More BirdPoo than Birdsong

Loved the book, but hated what the Beeb did to Sebastian Faulks' Birdsong.  'Shallow' is the best way to describe Abi Morgan's script, although she'd probably prefer 'pared-down', and I struggle to understand how someone who wrote something as good as 'The Hour', could so totally lose the plot with Birdsong.  This was drama for those you who can't or won't read.

Too many long, lingering looks and soft focus, presumably as a feeble attempt to create atmosphere, and too much of the plot that was missing in action.

Now to the leads.  Eddie Redmayne is clearly flavour of the month right now, but I thought his performance was bizarre.  Whenever you see Shakespeare performed, the acting can be as good as you like, the direction as innovative as a you can imagine, but if the text gets butchered then it's dead in the water, and that was my problem with Redmayne - I just couldn't understand the half of what he was saying.  I was only being partly sarcastic when I complimented the Beeb on giving an opportunity to a lead with a speech defect.  Thank goodness for Sky+ which allowed me use Live Pause to rewind - I kept having to do that.  A word of advice for young Mr Redmayne: give up the ventriloquist impressions, and open your damn mouth - that way the words might come out clearly.  Overall though, we saw too much of Redmayne's mouth which people have variously described as looking as though he had a slug stuck to his top lip, or in one case as being 'pale, sausage-like'.



Clemence Poesy had obviously taken her cue from Redmayne and spent the whole three hours whispering - maybe it was an attempt to convey her vulnerability, but it just made her sound deranged.

I thought Joseph Mawle as Jack Firebrace was excellent, as was Marie Josee Croze as Jeanne - she convinced where Poesy didn't.  It struck me from early on that it was just the sort of drama where Anthony Andrews would be bound to appear, and right on cue he popped up as Colonel Barclay - actually his brand of fey madness worked quite well and if someone had given him a teddy bear and told me his first name was Sebastian then I wouldn't have been surprised.

I watched both parts all the way through, mainly because I couldn't believe that the level of mediocrity could be sustained for such a lengthy period, but it was.  Dire, dire, dire - I'm off to re-read the book.

What was all the fuss about?

I finally lost my Nando's virginity, and on balance wish I hadn't.  It seems to be the restaurant of choice for professional rugby players, and I'm told that some of the overpaid prima donna scumball players also like it, so my daughter and I gave it a go.

The food is - at best - average, and seems to be a mixture of KFC and McDonalds, but at a far higher price.  Their idea of hot sauce isn't too hot at all, and their half chicken is more poussin than a proper bird!  Worst of all though, and I know this makes me sound snobbish, the place was full of loud people who didn't seem to know how to hold a knife or a fork.

Maybe I was unfortunate, because I was in beastly Eastleigh, but the whole thing just didn't seem that clean to me.  Our table had had a cursory wipe with a cloth after an antibacterial spray, but it hadn't been dried so when we sat down the cutlery and napkins immediately became damp.  Overall, I just found it a bit depressing and unpleasant.  Oh, and worst of all...the chips were soggy.

'Like', it's like really irritating

What is this current obsession with the omniword 'like'?  It's, like, a really good way to make intelligent people sound, like, stupid.  You hear it everywhere, and when you hear some people interviewed it is, like, the most commonly-used word in their, like, vocabulary.

In fact, it's just a habit, and like other unpleasant habits - farting in public, biting your nails, picking your nose and eating your own snot - it can and should be broken.  My recommendation is that every time you hear 'like' misused, you challenge the person and simply ask, "What do you mean - it is that, or is it like that?"  It worked with my daughter when she was in her early teens, and I know others who have successfully adopted the same approach - she may use the omniword outside of the house, but she's smart enough not to use it at home!

Are Winchester people being taken for mugs?

Why are petrol prices so high in Winchester?  There seems to be a remarkable degree of unanimity amongst the petrol stations in the city about what is the right selling price, but if you drive a few miles away, then prices drop sharply.



On the outskirts of Romsey unleaded petrol was 129.9p per litre, in Gosport it was 128.9p, and in and around Southampton it was around 130.9p, but Winchester prices seem to be around 134.9p. 

Has someone been believing the tosh about Winchester being an affluent city, and decided to exploit us?  Had we a local paper that did its job properly then it would be asking some questions.

Why are cyclists so stupid?

Is there something strange that happens when a grown person climbs aboard a bike?  Are they required to leave their brain at home?



