It's been a while since I worked at the British Library - I used to go in there quite often, just to have a place to work away from home really - and I haven't checked out any books since I wrote Talking Cock (the book - soon to be republished by Go Faster Stripe). But I do love this place and weirdly it's probably easier to get to from Harpenden than it is from Shepherd's Bush.
My first task was to renew my card, which I thought might take a while. The computer I logged in to told me to remember a waiting number of 1208 which seemed ominously high, but as I tried to memorise it a man shouted out "1208", took my old card, checked my driving license, took my photo and handed me my card. I was back in. In spite of only really ever having taken out books about cocks, they didn't judge me.
Then I headed to the lockers, which take a pound which gets returned to you and which today had dozens of open umbrellas on top of them, giving the room a surreal appearance of an art exhibition. It was rather lovely. Some scatty academic had left their wallet and laptop unattended on one of the tables - I assumed they were nearby, but this might be the one building in London you can do that without losing your stuff.
Then I was back into Humanities 1 to get to the computer to look up books about Yusupov and Rasputin and hopefully to find the article in an obscure journal, which I am planning to base my film on.
I was a different man ten years ago when I first came in here, but much was familiar, including the male librarian with long white hair who was still at the returns desk. Back in 2002/3 I had quite fancied one of the female librarians, who had been friendly in return and had been a fan of my TV stuff, but I was too shy to ever ask her out. I think I was pretty lonely at the time and it was totally idiotic of me, especially given that I was 35 at the time. But she must have thought it odd that every book I took out was about the penis and she'd probably have made her excuses. Ah well, we only regret the things we didn't do. Ask out your librarian if you get the chance. I am using "librarian" as a metaphor. You don't literally have to ask out your librarian. That would be insane.
I found most of the books I was looking for on the computer, but was finding the journal hard to track down - It's called "Horizon" which is an annoyingly general word to put into a library search engine, but a member of staff assisted me and we managed to find the correct "Horizon" amongst dozens of journals and we ordered it up. It will take two days to arrive. But it's quite an exciting prospect. It's something that could form the backbone of a new writing project. It will be exciting to finally read the whole piece, having only read minimal reports about it (it's an interview with Yusupov - one of Rasputin's assassins), especially as I've been intending to get on with this script for the best part of five years now. I've got too much else on to get too far with it, but it felt good to have made this start, even if I have to return next week to do any of the actual work.
But I sat down and worked on something else, next week's Metro column. I didn't have too many ideas and the deadline was today and I ended up comparing the terrible mendacious excuses made at the Leveson enquiry and by politicians to my own, slightly superior idea of
blaming a naughty dog. I think it's a pretty tight metaphor for what's going on actually. A young boy shitting his pants, still trying to bluff his way out of it when all evidence is against him, but being undone when a tiny bit of shit leaks out.
It feels really good to be getting some writing work done and there are a few ideas I've got on the go that I am excited about and have just got myself into the mindset now where I assume none of them will actually happen, but I'll just do my best to make them good for me. Set your expectations low and then anything else is a bonus - not a bad motto to live your life by. Especially in connection with "Throw enough shit at the wall and some of it is going to stick." As is "Do enough shit in your shorts and some of it is going to leak out."
I am full of mottos.
I left the umbrella forest locker room at about 5.30pm. I remembered I used to play a game where I checked the coin tray of three empty lockers to see if any of the absent-minded academics had neglected to pick up their pound as they left. As often as not you'd find a coin that quickly. If you were to hang around here all day I reckon you could probably make a reasonable living. There was no coin in the locker next to mine (I hope I remembered to remove my own) but as I walked to the door I chose another locker at random and bang - I had made a pound. I only need to find 13 a day to pay for my train fare from Harpenden and have enough left over for a Wham Bar! Sweet.
I guess the moral of this is hang around in the British Library locker rooms if you want free laptops and money. If you're after free blow jobs from men then try the British Library toilets. There's something here for everyone. As long as they are thieves or indiscriminate homosexuals or people looking to study obscure academia. But imagine if you're all three.
My cock ingestion all happens in the reading rooms. Which makes me a particularly bold patron of this place.
Talking of cocks and of Talking Cock, the anonymous Talking Cock questionnaire is now up and running. Your answers might appear in the show and will go towards providing cock stats. I'd be very grateful if you could fill it in and spread the word to others. Please be as honest as possible - it's totally anonymous so there's no point in lying - The questions for men
are here
The questions for women
are here. Thanks for your help.
Also if you want to come to my final ever Lyric Hammersmith Comedy Night on Sunday, you can get two tickets for just £20 if you quote "April" online or on the phone. Just £10 to see Phill Jupitus, Jenny Eclair, Lucy Porter, Chris McCausland and me. Surely that's got to be worth it -
Here's where you have to click.
