Resuming our old semi-Victorian practice of reading aloud. When we first travelled this meant bringing real books with us, paperback but still heavy. Had to be of interest to both of us but also works we were prepared to part with as we traded as we went when English books were available. And the books we acquired en route were what was available, often not what we might have chosen from a wider selection, but some quite interesting nonetheless. Remember a bookstore in Antalya stuffed to the rafters with books in various languages and a proprietor who, finding we were from Canada wanted to discuss the works of John Ralston Saul. No doubt equally familiar with the literature of a number of other countries. But we first saw a glimpse of the future in 2009 in Dublin. Sitting on a bench in St Stephen’s Green, we realised that the man next to us was using an electronic book-reader, something we knew about but had never actually seen. He told us that he loved books and had an extensive library, but this allowed him to take a dozen books along when he travelled.
And tonight’s reading from the third volume of the memoirs of Alan Johnson, British Home Secretary in less infuriating days. Nothing can touch the first volume recounting his life in a not at all upscale Notting Hill “before it was Notting Hill” - outside toilet and cooker on the landing, one of the last MP’s, Labour or otherwise who knew what it was like to be hungry and cold. The third volume is still interesting, though, recounting his recruitment by Blair into the party just before its landslide win.
The flat we’re in has a brand new gas stove, a new and enormous fridge - much better than ours at home - and a pretty impressive front loading washing machine. It also has only three plates, two cups, a few unmatched saucers, and minimal cutlery. Until we pointed out the difficulty of using the cooker there were no pots and pans. Now we have an ok medium sized pot complete with lid and a little frying pan too lightweight to stand upright unless completely full. Interesting discrepancy leading us to wonder if there is some tax fiddle about acquiring excellent appliances that later make there way elsewhere. J notes that the fridge, six feet tall and broad shouldered, must have been a bitch to bring up to the third floor - forty-eight steps and several turns. We try out the washer, it being a while since we’ve had anything not hand washed. Does a good job with the clothes. Bonus of a bit of money laundering, and pretty clear who’s to blame, as I am the only one who has added a garment with pockets.
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