Firstly, I'm sure that there are some sensible cyclists, just as there are plenty of bad car and lorry drivers, but there is a difference: in town if you do something stupid in a car you might hit a pavement or bump another car, but if you do daft things on a bike you will probably get seriously hurt or killed.

Driving through Winchester one dark evening last week I only just spotted a cyclist, dressed all in black, on a racing bike with no rear lights.  It was the equivalent of going out on a suicide mission, and when I tooted my horn at him, he gave me the finger.  Had I killed him, I have no doubt it would have been seen as my fault.

A geriatric lady riding her bike down Parchment St in Winchester....the wrong way on a one-way street.  Try that in a car and you'll be in trouble, but if you're a cyclist...

At the traffic lights on North Walls, indicating that I plan to turn left towards River Park, when a cyclist decides to ignore my signals and come up the inside of me - he only just got away with it - had I hit him I've no doubt he'd have thought it was my fault.

Traffic lights seemingly don't apply to cyclists - watch them and you'll find that most simply ignore them.

Cyclists are, more often than not, total muppets on the road.   Fact!

Xmas gender stereotyping

Just done Waitrose in Winchester for the final time before Xmas, and was struck by the degree to which people take leave of their manners and senses at this time of the year.  By 08:00 there were around 100 punters queuing to get into the store, and once the doors opened, the gender differences became apparent.

The men were all action: "I have been given my list, and I'm going to succeed in getting everything - I'm a hunter gatherer, and being a bloke is about survival of the fittest.  Why are these people crawling round the aisles?  I'm going to go round at speed, bashing into things and sighing at the incompetence of everyone else".  Shouting too:  "Hey you, where are the pickled lemons?  What do you mean you've run out of Bourbon Vanilla Pods?  No, I don't want those vanilla pods - my list says Bourbon!  Christ, I could do this in half the time if all these other muppets weren't in the store."



Winchester Woman is a different beast.  Dyed blonde hair, sunglasses in a supermarket on 23 December, and dressed as though she has had an accident with her 14-year-old daughter's Topshop wardrobe.  Really, black leggings don't work in public once a woman gets above a certain weight - as my late father-in-law (a former gamekeeper) used to say: "The sights you see when you haven't got your gun".  Winchester Woman also checks her brain in at the door once she has parked her black, tinted-windowed 4 x 4.  The preferred trolley technique seems to be to simply stop in the middle of the aisle, and abandon it. While everyone else queues to get round the obstacle, WW is off roaming other aisles in search of chestnuts and meringues, oblivious to a) how grotesque she looks, and b) the chaos she has left behind her.




Once WW gets to the aisle, I'll bet you a pound to a penny that she dumps her groceries on the belt, and then, with a dramatic sigh and expletive, deserts them in search of the four or five items she has forgotten to get. My technique is to simply shove their shopping back up the belt while they're gone, and put mine there instead.  Trust me, they love it!

And a merry Xmas to you all!  Bah, humbug.

Why M&S made me feel like a racist

I like M&S Direct, the chain store's on-line service, because whenever I've used it, it has worked really well...up until now.  I sent friends in Scotland some wine for Xmas, and having been away for a couple of days found two messages on my answering machine from two women in one of the M&S call centres.  The problem was that neither of the messages were comprehensible - the women's accents were impenetrable, but I did manage to catch the 'phone number.

I called, and the person who answered struggled to understand anything that I said to her, and her English was so bad that I became more and more baffled, and then progressively more annoyed - what should have been a two-minute call to resolve a minor delivery issue, became a 20-minute saga.  Let's not beat about the bush: she was of Asian origin and spoke lousy English with an extremely strong accent.  Had this been a cockney or a Brummie, or someone from Northern Ireland, or any of the other British accents that can sometimes be difficult, I wouldn't have had a problem complaining, but the fact that she was Asian caused me to pause before I lost the plot.  Would she, and the manager I eventually spoke to, think that I was complaining because she was Asian...was I running the risk of being branded a racist?

How sad it is that such a thought should even cross my mind, but I know lots of people who hate dealing with call centres based overseas, simply because they've had bad experiences, similar to mine.

In the end I did complain, and her supervisor promised to go off and listen to the call.  He called me back, apologised on behalf of M&S, telling me that he struggled to understand what was going on, and made a 'gesture' of a financial nature to recompense me for my inconvenience.

Call centres are, sadly, a fact of life, and I have sympathy for the people who work in them and who suffer abuse from unhappy customers, but surely the very first criterion for employing someone in a call centre has to be that their English is up to scratch?  I couldn't care less about the ethnic origins of the call centre person I speak to, but they'd better be able to communicate with me in a sensible manner!

