I’m in the library (again). I’ve got The Guardian (again) and a couple of books from the reference section; specifically from the shelves on printing: Alphabet in Type, by Alfred Bastien (Director of The Typographical Centre). This was published in 1960 and is self-described as “A manual of type design for Directors, Sales Executives, Advertising Administrators, Architects, Draughtsmen, Artist, Art Directors and Teachers.” (I can tick a few of those boxes.) I’m also studying William Caslon (of Caslon Press fame), Master of Letters, by Jonathan Ball Ph.D, M.A., B.Sc(Eng.), M.I.Mech.E etc. (that’s how he’s credited). The sub-title of the latter book is The Ancestry, Life and Connections of England’s Foremost Letter-engraver and Type-founder. Interesting stuff.
This is why I spend my days in the library: to read; to write; to learn. I don’t read the reference books cover-to-cover, unlike the books available from the general library downstairs. The ones up here in the reference section may not leave the building. So the ones downstairs I borrow and the ones upstairs, I reference. And learn. I tend to flick through them, happen upon something of interest and commit it to memory.
M came to see me in my “office” (the library). She knows where I reside during the day. She bought me a food parcel: enough to keep my sparrow-like appetite sated for most of the next week and so reduce my outgoings. We’re still on for Sunday, when I get taken to Tunbridge Wells, get a hot meal and a bed if I choose to stay. If not, I’ll get a lift back to Tonbridge. I’m checking the Shelter centres out.
The library closes soon, so I’ll do my usual stop gap with a coffee in McDonald’s before moving on. Today being Friday, Wetherspoons will be rammed this evening, so I’ll go to the railway station instead. and continue reading Life of Pi.
I’m glad I went to ‘spoons last night as that’s where I met Beck. She’s been a rock today (I’m not sure she knows how much). Very much a mutual scratching of backs (she was my companion and I gave her something to do) and I shall miss her until we’re due to meet again on Tuesday, for creative writing at CRI: Beck is not a client; she just comes along as my guest and keeps me company. I wouldn’t want my new friend to be tarred with the same brush as me.
I miss my new little friend but I know she’ll be there on Tuesday for me (and herself). And I’m not becoming co-dependent.
I know she’ll be reading this: Hi sweetie.
Until next time.