We're taking a bit of a breather while the world rearranges its underpants. Meanwhile, the other blog is here.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Hush, hush, whisper who dares...

Helminthdale Library's been closed a week now. We've told the papers and we've told the councillors but nobody's told staff outside Helminthdale Library yet.

"We should have a library service intranet for information like this," says Milton.

"If nobody can be arsed sending out a whole-service email with the news there's no way they're going to be bothered updating an intranet page," I retort.

According to the papers we're providing "limited services" in the Special Needs Section, which has a separate entrance and is partitioned off enough for it not to have to get involved in the carpeting and joinery excitements. None of us know what these "limited services" are, least of all the people staffing the Special Needs Section. When I pop in to try and bring an errant printer to heel (successfully I might add: the secret is to keep aniseed balls in your handkerchief) I spot one clue to the "limited services:" there's a trolley loaded with Richard and Judy Club books and there's a sign on the public PC saying "sorry, no internet."

Catty is marginally better: we've all been told that the library's closed. I suppose it would be precious of me to sulk about having to refer to newspaper reports to find out about collections which are being moved to other libraries, after all I'm just the guy who has to make them available on the circulation system. Millie and Verity warned me about the Richard and Judies and Graphic Novels going over to Carbootsale and Millie warned me about the computer books going to Gypsy Lane. Saturday's Catty Examiner tells me that the Sounds Like A Story collection's following the computer books.

"Yes, Julia's decided they're coming here," says Pansy. "No idea where they're going, though."

Carbootsale looks like the Argos warehouse which box upon box of stuff dumped there from Catty Library. I dare say Gypsy Lane's destined for the same fate.


The Topiary Cow said...

Aniseed is the secret, eh?


Kevin Musgrove said...

Every time. A printer would sell its soul for an aniseed ball.