Driving in Scotland - part 2

As if driving in Scotland wasn't hard enough and dangerous enough already, Transport Scotland have a novel way of distracting drivers.  The illuminated signs on motorways have a purpose: to tell drivers when there's a hazard ahead, or inform them about how long it might take to get to a point further along their journey.  However, north of the border they are used to annoy and to help your attention wander.

Heading up the M6, all is sane, but then you hit the A74/M74, and the madness starts - it also features on the M8 and the Glasgow motorway system. (you'll note that punctuation doesn't figure on the signs).

'Bin your litter Other people do'
'Picking up your litter risks workmens lives' - I wasn't sure how my picking up my litter endangered anyone, but then I realised this one was ambiguous as well as being daft
'Drive smart save fuel' - an advert for Smart cars?
'Check your tyre pressure regularly' - but hopefully not at 70 mph in the second overtaking lane.
'Check your mirror for bikes' - I did, and there were none hanging off them
'Could you car share'
'Think about car share' - actually, I was thinking about Tunnock's caramel wafers until you distracted me
'Soft tyres waste fuel' - soft signs waste lives!
'Wear seat belts its the law'
'Car sharing save money reduce emissions' - since when has that been a sentence?
'Be a courteous driver' - wasted on me as I was by then screaming 'F*** Off!' at the signs.
'Dont drive and take drugs' - are prescription drugs included in this?

Why do they do this?  Does some overpaid bureaucrat sit at a computer typing in platitudes all day long, or are they randomly generated? 

Does Transport Scotland seriously believe, that as I speed up the M74, my driving experience is enhanced by this glib, fatuous nonsense?  If they want to improve the standard of driving in Scotland maybe they should try:

'Indicate occasionally' or 'Give us a clue what you intend to do next'
'Try driving in the driving lane rather than the second overtaking lane'
'Try driving in lanes rather than straddling them'

Is this really what devolved government has given Scotland - the right to become a laughing stock?

By the way, should anyone be incensed about these two most recent posts to my blog, I'm a Scot so I'm allowed to say what I like about my fellow countrymen and countrywomen! 

Driving in Scotland

The aggression which meant that the Scottish fighting man played a major role in the establishment and the maintenance of the British Empire, now finds its outlet in driving.  Up in Edinburgh for the Festival, and then the trip across country to sail to Arran, meant that I had plenty of opportunity to see the Scottish driver in full flow.



On motorways, what is properly called the second overtaking lane, or what the rest of the country colloquially calls the fast lane, is to many Scots the driving lane.  Never have I seen so many people get themselves out there, and then refuse to budge.  I saw one muppet drive for 20 miles along the M8 in that lane, and then dive across the other two lanes towards his exit.  Clearly there's a mindset that says, 'They shall not pass'.

In Scottish towns and cities it appears that different rules apply there compared to the rest of the UK.  Indicators are clearly seen as a sign of weakness: generally to be ignored totally, but if the driver is a wimp, to be briefly touched five or ten yards before the turning.

When turning left it is de rigeur to lurch towards the middle of the road in order to give oneself an easier job of making the turn.  Turning right, across the oncoming traffic, simply involves stopping in the road - as previously said, a signal would merely serve as a clue to help other drivers, and is clearly unthinkable.  I swear that some of the stuff I've seen wouldn't seem out of place in a third world country.

As an exiled Scot I love my country, but I'm baffled by why it has chosen to declare its independence from the rest of the UK by first of all changing its driving habits - I would have thought independence first, and then releasing a new Scottish Highway Code would have been more sensible.

As for Transport Scotland, the agency responsible for roads north of the border, it's a remarkable organisation...but more of that next time.

Fi Glover's new radio show is, like, great

Travelling up to Beirut - sorry, London - earlier this week, I listened to Fi Glover's excellent new radio programme, Generations Apart.  Lovely stuff about people born in 1990 who Glover will follow over the next three years.

There was a guy who was a former drug addict, who had been convicted of assaulting his father - he kicked him in the head - but who came over pretty well.  Some of the interview was quite disturbing, but at least he was lucid.  However, the next woman was at, like, Cambridge and described as being, like, one of the most gifted students of her, like, generation.  Apparently she's also a playwright, which I guess means she, like, writes plays.  I bet her dialogue is, like, annoying.  She may be gifted, but she'll find it difficult to, like, get a job unless she smartens her act up.

