Innerpeffray Library

You know when people share their favouritest place with you, and you’re afraid you’ll hate it and that it will cause problems between you and all that? Helen Grant has been going on and on about Innerpeffray Library – almost in the middle of nowhere in Perthshire – for so long, that I thought she might, just possibly, be deluded.

Dear reader, she’s actually right. Innerpeffray is the place to go (especially if it doesn’t rain) for the library experience with a difference. (Pardon me if I sound like an advertisement.) It’s a beautiful old building, next to an old chapel – with graveyard – in the loveliest of settings; green fields with sheep in, a grassy ‘drive’ covered in tiny daisies, lovely plants along the path there, future nettle soup on the side, and a warm welcome when you arrive.

The librarian is called Lara, and I have rarely had such a fantastic guide anywhere. She talked history with the Resident IT Consultant and Helen, while I listened to these well educated, knowledgeable people, pretending I was too. For any little topic that came up, she found the book to illustrate it. (It’s almost as if Lara reads the books they have in there.)

She found me a Swedish book. They have two, but the other proved elusive when searched for. There was a book on witchcraft, which I gather is the vilest of crimes, trumping everything else. Hmm. This year’s exhibition is on crime, since that’s what we mere mortals like.

Lara climbs on the exceedingly tall ladder as though she was born to it. Apparently you have to go on a ladder-climbing course before you can work there. (Very relieved to hear that volunteers aren’t allowed to. So I could volunteer…)

They do events. Helen Grant did something spooky there recently, and has vowed to return for Halloween (which sounds great; if a little scary). Alexander McCall Smith is appearing at Innerpeffray to play very bad music. In fact, this coming weekend is full of fun sounding things to do. At one point Lara had to go off to see to some champagne. Later there was smoked salmon business needing her attention.

And even though it is now in a deserted corner of Perthshire’s lovely fields, when I asked that most commonly asked question ‘why is it here?’ I learned that when it started, it was a very busy part of the world, what with the river below, and all sorts of things.

People came to borrow books, and you can see the register of borrowers, which includes servants, and I found ‘a serf’ as well. This freedom with the books remains today. Unlike other museum type places where you can touch nothing; here you are allowed to. (Only not if your fingers are covered in clotted cream.) In the end I was frightened I’d tear one of the pages, so hardly dared to leaf through the witchcraft tome.

So, I can totally identify with Helen who comes here a lot. She suffered over the winter when they were closed, and could hardly wait to pop over when the library winter came to an end.

And you know, somewhere that has a purple panelled toilet, as well as a chapel where you can get married, beats a lot of places you might visit. If you can find it. You go down that road, and then you take that almost invisible turning, and later on you go left, follow the winding road and at some point you turn down some other road, at the end of which you will find you’ve arrived.

Unless you approach from some other direction.

Only politeness made us leave when it was Lara’s lunch break. That, and the fact that we too needed lunch. We went back to Schloss Grant and shared bread and cheese and salad, with fresh strawberries (which were very nice), and after that we actually ate some Battenbergs too. We talked books and publishing. The cats were woken so they could say hello.

Helen told me something I mustn’t repeat, which I won’t, because not only am I nice (so so) but I have forgotten what it was. She gave me her new collection of short stories, which I hope won’t scare me too much (I’ll get back to you on that) and then she showed us the door. Very politely.

I would recommend this outing to anyone. Unfortunately, not all of you can do the last part, but Lara and the library are waiting for you. Perhaps get married there, and provide them with some essential, financial support!

(My apologies for the numerous photos. It’s the kind of place where you just can’t not take pictures. Besides, Adèle Geras has demanded them. I’d recommend going now. It’s sunny, and nature is at its prettiest.)

Orange

It was almost an orange Wednesday for the Resident IT Consultant and me, but when we weighed in the half term factor and the anonymous text message asking if ‘he could come Wednesday at one’ we decided against James Bond this week. There will, hopefully, be more Wednesdays. And once he knew who wanted him at one, he went.

