Spook Country. Why is Spook Country the new novel by William Gibson, published in the US by Penguin Putnam priced at $25.99, when Spook Country the new novel by William Gibson published in the UK by Penguin is £18.99? Adam asked a similar question yesterday of the forthcoming new book by Naomi Klein, also published in the UK by Penguin, The Shock Doctrine, subtitled,The Rise of Disaster Capitalism. I'll say. It brings to mind an email I was forwarded the other day, from a prominent American Indie publisher to one of his authors, The UK market is fucked, it said. You have to admire the clarity.
The original Bible. What if the lady who last week asked me where she could sell her set of the 11 volumes of the original bible from when it was first printed, really did have 11 volumes of the bible from the time it was first printed. I would feel pretty foolish then, wouldn't I?
Future History. I am wondering if I might have confused the historians of the future. (Not a bad sentence, if I do say so myself, coming as it does in the middle of a post that began with William Gibson.) Now that this blog is being archived by the British Library, will some bod, in 3010, carefully turning its pages come to this post and think, Shit, we have had it so wrong about The Daily Mail, it turns out that they weren't the neo-fascists of popular imagination, but instead, devoted to the works of Murray Bookchin.
Protection. I was gathering up tumbleweed as it blew through the shop, (there are 4 or 5 large bags of the stuff out the back, collected over the course of the past week) when the Sicilian-cage fighter visited for his afternoon chin-wag. Today he was concerned about the Russian mafia and told me of someone he knew who is having to cough up 2 grand a month to them, otherwise, he said, they will blow up his shop and kill his wife and children. When I got home and turned on my laptop I got a pop-up message from Norton Anti-Virus. It said, your protection will run out in 6 days time, pay up, or else we will blow up your computer, or something.
My children. Nearly the end of the third week of their holiday and I am missing them. To say nothing of their mother (new post). Somebody asked me last night, are you here every single day?
Yes, I told them.
It's a good job you enjoy it then, isn't it, he said.
No kidding, I said.