Why do people adopt the omniword 'like', and what does it mean?  Is it just an infantile habit like smoking or farting in public, or do they think it makes them sound cool?  The reality is that it's profoundly stupid and deeply irritating - the hope is that it's just a fad and will, like, pass in the fullness of time.

Reaping what you sow

This unpleasant and discredited coalition is reaping the results of what it sowed when it announced, and implemented, swingeing cuts to public services.  The surprise for me is not that we are seeing violence on the streets, but that it took so long to happen.

On one level it's easy: what is happening is disgusting and needs to be stopped, quickly and firmly.  If that means that a few thugs and hooligans get hurt or, heaven forbid, killed, then so be it - go on the rampage, assaulting innocent people and looting shops, and you must expect what's coming to you.  I'm with the police 100% in their efforts to keep the streets safe.

That said, it's easy to understand why communities say, 'we've had enough'.  Unemployment in those London boroughs is way too high, community and youth centres are being closed, EMA has been abolished, and the increase in univeristy fees WILL deter working-class kids.  When the government tells those young people by its actions that it considers them to have no worth, then what future have they got?  Peaceful demonstrations will have no effect on this set of useless leaders, so it's hardly a surprise that they've taken to the streets.

Meanwhile, Cameron, Osborne, and Johnson are nowhere to be seen, and Teresa May is so far out of her depth that she is a national embarrassment.  If there is one ray of sunshine in this - and goodness knows it's hard to spot - it can only be that it might precipitate the fall of this rotten government.

Am I becoming like Victor Meldrew?

I try very hard not to travel by train.  Lots of reasons, most of which are related to previous experiences in the cattle trucks taking commuters to London from Winchester - the first thing I wanted to do after getting home was change and shower to get the city's grime off me.  However, this morning my daughter wanted to travel to Manchester so I had to endure Winchester station.

Two platforms, one person selling tickets, but several automated machines.  Key in the journey from Winchester to Manchester, and up come a number of prices, the cheapest of which is £184.  My daughter says, 'that's not right - I checked online and it's £94'.  So we queue, and wait...and wait...while a number of 'Winchester women' (loud, and without the sense to try to find their credit card before they get to the counter), and OAPs, fumble and stumble through their ticket purchase.  We get to the counter, I ask for a return and...you've guessed it, £94.  Scam or simple incompetence on the part of the railways?  You decide, I have my view.

These are the same idiots who, the last time I bought my daughter a ticket, sold one that wasn't valid the following day, despite me have clearly spelled out that was when she was travelling.  She had to buy another ticket and the evil apparatchiks at South-West Pains plain refused to refund my money despite the problem being the result of their incompetence.  

I hate them, and their rickety over-priced 'services', and despite what I'm told about saving the planet, I'll keep on driving just to ensure I give them as little money as possible.

Angry

Amy Winehouse is dead.  Hardly a surprise and, of course, it's terrible that anyone should die at such an early age.  That said, the reaction, especially on Sky News, was OTT.  When 93 - and counting - people who wanted to live are killed in Norway, and famine is striking Africa yet again, forgive me if I don't spend too much time mourning someone who for years had given a damned good impression of having a death wish.

Predictably, 'Legend' is being bandied about, and I suppose it will be used in the coming years, but someone who made two albums - one good, and one excellent - hardly earned that description in my book.

What a waste of talent: now excuse me if I think more about those who want to live but have had the opportunity taken from them - many of them would have loved to have got to 27!

How big are Cameron's balls?

Dodgy Dave went on the attack today, and his comment about Alastair Campbell 'doctoring' documents was a fascinating one.  When he said it in the House, of course, he was protected by parliamentary privilege, but I very much doubt he'll utter those words outside.  My recollection is that none of the inquiries found any evidence to support Cameron's accusation, and unless he knows something we don't, it was straightforward mud-slinging.  Come on Dave, say it in public if you think you're hard enough!

The disappointment of the day for me was Ed Milliband.  I was convinced that he was the wrong brother when he was elected leader, and a few good days of late, followed by today's lacklustre one, have done nothing to change my view.  I've let my Labour party membership lapse, and I'll only renew it when the party comes to its senses and ditches our loser of a leader.

As an aside, when the 'comedian' Jonnie Marbles custard pie'd YMG yesterday, the first thought that went through my mind was, "I wonder who paid him to do it?"  It was such an obvious way for YMG to get public sympathy that I assumed that it was a stunt thought up by one of his PR people.  Seemingly I was wrong in that assumption - it was all Marbles' own idea.  Maybe I'm just too cynical for my own good, or perhaps that's what the tabloid press has done to me and many others.

