! –He gives her the most filthiest of looks you could ever imagine – she looks petrified – ok he’s making a bit of a scene now – he’s just stood up – what’s he doing? What a sick fruitcake – he’s just grabbed the girl’s charger cable and chucked it to the floor and now he’s also chucked himself to the floor, there one minute and now gone! – Oh, I see what he’s doing, he’s plugged her in but it was a huge effort – He has now just given her such an evil grin as if to say “you owe me big time bitch” Anyway they’ve both settled down, no doubt he’ll carry on watching child porn and she’ll book her discount ticket to Madrid and if she has any sense she will disappear very soon before he becomes attached and she becomes scarred for life.

Mr Intense has also developed this annoying habit of breathing out very noisily, through his nose, and then coughing into a Thomas the Tank napkin – just thought I’d throw that in.

Dough Overdose

Josef the Romanian peasant is eating bread again (5 June 2011) – well actually “eat” is the wrong choice of verb – he’s stuffing slices of bread into his gob as far back as they can go, its as if he’s trying to stem the flow of blood from a point blank shotgun blast, you can actually see the top of his throat bulging. The finale involves churning the bread into a pulp, a churning motion almost, before swallowing hard with a thud. Sucking and spitting flecks of crust through his gap tooth poses no difficulty for this extra-terrestrial, and there’s little point in complaining because nobody gives a shit.

Today I imagined, at some length, Josef frying in an electric chair, a similar fate to Francis Bacon’s Pope Innocent.

Bouncing Balloons!

I can’t be sure when he appeared but he did (6 June 2011) and he’s not that far away, I can feel the tension, I can sense the forehead creasing up, I can smell the intensity and of course there’s the nervous tapping of his toes on the floor. Mr Intense has perched his arse on a swivel chair to my left and is checking out this most stunningly gorgeous blonde model on a dating website – and trust me Mr Intense is gross on all levels - and he is doing it with a perverted grin on his face, I shudder to think what kind of vile messages he is sending her. He’s making it all up, that’s what you are all thinking, but I’m not! Right now he is literally salivating, dripping over the property of East Herts District Council - the beast is on heat!

It’s a little later in the day now and he’s calmed down a bit and gone back to downloading child porn videos, he’s doing a lot of fiddling around with the computer base unit, it looks like he’s downloading all this stuff onto his memory stick. By rubbernecking I can make out the videos feature young, clothed girls and nekkid fully grown women sitting and bouncing on bouncing balls and balloons! I thought I was sexually liberated, but Jesus! He’s watching goddam balloon movies! Of course it’s only a public library so why should they be alarmed at one of their library members being a balloon fetishist?

Sausage, Banana & Biscuit Mayhem

Mr Intense is comfortably (not sure if comfortably is a word anyone could ever associate with Mr Intense) sitting to my far right, (7 June 2011), opposite to me and slightly to my left Josef is, incredibly, consuming, with some passion, what looks very much like a large, diseased penis – it can only be some kind of weird Romanian sausage cured for centuries and made out of peasant blood and wolf meat (I found out later it was probably leftover kolbasz – which is a weird Romanian sausage, made out of peasant blood and wolf meat).

It’s a little later the day now and things have become even madder. This afternoon is totally insane – Josef is eating bananas, and I mean he is eating lots of bananas, and they are being eaten in the most gross manner imaginable – like stuffing pork meat into a mincer and - and no kidding he has eaten over 20 biscuits, imitation custard creams, not rectangular but round budget biscuits, in less than ten minutes, this creature is extra terrestrial.

Make that nearer 40, because he has chomped his way through a second packet.

Jesus how many fucking biscuits can anyone eat? Is there anyone else in this library brave enough to start counting with me – this is really quite unreal – he’s crunching with such ferocity that my arm is being attacked by crumbs.
Josef makes me feel very right wing.

Mr Intense On The Rampage

Ha! There’s a conspiracy afoot (8 June 2011)! Mr intense has complained about my music (through headphones I might add), can you believe that? What an absolute pillock! I just knew something was up because only several minutes ago he gave me one of those looks of utter disgust, the look where he feels the need to roll his forehead back, then he pinged off his chair and charged down to reception, steam bellowing out of his puffing nostrils – and now I’ve just been told off by Mrs Runningabout – the same bitch who I spoke to on Friday re: Mr Intense’s child porn downloads! Oh this is so bloody ironic, I feel like I’ve been skewered.

Jesus he’s actually staring at me now, giving me evils (Mr Intense), and he’s winning because I’m pathetically looking away – what a dick (Me)! I haven’t got the balls otherwise I would walk up to him and spew up last night’s Chinese all over his creased head. I should simply bin that manuscript because I’m not getting anything done.

