The Book Art Fair is a real test of willpower.
Of which I have little,
Which can be problematic since I have equally little dosh.
ROOM 1:- I wander through it, perusing and giggling a little when I come across an amusing book. Or perhaps mumbling in awe as I come across an inspiring one.
My will is strong, “Do I really need a postcard of florescent Mexican skulls?” I ask myself sternly as my hand inches its way closer and closer to my wallet. “Be still!! Naughty naughty hand” I say and smack it hard
I am fortunate that many of the books are priced so far beyond my budget I cannot even be tempted.
3:30 pm and all is well.
ROOM 1:- 3:52 pm
I see postcards that are hand drawn with little pull-outie things on them. “FIFTY PENCE EACH OR £5 FOR EIGHT” the handmade sign says both proudly and humbly. My hand has made it all the way down to the bottom of my pocket and instead of pulling out a few mere pence, no, indeed it finds FOUR pound coins, TWO ten pence coins and ONE twenty pence coin.
But I pat myself on the shoulder, “You’ve only spent a pound. That’s damn good considering how much rot you bought last year..” I say smugly [only to myself of course]
I stay well away from Mark Pawson’s table. He is priced far too low and I am far too gullible. [besides, he’s a twat and I already got a book and 2 postcards from him last year.]
It all goes downhill from there
ROOM 2:- Witnessed some frantic, mad, impulse buying. Without a care in the world to my bank balance.
All my will is gone.
ROOM 3:- 5:02 pm
Finally, [the show closes at 5:00], I have given up all attempts to curb my trigger happy spending. I buy a book.. ladies and gentlemen, I lie. In fact I buy not one, no, but TWO books, each for FIVE pounds.
I go home euphoric from all my spending, yet crestfallen that I am so weak.
For it is true,
For all my bitching on this blog and in real life,
I am weak weak weak weak shamefully weak.
A Book in the ICA bookshop that made me laugh.
“In the garden of the spirit,
I am a noxious weed.”