Mauled by kittens

Having spent the afternoon watching the Murdochs and now Rebekka Brooks facing their parliamentary inquisitors, I've simply had my previous view confirmed: the gulf between people who succeed in business, and those who enter parliament, is huge. 

Most of the MPs didn't have a clue about how to tackle questioning powerful figures, and were, in the main, simply hamming it up for the cameras - I doubt the Murdochs could believe how easy it all was.  Any journalist or salesperson would have done a better job.  I'm staggered that the MPs generally seemed to believe that convoluted three- or four-part questions were the way to get at the truth: most of the time our elected representatives seemed to confuse themselves rather than worry the interviewee.

  I actually felt sorry for Young Mr Grace, as he didn't really seem to be fully engaged it matters at the start, and it came over as a bunch of bullies having a pop at a very old man.  Later on he got into his stride - well, it was more of a totter, but it was still too good for the committee.  Son James was simply too well briefed and too smooth - they didn't lay a finger on him.  It staggered me that the MPs believed that the men (and woman) at the top of a huge multi-national should have known every detail of what was going on - like all CEOs and Chairmen, they get told what they want to hear most of the time.

A self-publicising stand-up comedian throwing shaving foam in his face was a godsend for the octogenarian YMG - mugging old people offends British sensibilities.

Of the MPs, Tom Watson at least managed a decent imitation of being menacing, but the rest just huffed and puffed.

If you want it in footballing terms, I reckon it was probably something like 5-1 to the Murdochs and Ms Brooks, and to misquote  George Bernard Shaw, 'He can that can does. He who cannot, ends up on the Commons Media Committee'.

Should we be shocked?

The suggestion that the voicemail of Milly Dowler, and quite possibly those of other murder victims or their relatives, have been hacked into, seems to have shocked the nation.  Why?  I would have been more surprised had it not been going on.

We have a tabloid press that has got itself into a spiral where each paper has to try to outdo its rivals in terms of scoops, exclusives, or sleaze.  They do it for one simple reason and that's because people want to read it, so a lot of the mock indignation doesn't sit comfortably with me.  There are only two things that can stop the sort of nonsense induged in by the NotW (and, more than likely, some of its rivals):  either people stop buying it, which isn't going to happen, or advertisers stop spending.  It seems that the latter might just be happening, but forgive me if I'm cynical about that too.

Are the companies that are considering taking their advertising away doing it for honourable reasons, or for commercial ones?  Do their managements really care about what's been going on, or are they simply trying to score a few brownie points with their customers, and perhaps an edge over their competitors by beating them to the punch ?  If it was the former they'd have done it years ago, but the truth is that they value access to the NotW's demographic much more than some sort of a moral stance. 

My bet is that those who stop advertising will hold a watching brief: if the NotW's readership levels hold up then they'll be back after a suitably decent interval - that will be precisely how long they think it takes for enough people to have forgotten about the current furore.

Principle?  Don't make me laugh!

The day horseracing lost its marbles

Watching Royal Ascot yesterday I saw one of the greatest horse races I've ever seen.  The ex-Aussie 'wonder horse', So You Think, went off at 4/11 - that means if you wanted to win £4 you'd have to risk losing £11 - in the Prince of Wales's Stakes.  That made him probably the hottest favourite of the week, and before the race his trainer, Aidan O'Brien oozed confidence, telling us that this was a very special horse.

However, things didn't go according to the script as Frankie Dettori gave Rewilding one of the best rides I've ever seen any jockey give a horse (no, I didn't back him so I'm not talking through my pocket), to edge it in the final strides.  Rewilding was hugely brave, and Dettori was inspired - it was the sort of spectacle that makes racing the great sport that it is.

How then do we explain to racing's audience the nine-day ban that Dettori got for using his whip 'with excessive frequency'?  It was totally absurd to ban a jockey for winning the race by getting his horse to give every ounce of effort, but that's the way that the crazy rules work.

Racing's rulers have made an abject surrender to the well-intentioned but misguided do-gooders who don't like seeing horses hit with the whip.  It's the job of the trainer to get his horse really fit, and then the jockey has to get it to try its best to win.  If a horse is being mistreated it will dig its heels in and not show its best - Dettori did not do anything that damaged Rewilding in any way and should not have been banned.

