Crockatt and Powell Booksellers - blog

Last night the Maz (my long suffering) went out for her office Christmas party. In other words I had to look after Finn and myself for the evening. Finn was fine. We hung out at Scooterworks eating falafel and drinking coffee whilst chatting to Fifi and Nat. Then we went home and he had a bath and some stories before we set off on a walk around the park. With the lad asleep at last I turned my thoughts to myself and my stomach.

Hmmm. I had neglected to buy anything for my own supper and a bookseller's cupboard is often more or less bare. I had a look in the freezer and spied a pack of fish fingers. I'd been chatting with Nat about fish finger sandwiches earlier and it suddenly seemed like a great idea so I stuck ten under the grill and left the kitchen.

The smoke had to fill the kitchen and the hallway before it reached me where I was sipping from a large glass of red wine...(Note to concerned firemen: We do have an alarm but I had taken it off the wall and thrown it in the bedroom earlier - as it often goes off when fish fingers are cooking normally)

Man, those fish fingers were dead. Very dead. Cremated.

And then I arrive at work this morning to find an e-mail from Adam's flatmate titled Dangerous Times Call For Radical Measures aka The Fridge. It seems the fridge round Adam's is a little stinky. Or very stinky indeed perhaps.

Aren't you glad we don't live with you?

There was a program about her last night. Why did she lose her TV show?

The Marsh gets a lot of people through the door asking 'Is it all new books then?' and looking disappointed and disdainful when I confirm that indeed, new books at full price is all we sell. Without fail these folk have a certain uppity moral superiority that indicates they would never demean themselves by buying anything new.

They remind me of all these 'Savers' in the papers moaning that interest rate cuts are punishing their good behaviour and rewarding those morally inferior 'Borrowers'.

Well, here's the story people. Savers earn interest on their savings because 'Borrowers' borrow money and all second hand books were once bought new. It's the system, fools!

Some time ago I wrote this.

Now someone just sent me this.

Dr Rick, I know you didn't finish the Savage Detectives.

But this dead guy is/was the man...

Some friends gave me a flick-book of this video years ago.

Just when you think I can't possibly be any more stupid - I am more stupid.

Ok, so here's how it went.

Today I arrive at the Fulham Road shop soaking wet after having scooted over in the rain/snow. The crew are all very cheery and seem pleased to see me. Obviously alarm bells should have started to ring right away but they didn't. I drip through into the kids room and try to open the door into the staff room. Hmm. My code does not work. I sigh and try theirs. It does not work. I can hear what sounds a little bit like sniggering from the other room. Sure enough Stuart comes through and says words to the effect of "I know you haven't got psychic powers you Southern Jessie but I thought I'd let you find out the hard way."

I fiddle around for a while longer while people stand there saying things like "Yeah, we tried that. It didn't work."

So then I go out and get a crowbar come back and smash the door open.

Geller. You win. Bas$%rd.

(But you're just a bit afraid of me now eh? Remember Scott Pack eh?)

I've got so many things to do I thought I might as well waste a bit of time blogging about my ever-increasing psychic powers...

We have a combination lock on the door to the staff area at the Fulham Road shop. Ever since we opened I have been using one code to pass through it and, I discovered recently, everyone else has been using another.

Both codes worked (that's why we've only just realised there were two) until Thursday last week. All of a sudden people were unable to get through the door to the staff area. Stuart would go off for lunch. Then he would come back through to the front room complaining about the door. I would go through, punch in my code and open it. This went on for a while. One of my colleagues would try the door and come back complaining it was broken. Then I'd go through no problem.

Somehow I have managed to make the door only accept my combination. My combination that was wrong the whole time.

So don't mess. I could probably really sc£*w you up if I put my mind to it!