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Kafka lives!
Nov. 2nd, 2009 01:03 pmOh boy! Have I got something to report to the pshrink on Thursday!
Today started very well. I was even feeling quite positive about myself. Yesterday I even managed to finish a little computer project - finishing things is one of my weaknesses, and I was in the mood for writing. I just needed a different place to do it, away from the distractions of home.
All I wanted to do was to go to the library, find a quite table and write, in a peaceful space. So I walked along the Channelside in glorious sunshine and a brisk, though not at all unpleasant, wind. When I entered the library I saw quite a few colourful armchairs, which may be fine for casual reading but are useless if you want to make notes. I may perhaps surmise that study, as I understand it, is to be discouraged in today's dumbed-down libraries (they are, after all, the Cinderellas of the local authority budget - see for example what the idiots in Wirral tried to pull off. I did see some small tables (but they all had computers on them so no space to spread out my notebooks) And some larger, multiple-occupancy tables which offered no privacy, and people sat with newspapers spread in front of them.
I'm not easily dismayed, so I followed the sign to the Local Studies Library. And there things started to get tacky. There were indeed tables in there to be sat at, and oodles of space for my notebooks (which I was carrying in one of my cotton shopping bags. Unfortunately there were also two young women jobsworths attempting to bar my way. I couldn't go in there, they told me. Not without permission. Oh? I asked. Why do I need permission to use a table in a public library during opening hours?
I might use a pen, one of the jobsworths told me.
There was a thud as my jaw hit the floor.
And you can't take that bag in there, said the other jobsworth.
I muttered something about idiotic rules for the sake of rules and walked past them into the room with them in pursuit. This is a labrary, I said, it's supposed to be for the purpose of study. No it's not a library, said a jobsworth, it's a record office.
My jaw bounced off the floor once more.
I sat down at an empty table and took out my notebooks and pen. One of the jobsworths went off somewhere and came back with a pencil, which she thrust at me. You can use a pencil, she said. Now, I don't like writing with a pencil. They go blunt and scratchy too quickly. I like my gel pens. I asked what was wrong with them. She said I might damage their valuable documents. I pointed out that I had none of their documements on the table and that if my pens were inclined to get up, walk about and scribble on other people's work it was behaviour I hadn't previously observed in them. At this point one of the jobsworths threatened to call security. The better part of valour being discretion, I left the area but not before suggesting that they were both bone-headed nincompoops who ought to resign and let somebody who knew what they were doing do their job and do it properly. Which is not an insult because it is demonstrably true in their case.
At the front desk I asked if they had a study area with carrels for private study, like a proper library ought to have. The woman their indicated the tables I had already seen, which were clearly not private study carrels. I suggested that they might get some staff who knew something about libraries to run a proper library, then I sat at one of the small computer tables with my notebooks and pen. But by this time I was angry and agitated and frustrated, and the muse had buggered off down the pub. Out of interest, I checked to see if they had any Kafka on the fiction shelves. They had not.
Let's get this straight. Barrow is a fair-sized town with 70,000 people. It's a long way from any similar-sized town (Lancaster, probably; it's quite a bit smaller but it has a reasonably good central library). Barrow is also a very long way from a proper academic library - Leeds, Manchester and Liverpool are probably equidistant and Manchester the easiest to get to. Barrow, then, might be expected to provide the facilities, including academic resources, for a wide area. But Barrow's central library would be a disgrace to a village branch library.
Ah well, there's another writing day wasted.
Today started very well. I was even feeling quite positive about myself. Yesterday I even managed to finish a little computer project - finishing things is one of my weaknesses, and I was in the mood for writing. I just needed a different place to do it, away from the distractions of home.
All I wanted to do was to go to the library, find a quite table and write, in a peaceful space. So I walked along the Channelside in glorious sunshine and a brisk, though not at all unpleasant, wind. When I entered the library I saw quite a few colourful armchairs, which may be fine for casual reading but are useless if you want to make notes. I may perhaps surmise that study, as I understand it, is to be discouraged in today's dumbed-down libraries (they are, after all, the Cinderellas of the local authority budget - see for example what the idiots in Wirral tried to pull off. I did see some small tables (but they all had computers on them so no space to spread out my notebooks) And some larger, multiple-occupancy tables which offered no privacy, and people sat with newspapers spread in front of them.
I'm not easily dismayed, so I followed the sign to the Local Studies Library. And there things started to get tacky. There were indeed tables in there to be sat at, and oodles of space for my notebooks (which I was carrying in one of my cotton shopping bags. Unfortunately there were also two young women jobsworths attempting to bar my way. I couldn't go in there, they told me. Not without permission. Oh? I asked. Why do I need permission to use a table in a public library during opening hours?
I might use a pen, one of the jobsworths told me.
There was a thud as my jaw hit the floor.
And you can't take that bag in there, said the other jobsworth.
I muttered something about idiotic rules for the sake of rules and walked past them into the room with them in pursuit. This is a labrary, I said, it's supposed to be for the purpose of study. No it's not a library, said a jobsworth, it's a record office.
My jaw bounced off the floor once more.
I sat down at an empty table and took out my notebooks and pen. One of the jobsworths went off somewhere and came back with a pencil, which she thrust at me. You can use a pencil, she said. Now, I don't like writing with a pencil. They go blunt and scratchy too quickly. I like my gel pens. I asked what was wrong with them. She said I might damage their valuable documents. I pointed out that I had none of their documements on the table and that if my pens were inclined to get up, walk about and scribble on other people's work it was behaviour I hadn't previously observed in them. At this point one of the jobsworths threatened to call security. The better part of valour being discretion, I left the area but not before suggesting that they were both bone-headed nincompoops who ought to resign and let somebody who knew what they were doing do their job and do it properly. Which is not an insult because it is demonstrably true in their case.
At the front desk I asked if they had a study area with carrels for private study, like a proper library ought to have. The woman their indicated the tables I had already seen, which were clearly not private study carrels. I suggested that they might get some staff who knew something about libraries to run a proper library, then I sat at one of the small computer tables with my notebooks and pen. But by this time I was angry and agitated and frustrated, and the muse had buggered off down the pub. Out of interest, I checked to see if they had any Kafka on the fiction shelves. They had not.
Let's get this straight. Barrow is a fair-sized town with 70,000 people. It's a long way from any similar-sized town (Lancaster, probably; it's quite a bit smaller but it has a reasonably good central library). Barrow is also a very long way from a proper academic library - Leeds, Manchester and Liverpool are probably equidistant and Manchester the easiest to get to. Barrow, then, might be expected to provide the facilities, including academic resources, for a wide area. But Barrow's central library would be a disgrace to a village branch library.
Ah well, there's another writing day wasted.
