From Wonthaggi

Here I am at Wonthaggi Library. I have 33 minutes Internet time remaining - so we will keep this brief.

Actually, I may get chucked out before my time because, quite frankly, I stink.

Why do I stink? I hear you ask. I am not going to tell you yet.

It is a hook - one of those clever writerly things.

I hope you keep reading.

I got down here about 3 pm Saturday. After shopping at Brentford Square, Safeway, I belted down the freeway singing. Actually, I didn't belt. My car isn't capable of belting. But I arrived, eventually, with my throat hoarse, set my computer up, loaded my food into the fridge and started writing. Yeah!

When dinner time came. I had an number of appetising choices. But I opted for fish.

As well as writing this week, I am doing the health thing. I had bought one block of chocolate - fair trade, of course - to last me the whole week.

I had my first piece at 4pm.

My second piece at 7pm (admirable restraint, you will all agree)

By bedtime the whole block was finished - yes, I know pitiful.

I brought a bottle of wine with me. I opened that at 5pm (sort of a family tradition)

But I didn't have any until 8pm because I wanted to be able to type straight.

I had one glass, followed by another and went to bed smashed!

Actually, that's a lie (but I always wanted to write it - one of those alter ego things).

I only had half a glass of wine and went to bed stone cold sober - Phoebe would be proud of me.

As I said, as well as writing, this is a health week. I have come up here to Curves in Wonthaggi. that is one of the reasons that I stink - but not the only reason.

So keep reading.

I also had to send a short story to the editors of a new Melbourne writers magazine [untitled]. They are going to publish my story and I have been busy re-writing sections. I'm completely snowed under by editorial deadlines.

Actually, that's a lie, too. The editor of [untitled] said there was no rush (but I always wanted to write the deadline thing).

I meant to go to Curves after my Internet session.

But I mistimed the journey and got lost in Wonthaggi (is that possible?).

So after a rigorous workout, I slunk into the library, stinking. I wouldn't smell so bad if last night, just after I went for a jog, a house pipe hadn't burst. If I hadn't had to turn the mains water off and go to bed without showering. If I hadn't got up this morning, to let the plumber in and, looking at the clock, thought no point showering before I go to the gym.

Yeah! That's right disgusting.

But here I am with 13 minutes remaining - and no one has kicked me out yet, although, for some reason the Internet room has emptied, rather suddenly.

Oh well, I wrote my blog, sent my story, now I'm going straight home. I am not even going to think about going into Safeway for another block of chocolate!

Are you proud of me? I am finished. With only seven minutes remaining.

Responding to a phone call ...

I haven't posted in Cymraeg for a while.

I bet you thought I was slacking off.

But rest assured the pursuit of bilingual proficiency is still gyda fi - with me.

Last week I learned about how to respond to phone calls. Now this is a great relief because, when I grow up, I want to live in Wales.

I plan to work in a library.

Now, I am presuming old ladies are the same all over the world. That somewhere in Wales there is a library, like my current branch, that specialises in services to the antiquarian female of the species.

Just in case you are not familiar with the antiquarian female. They are renowned for worrying about their fines - even when their seniority makes them exempt. They chase up their reservations with terrier like tenacity. They also like to speak to their favourite librarian - which can be a problem when a library service employs a new phone system, and their call no longer goes to a specific branch.

But not to worry. Now I have done Gwers un deg tri - that's lesson 73, I reckon I am now employable anywhere in the Welsh speaking world.

Here is how I think it will go:

It is 10:01 am. The library opens at ten, and if the antiquarian female is not pacing up and down outside the library door, she will be on the phone.

Bore da, ga i'n siarad gyda Rhiannon, os gwelwch chi 'n dda? - Good Morning, may I speak to Rhiannon, please.

O (that's, Oh, in Welsh), mae Rhiannon yn mewn y cyfarfod, bore ma. Ga i chi helpu chi? - Oh, Rhiannon is in a meeting. Can I help you?

Nage, unig Rhiannon - no, only Rhiannon (you gotta hand it to the elderly, they are persistent).

