The Bedside Crow

A man has a conversation with me.

A couple of weeks ago, he says, I bought a card in an art shop. It was Medieval and over-printed on it it said, Lie about and do fuck all. It was the land of Cockayne see. If you happen to come across it, I think it might suit your shop quite well.

I nod.

I go to a book launch.

It is a hot night in Soho in a small room full of people.

I am standing with two men.

They are drinking champagne. I have a beer.

One of the men is talking about his prep school reunion.

Boobies, the other man says.

Last time I bumped into you, you were in the bookselling game, the first man says.

Boobies, the other man says.

I still am, I say.

Still? the first man says.

Still, I say.

The room goes very quiet. Somebody drops a pin.

Last man standing, I suppose, the first man says.

Boobies, the second man says.

Where? asks the first man.

Over there. Boobies, says the second man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wow, just found this betting slip in the street.

To be sung in the manner of Morrissey.

There is a posh boy standing at the counter.

There is a posh boy standing at the counter.

Looking at the cookbook by Rachel Khoo.

Have you seen her...he asks.

Have you seen her.

She's so lovely...

Rachel Khooooooo...

Little Paris Kitchen.

Little Paris Kitchen......Khooooo...

He is drooling.

He is drooling and it isn't at the food.

There is a posh boy standing at he counter...

He has a sweat on, he is panting, he is licking his fingers. He is a banker.

Little French Khoooooo...

I like your dumplings...

 

 

A man approaches the counter limping.

If, he says, for example, and I'm just saying for example, if somebody had hurt their leg and they needed to get home quickly from here. From where we are...here...how would you recommend that they do that?

It depends, I say, on where they need to go. Where do you need to go?

Oh, he says, I couldn't possibly tell you that!

And then, pausing, he says, some things have to remain private.

 

Justine wrote this. I have stolen it from her. It is my gift to you on this day of days. You should follow her. @swimble

It’s the final term and thoughts turn inevitably to a proper holiday. Possibly this idle desire also has much to do with the wettest drought on record. Not that I’m a sunbather. Any parent with a tan that isn’t out of a bottle (or, indeed, a flung jar of muddied poster paint) is, frankly, not doing its job. I recall my discreet pleasure at the comeuppance of a rather deliciously distracting mum in the slightest of bikini bottoms (no top), who lay down on the beach to bronze while I struggled to contain a small Trasha, who was busily handing out adoption papers to strangers and telling them of her life of cruelty at home, and her little brother. Who was locked-down in a pop-up tent anchored with stones. Thereby lending weight to his sister’s tale of woe. The lady leisurely applied lotion. Lay down again. And then, like an angel, appeared the most gorgeous of naked baby daughters (hers, not mine) lightly caked in sand who, on seeing her mother dozing, climbed on to her flat (of course) tummy to lay a perfect twirl of poo in her belly button. 

First paragraph of her next book review. Not published yet.

You should buy her book (two posts down).

Drink Me! Wine tasting with Matt Walls.

Friday June the 1st will be our 15th birthday.

It is also the start of a long Holiday weekend.

Obviously we are going to break out the bubbly to celebrate.

But not just any old bubbly hastily snatched from the three for two shelf.

No,no.no.

Instead, we are very pleased to say we have enlisted award winning wine writer Matt Walls, author of Drink Me! to take us through a tasting of some delicious sparkling wines.

This man holds a Moet and Chandon scholarship.

Enough said.

Spaces for this event will be limited and booking is essential.

Tickets available here.

The Little Book of Nits. First review.

Justine's book, The Little Book of Nits gets its first (early) review in the London Evening Standard

We will be launching it on publication day 24th May at 7.00pm. Book a (free) ticket here.

Also joining us to celebrate will be our good friend Richard Guard author of Lost London - An A-Z of forgotten landmarks and lost traditions.

Richard also happens to be the lead singer of the brilliant Dulwich Ukulele Club, some of whom, if perhaps not all eleven, will be in attendance for a glass of cider a sing song and a general rock of the house.

 

 

 

Pre-order a signed copy of The Little Book of Nits

Buy a signed copy of Lost London.

Let me fill up your inbox. Together we can make a beautiful thing.

I've been thinking about this for a while and I've decided that what this blog needs is the chance for people to get even more of it exclusively in their inbox. Possibly ruder, possibly more drunken, but that's not a promise, although the first one I have written does end with the words Amazon are still cunts then.

You can sign up for it here and it would be really great if you did. I'm using someting called Tiny Letter. which even to my ears sounds like tiny something else, but hey, it's not the size that counts, right?

A man stands at the counter with a power tool in his hand.

I will call him Harvey.

He came in two days ago to buy a book. He put his bag down on the counter and it fell off.

What you need, he said, is a little shelf just here, about so long and about so wide.

That's a very good idea, I told him and thought no more of it.

Yesterday he returned with a shelf cut to size.

Today he has returned with his drill.

The shelf stands proud. It does the job.

Sometimes I think I only have this shop on temporary loan from the rest of you.