Lots Of Fruit, I Mean Lots Of!!!!

Today (9 June 2011) Josef is eating lots of fruit – and I mean lots of fruit. He has so many irritating habits, like peeling fruit with his teeth then getting into such a mess that he wipes his paws under his greasy armpits. I’m convinced his mother mated with a jackal to spawn him. I also noticed today for the first time the sprouting of a black lump on the side of his neck, perhaps the onset of the Bubonic Plague, but that could be just wishful thinking. And then there’s his breathing, that’s another bad habit, the way he breathes – he raises his arse off his seat every time he breathes out – can you imagine that?

Oh and let’s not forget when he just turned up at my work yesterday – Yes I’m being totally serious. Got to work a bit late and needed to cut across the car park at the front of the building. Noticed that there was this pickup truck parked by the side window with assorted junk and stuffed bags with god knows what else. Reminded me a bit of the opening scene from The Beverly Hillbillies. There was also some scrawny, skinny bastard sitting in the passenger’s seat – he looked vaguely familiar – he didn’t register at first. He actually spoke to my boss – and when I found out he was looking for permanent accommodation I screamed out: “NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!” It appears he turned up with some crackpot Evangelist pleading Josef’s state of desperation – I said if he gets even a whiff of housing with our project then I will be off! I think Josef’s getting to me – everyone in the office showed concern; they sat me down, made me some tea and even offered me some cake.

How Many Cornflakes Can You Actually Eat????

Sitting opposite Josef, the disgusting Romanian peasant today (10 June 2011) – Can’t cope with this anymore – he’s actually chucking dry cereal into his mouth. Can’t make out the brand because the pack is hidden deep inside his filthy rucksack but every so often his gibbon-like arm drops into the cereal pack, eye contact remains fixed on his online backgammon game, and after rustling inside the cellophane like a demented rat, scoops out a fistful of cornflakes and shovels them into his gaping gob. Can recognise they are a brand of cornflakes, that’s obvious, but oh look at him now, they don’t all make it into his orifice, some miserable flakes scramble their way free and get caught in his stubble and jumper. He’s seriously pissing me off now and I’ve only been in for a few minutes, haven’t even started on my muffin yet!

There’s so much fuckin noise in here today – I’m also convinced there’s an old git sitting by the newspapers having his leg amputated, without local anaesthetic – why is there so much noise??????

Out of date cereal continues to be scooped into Josef’s gob. Could be Special K, one flake lands not far from my laptop, its tempting to flick it back into his eye, thus maiming him. My analysis is now complete. They are not Special K, just ordinary fucking cornflakes! Who would believe me if I said he has chomped his way through half a pack of family size corn fuckin flakes. I just hope he doesn’t shit for a month.

By the way Mr Intense is still downloading child porn (I define children in their underwear bouncing on balloons as child porn, even if he is watching them on YouTube) – incredible really and he has his laptop with him – astounding – absolutely astounding.

How Loud Can A Newspaper Get?

The plan today (11 June 2011) was to rewrite chapter 2 of the manuscript and foolishly chose the library as my place for inspiration. Setting down with a Starbuck’s skinny latte (sadly I’m beginning to use “skinny” now instead of “skimmed”, need to re-think this choice of words) and low fat blueberry muffin I notice that there’s a guy sitting next to me reading a newspaper. No, he can’t actually be reading anything – he has an illness, some sort of nervous disposition – he rattles the newspaper every time he turns a page making sure everybody on the podium turns round to stare at him, his actions are very similar to Rolf Harris playing the wobble board. Today for the first time in a long time I felt an overwhelming desire to murder someone – and it’s this guy with the newspaper, he reminds me a little of Frank Thornton who played Captain Peacock In “Are You Being served?” – Rubbish sitcom, but a massive hit. Anyway I simply nodded to him who returned my nod with an evil grin. As he continued to flap at his newspaper he occasionally twisted his neck towards me and glared as if I was stark raving was mad!

Licking Out The Pots

Today (12 June 2011) Josef is eating a consignment of out of date cheap unbranded yogurts – to date – and I can see the empty pots – he’s eaten 7 – this situation is quite unreal – and in case you’re wondering if he’s using a spoon – well he’s not – he’s using his slimy Romanian tongue to slurp out the congealed contents of each pot – Jesus the peasant is slurping out the yogurt and then licking out the pot with his tongue, quite unreal!

A Stake Through His Heart Now !

The tension is too great – there is one spot left in the entire library and he hasn’t arrived yet (13 June 2011) – but I genuinely sense he will at any moment, I’m probably hyperventilating.