Ga i ymryd neges? - May, may I take a message

Wel, dw i 'n eisiau yn gwybod a Rhiannon wedi ffeindio fy llyfr - Well, I want to know whether Rhiannon found my book.

Beth ydy y llyfr enw? - What is the name of the book?

Dw i 'n ddim yn cofio enw. Roedd e'n enw doniol - I don't know the name. It was a funny name.

Gadw Rhiannon yn llyfr i ti? - Did Rhiannon reserve the book for you?

Wel, dydw i ddim yn gwybod! Dw i 'n eisiau gofyn Rhiannon - well, I don't know! I want to ask Rhiannon.

Ydych ch yn cael y card llyfragel? - Do you have a library card?

Wrth gwrs! - Of course!

Fe fyddi di 'n darllen y rhif yn y card cefn, os gwelwch chi 'n dda? - Will you read the number on the card, please?

Here, you must bear in mind that I have had to repeat these quetions a number of times, in a very loud voice, but I am not sounding harrassed or impatient. I am impeccably polite. It is the first thing we learn in library school - especially in regard to old ladies.

O, mae 'n dau, sero, sero, wyth, pedwar, sero, sero, dau, pump, naw, un, pump, dau, saith - Oh, it is: 20084002591527

Ydy y llyfr enw y Guernsey literary ac tynnu croen taten cymdeithas? - Was the name of the book, the Guernsey literary and potato peel society?

Ydy enw yna! Sut oeddet ti 'n gwybod? - Yes, that's the name! How did you know?

Fe welais i 'n ar y cyfriadur - I looked on the computer.

Wel, dyna deallus! - Well, there's clever!

That's it folks, five minutes in the life of a bilingual libararian.

I will not tell you how long it took me to write that crisp and rivetting piece of dialogue. Nor will I let myself think of the possible number of mistakes, contained therein.

I will simply sit back and await lucrative job offers from all around Wales. I will probably get Llareggub (that's buggerall backwards, in case you were thumbing through your dictionary).

So I won't be giving up my daytime job, just yet.

Why I work in the library ...

He was small boy and it had been a big afternoon, one of those afternoons when everyone decides to join the library. I’d had my quota of patrons who are unable to use the library catalogue. Added to which, in between signing up new members, the phone had not stopped ringing. In short, I was ready for my desk shift to end.

But, I still had half an hour to go.

He stood head and shoulder above the Reference Desk. He had a little black, basin haircut and skin the colour of honey. He had been waiting patiently. Here we go, I thought, imagining how the script might run.

Now before I continue, I would like to point out that I don’t generally think, oh no, when I see children at the reference desk. But do bear in mind it had been a long afternoon. And sometimes children, well, here is how it can be:

‘How can I help you? (That’s me by the way with a very big smile)

‘Have you got any Garfield books?’

‘Let’s see.’ (I rise from my chair and walk out from behind the desk). Do you know where to look on the shelves?’

‘Yes (earnest nod, wide eyes). ‘But there aren’t any.’

He’s right. There aren’t any. ‘Come back to the desk,’ I say. ‘We’ll have a look on the catalogue.’

After careful searching, I am able to confirm what the empty shelf has already told me. There are no Garfield Books (mental note – buy more Garfield books). ‘There are none at this branch,’ I say. ‘But I can get you one over from another branch.’

‘No, it’s ok.’

‘It doesn’t cost anything.’

‘No, doesn’t matter.’

Child goes in search of his second favourite book. It isn’t there because he likes the most popular books and ours is the busiest (but not the biggest) branch in the region. Child comes back to desk:

‘How can I help you? (Smile still wide).

‘Have you got any Master Q comics?’

‘Let’s see.’ (I rise from my chair and walk out from behind the desk). 'Do you know how to find a book on the shelves?' (I can’t miss this opportunity for a quick library lesson).

‘Yes (earnest nod, wide eyes). But there aren’t any.’

He’s right of course there aren’t any Master Q comics. ‘Come back to the desk,’ I say. ‘We’ll have a look on the catalogue.’

