We pop in to Stockbridge Library on a semi-regular basis. It's always filled with interesting-looking people, beavering away among the books. I always wonder what their stories are.
Today, there was one man with unruly hair and suede patches on his arms. He brandished a vintage wooden ruler, and was underlining what looked like lists of names. Was it a code only he understands? Was he picking a team? Some were underlined once, some twice, some were underscored quite firmly. It looked chaotic.
A grey-haired lady, smartly dressed in jeans, ankle boots, and a quilted jacket, had a book about Mary Quant on her desk. Arrayed around with notes, she was mind-mapping, a new shop venture perhaps?
Two young women sat in silent companionship, a wall of jotters sitting between them. Marking, marking, and more marking; they made a mockery of claims that teachers have an easy job with too many holidays.
Who are they all? I wish I knew, so I could say thank you to them for using the library. We need them.
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| Libraries encourage children to look up for knowledge, not for magical sky fairies. |
Ah, my library, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways: 595.789
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