There’s not even a pumpkin for Halloween, however. Just a container of sweets, past their date. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I used to faithfully get the Resident IT Consultant to wield a knife on some innocent pumpkin towards the end of October every year, but by 2011 I couldn’t see the point, and in 2012 I found to my surprise that the greengrocer went out of business while I was away for a few days.

No pumpkin at all. We do have some clementines and a few oranges. They are orange.

So are the books I’ve been reading lately. It’s as if certain things just gang up on me. In this case, orange books. My current read is both Halloween-coloured and written by a pseudonym. The Tobermory Cat is orange, and he has featured a lot recently.

The Sultan’s Tigers is an orangey sort of book. It also contains other coincidences, which I couldn’t help noticing as I read through my pile of travel entertainment last week, while the greengrocer disappeared.

The tiger book features two characters by the name of Trelawney. There was a Trelawney in Lady Catherine’s Necklace, which I read just before it. A helicopter landing pad on top of a tall building (Tiger book, not the Austen sequel) neatly mirrored the helipad in Angel Fire. Tiger is set in India, and after it, I just happened to move on to another book set in India.

Sometimes I pick books like that, according to a pattern. What is fascinating (what do you mean it isn’t?) is when several books in a row manage a pattern of their own.

Tigers are cats. Orange cats.

Perhaps a red read next?

Bookwitch bites #87

As you might have noticed, I have found Terry Pratchett’s horses. Go back to Thursday’s blog where the lovely horses, and the carriage, have been added. Oh, go on, I’ll put the horses here too.

While I’m feeling a bit Pratchetty, I’ll post this link to an interview Terry did in the spring, on the Late Late Show. Me being me, I thought of the American Late Show. Was very relieved to find it was an Irish namesake, because the quality of the interview was rather better for it.

My journey to Soho on Wednesday wasn’t quite in the style of Sir Terry’s, but it was OK. You know how I am a witch? I looked at the London train before mine (Is it only in the UK you worry so much about your connecting train being late, that you catch the one before?) and thought to myself I had never seen the 11-coach Pendolino. (Is this too geeky?) So, obviously my train when it arrived turned out to be an 11-coach Pendolino.

That means that coaches E and G no longer join together, but have coaches F and U between them. (Fascinating, isn’t it?) I sat in E. In case anyone is interested.

So that’s where I ended up assisting in the translating of a Danish press release about the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and you-know-what. At the time I thought ‘oh, it will be some sort of homework,’ until I recalled the caller no longer is in a place where homework is handed out.

I’m going to have to find some sort of Danish-English dictionary if this is going to go on. (It has, already. Gone on.) I have done deeds, also in Danish. And I don’t even ‘get’ them in Swedish.

The travelling has been paused. I need a rest. Although, I am considering ScareFest 3 on Saturday 6th of October, in Crosby Civic Hall. At least if my horse and carriage will get me there. If it does, I will be entertained by Philip Caveney, Curtis Jobling, Jon Mayhew, Tommy Donbavand, Joseph Delaney, Barry Hutchison and David Gatward (who I don’t know at all).

Apparently it’s Halloween come early. You need to catch the little ones before half term.

Haunted

Would you rather sleep well? If so, don’t do what I did. I read a short story every evening before going to bed. I thought it’d be a good way of enjoying this new anthology – Haunted – for Halloween. How wrong I was.

The stories aren’t bad. Not at all. Most of them do exactly what they are meant to do. Scare you, and make you think of ghosts, and possibly even make your pulse go a wee bit faster.

Who’d have thought there could be so many ghosts? There are bad ones and small ones and sweet ones (I think so, anyway) and funny ones and ones you wouldn’t want to meet in your friendly neighbourhood graveyard. Even in daylight.

Some stories end well (ish). Others don’t.

As I might have mentioned when Derek Landy guest blogged here the other day, his story is very funny. Doesn’t mean people don’t die.

And if you look in the mirror, is there someone there? Apart from your good self, I mean. Also, whatever possesses people – children – to go out late at night to some dark and haunted place? On their own. It’s just asking for trouble.

I have to take issue with Matt Haig over giftshops. At first I thought he’s a really enlightened man. Then I realised he’d got it all wrong. He could have done the umbrellas even by doing the giftshop the other way round.

