Hush, Penfold

 Years ago there was an excellent cartoon on the TV called ‘Dangermouse.’ Do you remember it? I don’t know if it still airs and I don’t want to find out either, because I am fearful that the 21st century powers-that-be may have taken the original cartoon and ‘updated’ it in a horrid computer generated images kind of way. Have you see what they’ve done to ‘The Wombles’, for example? Seriously, if you haven’t, don’t look. It will trash all of your beloved childhood memories and scar you for life. 

Anyway, ‘Dangermouse.’ Dangermouse was a mouse (obvs) and he went about his daring-do ways with his trusty companion, Penfold. Penfold was a hamster. Oddly, he was portrayed as being smaller than Dangermouse even though EVERYONE knows that mice are, generally, smaller than hamsters. If the mouse is bigger than the hamster, it is a rat. Fact. Dangermouse was not a rat, or he would have been called Dangerrat, wouldn’t he? Unless pretending to be a mouse when he was actually rat was one of his cunning disguises to foil the supervillains….hmmmmmm…..

Look. Ridiculous. Anyway, Penfold had a habit of being quite a chatterbox and sometimes Dangermouse would look at him and say, ‘Hush, Penfold,’ in order to, well, hush him. 

(At this juncture I should like to mention that His Lordship Malarkey says this to me when he thinks I am rattling on about unimportant stuff. I take it, mostly, as a sign of endearment. I certainly have never taken offence.  But you never know, one day I might, and then who knows what will happen. Just saying…Besides, His Lordship knows that everything I say is of upmost importance.)

Bear with me, now, because you might think I am having a segue. But I’m not. All will dovetail nicely, just you wait. 

Today, I popped into the library. I have become a frequent library visitor in the last month, to the tune of having read 13 novels since the end of August! I love a library. I have given considerable thought about how one might go about setting up one’s own public library. I especially think this when I visit our little town library because it really doesn’t carry the wealth of literature I believe ought to live in a library. 

However, I also appreciate that our library is of limited size and needs to give over serious shelf space to its local customer demographic, which appears to be a) small children under the age of seven b) ancient people with very bad eyesight who require LARGE PRINT books and c) people who are either too lazy to read or can’t read very well and require being read to by an audio book. (Cue complaints from people who LOVE audio books because they allow tandem activities to happen like dog walking, running marathons, baking focaccia, digging up particularly stubborn garden shrubs, helping them fall asleep….I could go on. I won’t.)

Space also has been given to the provision of computer desks and many squishy beanbags for the small children to sit on. Why they can’t use proper chairs I do not know. Basically, our town library does not reach my fantasy library standards, but it’s convenient and it will do for the moment. 

I also think libraries should be bastions of peace, calm and quiet reflection. Be of welcoming and gentle atmosphere where all those who enter therein will feel part of one big ol’ library family.

Ha! Not this morning, it wasn’t. If you are of a politically right-wing persuasion (like me) your best bet was to glide in, select your books as unobtrusively as possible, present them meekly at the desk for scanning, then glide out again drawing the least possible attention to your existence as possible. Like I did. 

Good grief and heavens to murgatroyd! One of the librarians was spouting forth a very loud diatribe (i.e SHOUTING) regarding our terrible and stupid government/ the very stupid Cabinet ministers/ the recent even more stupid mini-budget/ the years of outrageous Tory governance and how it was all appalling. Absolutely APPALLING! And STUPID! She did all this whilst perched on a high stool, waving her arms around and seemingly oblivious to the absolute public arse she was making of herself. (My opinion, of course. I bet Jeremy Corbyn would have loved it.) I don’t know, maybe she was librarian-in-charge and her job feels safe enough that she can demonstrate such partisan opinions in a public utility space. Bravo to her for exercising her right to free speech, I suppose. Who knows?  Suffice it to say that if I had been bold enough to ask her to point me in the direction of a Margaret Thatcher biography, I may well have run the risk of suffering a double clout to my head, ‘The Communist Manifesto’ on one side, ‘Das Kapital’ on the other. Her weary-looking companion was struggling to get a word in edgeways. I bet those words were ‘Hush, Penfold.’