Today I am going to go and try to pass the initiation test that is involved in joining the British Library. I tried to join many year ago and they made me answer questions and fight a tiger and invent a word game. It wasn’t easy.
I was refused membership and told to try a normal library first. I haven’t joined any normal libraries in the intervening years but thought that enough time had passed to muddy my face in the epic waters of the British Libraries memory of records.
I was all ready, it’s a sunny Saturday afternoon, I can go for a little walk down towards Euston, pop in the library, marvel at the literature and find te article I’m trying to find. Then do something interesting.
I was showered
I was dressed
My hat was on. Now where were my keys?
I have a key problem, I always put them somewhere different when I get home, and last night I’d gotten home a little drunk, they could be anywhere.
I remember putting them on the bookcase next to my front door. They definitely weren’t there now.
They must be on my bedroom floor… no, this is bad, well, they might be, but my bedroom is a tip and after throwing a lot of stuff in the air to try and find them, this stuff had now settled on the other bits of my room where I had not checked.
After about 20 minutes of randomly throwing things, my mood worsening I knew that I had to sort out my room methodically if I was ever going to find them.
By the time Library closing time had passed my room was spotless. Everything had been sorted into piles, everything else had been lifted and checked underneath. But still no keys.
I was virtually in tears, I was trapped in my flat this must be what Terry Waite felt like for all those years.
Then I found them.
Um… on the bookcase.
I hate myself, I was in such a mood I didn’t go out.