Yep – he arrives and greets me with his gap tooth, straggly ponytail and stench – I can only sit back and wait for the monstrous acts he has no show today.

Ok, Josef has sat opposite me and there’s no surprise there – I’ve concluded he either steals all this food or he has it donated – he is now stuffing stale sliced bread into his gob then chucking tomato and pasta from a microwave container dish straight into his gob – he is slurping it down – it may even still be frozen I don’t know and I don’t care – why hasn’t he been murdered yet? – It’s really beyond me – he’s now crunching away at dry pasta shells and making revolting sucking sounds through the gaps in his teeth– a stake through his heart somebody please and put me out of my misery.

Brian Blessed

Let me introduce you to The Library Trainer (14 June 2011) – he does 1 to 1 computer training sessions with complete and utter morons who have spent their entire existence avoiding Information Technology & civilization like the proverbial plague, oh, and has a voice like Brian Blessed, there is no need to say a lot more but I will – its freaking the fuck out me! His mighty vocal chords roar out instructions on how to use the space bar effectively, how to double-click on the Internet Explorer icon and how to use headphones to listen to Nancy Sinatra singing: “These Boots Are Made For Walking.”

For anyone remotely interested there is no sign of Mr Intense yet by the – probably still at home jerking off to bouncing balloons – why he is still allowed to walk freely on the streets is a mystery to me, maybe I should be a responsible citizen and call the police, but balloons, what is the big deal about balloons?

Looking up from my depressed state I can clearly see that fool Josef, he’s now drinking cheap Romanian beer and is breathing in my direction - and he has now just belched after thumping his fist against chest!!!! Murder him, slaughter him, and eliminate him – a voice in my head screams. If someone presented me with a half-decent plan to end his miserable existence I would have no hesitation in funding it.

Tinned Fish

Tinned fish with tomato sauce with a sell by date of 12 March 1922 on the menu for Josef today (15 June 2011), isn’t he a lucky bastard and he looks so happy with himself and that in itself has pissed me off – I can’t believe that I can be so unlucky having this utter retard sitting opposite me. You just have to look at him now, he’s actually licking the insides of the fish tin, to do so he has to manoeuvre his lopsided nose into the tin, consequently he now has an irritating globule of tomato sauce on the tip of his nose. If there was any justice in this world his tongue would have been shredded by now, but there isn’t and oh and he’s started ripping apart his mandatory loaf, stolen from Sainsbury’s having spent over 30 minutes in his soiled underpants, poor sodding loaf…….

Polishwoman

The library has spawned a new freak today (16 June 2011) – welcome Polishwoman! She has been holding a quite bizarre conversation, in Polish, which has now been running for almost 2 hours – the conversation alternates between whispers, annoying in themselves because you can’t follow the drama, and alarming shrieks which literally raise the hairs on the back of your neck. Try imaging you are Polish, high on crack and you have been chosen to talk someone through a crash landing procedure on a field just outside Warsaw, the pilot being some panic-stricken 83 year old passenger who has only ever flown a kite before then you can begin to imagine the scene Polishwoman has created today. – Even by library standards this wailing is extraordinary, but even more extraordinary, the staff carry on tapping away at their keyboards, oblivious to the mayhem, do they give a shit? Hell no!

I should mention that I haven’t seen Josef today – should I be worried? I just hope I’m not experiencing any sense of concern or loss – I gamble very badly but if I was to put money on this I would say he has either been bludgeoned to death in his sleep (preferred option) or has been locked in a public toilet overnight soliciting Polishwoman (unlikely but not impossible).

Roger Moore, I Think

Gave up rewriting the opening chapter of my manuscript earlier in the day, so, with The Rezillos firmly plugged in I crouch over my MacBook Pro and fantasise over my holiday in the South of France. What seems like several hours later, I look up and there, sitting opposite me is Roger Moore (17 Jun 2011) – well ok maybe not actually Roger Moore but it’s the closest you will ever get to someone having a double – I had to spend some embarrassing minutes just staring to make sure it isn’t him – it’s his dead ringer – I’m pretty sure though he hasn’t stepped into a library for over 25 years – he’s very tanned, very well dressed and very out of place. The thing is he can’t believe all the noise, I’m used to it, all the other freaks are used to it, and every so often he surfaces from The Chronicles of Narnia, waves his head around, huffs and puffs and says one word – “unbelievable” It really is quite funny; I’m trying hard not to crack up. He repeats: “This is really quite unbelievable!” Maybe it should be Roger Moore.

Noisy Bastard On A Swivel Chair

The noise in the library this morning (1 July 2011) had reached gargantuan proportions. A deaf 102 year old had decided to surf the net for the first time then requested assistance from an annoying Welsh library assistant. To make matters worse some moron began calling out lottery numbers to a friend living in the Outer Hebrides. Oh, and quite incredibly an Eastern European beggar walked onto the podium and asked several shocked people for money. Why was all this happening today?