It’s not just dark dungeons that are haunted. Sunny beaches aren’t necessarily any better. Sunnier, but not safer. And what are you most scared of; computers or dogs?

Anyway, don’t let me put you off. Joseph Delaney, Susan Cooper, Mal Peet, Jamila Gavin, Eleanor Updale, Derek Landy, Robin Jarvis, Sam Llewellyn, Matt Haig, Philip Reeve and Berlie Doherty have come up with some good stories. Best enjoyed with your elevenses, than with your bedtime snack, though.

Midweek miscellany

That’s early midweek if you only count weekdays.

I was childishly pleased with Halloween this year. Those who know me are aware I’m rubbish at saying anything very nice or sensible to people, and for years I’ve struggled with trick-or-treaters. You know, coming up with something complimentary to say about what they are wearing.

‘That’s very nice dear’ sounds really lame. Pretending to be scared is also hard. (Though I’m inching towards the idea of wearing a mask myself next time, because it’s so tempting to think that I can have them running screaming down the road.) So this time I told them how horrible they looked, and believe me, that was so much easier. ‘You there with the green face; you look awful’ or ‘I’m trying to decide which one of you looks the worst’ slipped out quite nicely whenever I opened the door.

Something else that is rubbish is the local waste system. We have just graduated to more recycling, which is good. I grabbed the leaflet that came with the new bins, thinking there would actually be a recycling calendar with it – as before – and found there wasn’t, which was rubbish. It seems it was posted to us, ‘and if you haven’t received it you can look online’. Maybe people can’t? Some taxpayers with rubbish could be such rubbish people that they don’t use computers.

Anyway, from this week we have to put our uneaten sandwiches and any other food not eaten, in a special bin. Trials have told the council most people fill three of the enclosed bags in a week. Well, my week is almost over and I have managed to put some eggshells in, and the crust of one sandwich, two strands of spagetti and three currants which escaped from the Christmas cake.

Filled in my diary for 2011. Reminders of birthdays and college dates and such like. College has issued a parents’ list which I used. Then I double checked with the students’ journal, and it seems they don’t get any Easter holidays, except they have to return from them. February half term starts on different days, depending on what you read. Upper sixth students leave on 20th May. Unless it’s on the 27th.

Who cares?

Halloween reads

There are more – and squishier – pumpkins in Vampires and Volts, but other than that it’s always Halloween at Castle Otherhand. It’s the kind of Goth/Halloweeny place that will never be normal, and where weird is the norm.

The Raven Mysteries written by Marcus Sedgwick and illustrated by Pete Williamson are – as the name suggests – about a raven. He’s called Edgar. He is so me that we could be brother and sister and I love him. And as Edgar is my dear brother, I don’t have a problem with him being a raven, or even a bird. I’m so pleased that we can finish this Halloween week of horrors with something quite sweet and funny, while still a wee bit creepy.

It’d be so easy to sniff at these books and dismiss them as brief entertainment for younger readers. They are extremely intelligently written; brief but using grown-up and mature words and sentence structure, which is the way forward for tomorrow’s readers. The humour in them is totally ‘adult’, and can possibly be explained by Edgar’s advanced years. He’s seen a lot.

The Otherhands are somewhat careless with their staff. They have so many, but they do go through them slightly too fast. It doesn’t do to call the people who supply them with maids and footmen several times a week. They will run out of prospective employees before long. And it would look better if they seemed to care when yet a few more maids snuff it.

Mum Minty is a wee bit lacking in the lady-of-the manor department for an ex-witch. Her husband is mad, but we expect husbands to be mad. Son Cudweed is dim and likes his food rather too much, but daughter Solstice is quite lovely. Goth and capable, and so articulate. Gasp. Gulp. And dear Edgar keeps them all going and assists at all times.

I read Flood and Fang when it first came out, and after that the Raven Mysteries piled up until I had a Raven weekend reading Ghosts and Gadgets, Lunatics and Luck, as well as Vampires and Volts, which is the latest one and out just in time for Halloween. But as I said, they are all Halloween books. And you don’t need to have read one before you read another. They stand alone very well. But you’d be an idiot not to read all. We all need some fun in our lives.