After careful searching, I am able to confirm what the empty shelf has already told me. There are no Master Q Comics (I make a mental note to ask for an extension of youth book budget). ‘There are none at this branch,’ I say. ‘But I can get you one over from another branch.’

‘No, it’s ok.’

‘It doesn’t cost anything.’

‘No, doesn’t matter.’

‘What about Tintin? I saw some of those on the shelf.’

‘It’s okay, I’ll keep looking.’

‘Or Asterix? (I just bought loads of Asterix).

No, thanks. I’ll be fine.’

Child goes in search of his third favourite book. It isn’t there. Child comes back to desk ...

Do you get the picture? The only variable in this, oft repeated, after school enquiry is the name of the book and the size of my smile. Sometimes I am able to scrounge around and find a recently returned book, or, introduce them to our free reservation system, or find a new item to capture their interest.

But sometimes they only want their favourite ... and it simply isn’t there and, if they can’t have their favourite, they don’t want anything else. Sometimes they are only at the library because their Mum doesn’t want to pay for after-school care. Other times, it is because Mum has been told they should be reading more. Quite often, Mum is simply using the internet and they have been told to: ‘Go and find a book.’

They are lonely and tired and a little bit bored and, unfortunately, I can’t help them.

Anyway, I still had half and hour to go – and he was a very small child.

‘How can I help you?’ I asked, cheerfully.

‘Where are the books on origami?’

‘Origami, hmm, let’s have a look.’

I do a quick keyword search because (and this may surprise you). I don’t know the Dewey Decimal System off by heart. My tiredness has evaporated, at this point because I might be able to help this kid. He has been waiting patiently, after all, and he appears to have a genuine information need (that’s library speak by the way) and just in case haven’t realised, we take information needs very seriously. They are sacred.

What? I hear you say, how can a request for origami books be sacred? You have a point. But do bear in mind that I work in a public library. An information need is a human need. It requires the patron to share something of themself with me: a burgeoning interest, an illness or struggle, a recent bereavement.

If you still don’t believe me, search the NSW white pages with me for a son who hasn’t been heard from in seven years. Look into the eyes of a man whose wife has just been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, feel the enthusiasm of a recently retired woman for ribbon embroidery. Respond to the desperation of a student who has lost his copy of the play he is studying. An information need is sacred, a soul thing, and so is an interest in origami.

My hasty scan of the catalogue establishes the call number. It is 736.982 by the way. But rather than look through the many records, trying to establish exactly what we do and don’t have, I headed straight for the shelves. I like to do this with kids. They don’t want lists of titles and locations. They don’t want a scrap of paper with a Dewey number or a finger pointed in the general direction. They want a book in their hand.

I had noted that there were a number of items in the on the shelf, but none of them are junior books. This didn’t worry me unduly. I had not viewed every record. Added to which I had noticed there was a recently returned junior item on the trolley.

There were a number of books in the Folio section and more in the Non Fiction. More than his small hands could carry. He squatted down to look over the illustrations. I hovered anxiously over him. The diagrams looked pretty complex but, then again, you are talking to someone that after raising four children, can barely manage to fold a cloth nappy.

‘They look a bit difficult,’ I said.

No answer: he was too busy flicking through an array of mythological figures, animals, fruit, trees and flowers, all done in origami.

‘There's a kids’ book on the trolley,’ I said, to the back of his head. ‘I’ll go and get it.’

The kids’ book was perfect. Easy to follow diagrams, age appropriate language and step by step instructions. Even I could have made some of its simpler models. I smiled as I held it out to him, feeling absurdly like a fairy-god librarian in sensible T-bar shoes.

‘Thanks,’ he said, falling on it with a grin.

He was only a small boy with a black basin haircut and skin the colour of honey and an interest in origami. But when I finished my desk shift, twenty-five minutes later, he was still there, on the floor in the middle of the aisle with the books spread out around him. For a moment, I stood there and watched. He didn’t look up. He didn’t notice me. But I went to my tea break light of step and with a glow like halogen within.

That’s why I work in the library.