This was soon followed by hysterical laughter breaking out from the Crime Thriller section and finally a swivel chair fetishist bounced onto the podium and quickly landed on the noisiest swivel chair ever. The noisy bastard just couldn’t get comfortable – up and down he jumped but still no joy then he span the chair several times, the screeching got worse but still the bastard couldn’t get comfortable. I have to accept that some people are genetically defective and that accounts for morons like this guy who later started sucking his forefinger whilst exaggerating his breathing. If I had started to blast out Pantera from my Iphone for certain I would have been assaulted by a platoon of library assistants and asked to zip it. It’s a strange world but nevertheless Swivel Chair Man needs to be gassed.

Unable to do any meaningful work I lost patience, packed up my rucksack and headed for the exit only to catch sight of a woman in a red coat laughing manically at the sight of a paper jam in the photocopier, obviously the most hilarious incident ever to have occurred in this poor woman’s life.

The Hinges On That Door Are Freaking Me Out

A new distraction was introduced into the library today (27 June 2011) designed solely to completely freak me out. There are squeaky doors and there are squeaky doors and the library lavatory door has been tuned to such precision as to cause maximum embarrassment whenever anyone returns to the study area after a session on the pan. I prefer taking my chances elsewhere, like the park and then it struck me; I thought of WD-40 because such squeaking is abnormal; the screech is akin to ripping a sheet of metal in half with your bare hands! Everybody knows that Norm Larson invented WD-40 and was also a little famous for founding the Rocket Chemical Company in California. The product was great for repelling water and preventing corrosion. Interesting huh? Well it gets better! The ‘WD’ stands for Water Displacement, and the ‘40’ for Larsen’s ‘40th attempt at concocting a formula for preventing corrosion in nuclear missiles by displacing the standing water that causes it. Well he arrived at a successful formula on his 40th attempt. A little known fact is that Larsen made a 41st attempt and came up with, well obviously “WD-41”. This is the shit that when sprayed on door hinges has the complete opposite effect of “WD-40”, causing hinges to squeak like fuck and placing undue pressure on my stress-coping levels. I need to have words with that impotent git of a library assistant who has an unhealthy obsession with nuclear armament!

Return Of Mad Woman In Red Coat

She’s back (25 June 2011)! The voice was unmistakable. It was the same Mad Woman in Red Coat, although I’m pretty sure the middle button was missing – chewed off no doubt. She recognised me – she gave me a cock-eyed look – the same look Basil gave in The Germans, bandaged up and looking out for the doctor and nurse before making his getaway. She took on a bemused library assistant by asking her to pass on her congratulations to Hertfordshire County Council for funding the county’s libraries – an astonishing conversation that lasted 10 seconds between a dumbstruck library assistant and a raving lunatic.

After completing a circuit around the Historical Novels Mad Woman in Red Coat returned this time to announce that her friends had gone for a ‘girlie’ weekend to Budapest and had ‘forgotten’ to invite her! Jesus fucking Christ, I wonder why! There was enough time for this psychopath to announce that she had slept so well the previous night and that she was now floating in a dream world – I left the library shaking but grateful that her medication had kicked in.

Energyman

Felt quite weird being back in the library today (24 June 2011), it strangely felt quite normal, no obvious psychopaths hissing and hyperventilating – but this odd sense of calmness lasted for 30 seconds…… Energyman had metamorphosised beside be. After watching the same trailer for Captain America several times over he suddenly paused, gripped his head firmly in a lock with both hands then savagely pulled to one side – the crack reverberating along several study desks causing two Polish students to zip up their pencil cases and contemplate an early departure – at first I thought no spinal cord could suffer such a trauma but I was wrong; Energyman continued to be transfixed with Captain America and over the next 30 minutes guzzled down 4 large energy drinks – I half expected him to bolt from the library like a cheetah who had just had half a kilo of crushed chillis forced in to its anus.

At first I thought this guy was quite normal. Wrong. He soon tuned into YouTube and started watching The Incredible Hulk from the 1970s – I should also explain that this guy was grossly overweight, hairy and had just ripped open a packet of M&Ms – the peanuts could clearly be heard being crushed in his gob.

This was too much, I couldn’t concentrate on any writing, he soon started to alternate between breathing really heavily – I could actually picture the chambers in his heart flapping away – and scratching at the folds of flesh around his midriff – I packed my rucksack and left as Energyman returned to Captain America; I was comforted in the knowledge that the library’s lunatics, in my absence, had been there all along.