Dettori weighs less then nine stones soaking wet, and when he's riding he isn't allowed to let his lightweight whip be delivered from above shoulder height - try it for yourself and see how much, or rather, how little effort can be applied from that position.  I don't know what Rewilding weighs, but it's a damned site more than nine stones and I seriously doubt that the horse felt pain from Dettori's whip - if he had then he'd have stopped trying his heart out.  Was it the legendary trainer George Lambton who described Flat racing as little men on big horses?

There are times when the whip can be abused. and on those occasions the jockeys should be punished.  An exhausted National Hunt horse being whipped at the end of a three-mile race in the mud is an unedifying spectacle - and those jockeys are bigger, can hit harder, and the races are longer.  But in Flat racing?  No, I don't believe I've seen anything that I would describe as abuse.

Sport is about winning, and the best horse won yesterday.  When Dettori used his whip he was encouraging / asking Rewilding to try his hardest for him, and it was a joy to see the horse's obvious desire to give his partner everything he could, and show an indomitable will to win.  The authorities need to get a grip, and fast, as they're making a mockery out of a wonderful sport, and sadly they're doing it to appease a minority.

If you want one final, and totally damning piece of evidence that shows that there's nothing wrong with using the whip in racing, then here it is: John McCririck, plainly a total madman, would like the whip banned.  The defence rests its case.

Can anyone explain to me why the Archbishop of Canterbury's pronouncements get such wide publicity?  One look at the man tells you that he's as mad as a badger, but the press hangs on his every word.



I have no time for any brand of superstition, and therefore I tend not to listen to the brand managers when they decide to issue press releases, which is what Rowan Williams latest effort is.  Of course, if you spout often enough and long enough then it's inevitable that you'll be right once in a while, and the old duffer is on the money for once when he criticises the Coalition.  Don't you just love it when one establishment figure has a pop at another one - Dave v Rowan wrestling it out over three rounds, with Gideon and God as their respective seconds !

Williams is guest editing the New Statesman this week - what on earth were they thinking about when they invited him?  Who next, a White Witch or a member of the Flat Earth society?

Amateur hour at the Labour party

I've just watched Ed Milliband speaking on the subject of the NHS - dreadful.  No, not what he said, but the way that he looked while he was talking.  He was either in terrible pain, or, more likely, his people hadn't bothered to think about the lighting in the room.  His face had a permanent grimace, with his eyes screwed up, as though he was terribly constipated or the lights were shining right in his face.

It wouldn't EVER have happened to Tony Blair, as his team would have made certain everything was right for the boss to look good on television.  Even Gordon Brown's people would have spotted the problem, but the 'wrong' Milliband looks more and more like a buffoon every time he opens his mouth.

Things are going pear-shaped for the Coalition and it should be easy for Labour to capitalise on their problems, but there's a real danger that they'll miss the boat.  Ed M must go, and Labour should beg brother David to step into the breach.  It's not as simple as just saving the Labour party, it's about saving the country from the likes of Dave, Gideon, Nick and Vince.

We don't serve your type in here

'Mind your p's and q's', 'Out of sorts', 'Coin (Quoin) a phrase', are all sayings which have their origins in the world of printing.  I recently visited Robert Smail's print workshop in Innerleithen in the Scottish Borders, and it's a wonderful place.  The Smails were inveterate hoarders, and the workshop, owned now by the National Trust for Scotland, is a treasure trove of their work over more than a century.  They saved everything: labels for parcels of wool that went from the mills to customers across the world, the local newspaper, notices of meetings, wedding invitations, and so on - it's great.



You start with the archivist who is painstakingly working her way through a roomful of documents, and then move on to the typesetting room where you set up your name - I of course got it wrong and first time around was gaoB niloC!  The room has the trays of sorts - the name for an individual piece of type - and if you run out then you're out of sorts.  The trays have the capitals in the upper case, and the rest in the lower case - hence the terms we unthinkingly use today. Sorts are a mirror image of the letter they're meant to print, and they're loaded upside down in the composing stick, so it's easy for even an experienced printer to get his p's and q's mixed up.

You then move on to the print room where there are four wonderful old presses which still work - the printers who tell you about the machines actually use them because the Trust runs a small printing business. 

It is a wonderful place to visit and it doesn't half give you food for thought.  We change fonts all the time on our PCs, and we use italics and bold as a matter of course: at one time every one of those changes involved a different set of trays.  I'm reading Andrew Garfield's 'Just My Type' at present and it reminded me that it was as recent as 1984, when the first Mac was launched, that different fonts became available to anyone who wasn't a printer.



The book is fascinating, and Smail's makes for an absorbing visit - if you're ever up north of the border don't miss out on visiting it.