19.03.02015 -In Which the Internet Goes Down.

Thursday 19th March, 2015.

In Which the Internet Goes Down.

~You may tell, as my life has got busier, my blog has become less frequent. My apologies! I’ll be back to post every now and then though.~

Today, I walked into a library that had no internet, no server and no connection to the printer. In a strange and entriely unrelated conincidence, half of the lights were also not working due to a fuse problem.

I like to think that living in the Gladbubble without TV, I’ve gone back to the old fashioned way of entertaining myself – knitting, reading and conversation. I even tried out some book folding. This morning, however, reminded me that I am very firmly in the 21^st century. It should be noted that I never have any phone signal here, so the internet is my only means of communication with people not in the same room as me.

My first instinct was to tell (by which I mean moan to) my beardy beloved. But alas – there was no internet. Then I decided to try and facebook him, in the same absent-minded way we’re perhaps all guilty of. I felt a sense of being alone that I haven’t felt in some time.

I was discussing with the other intern that this is what it was like before the days of the internet. It’s not like I’m young enough to be unaware of life before the internet. I remember sitting in the kitchen in our house on Blackberry Lane, playing minesweeper and solitaire for hours, opening a word document and typing just for the fun of it (don’t laugh!). I was just young enough that I didn’t really have a grasp on life; I can’t truly say that I was aware of the social aspects of the pre-internet world, though I am a part of the generation that is old enough to just about remember life before the internet which means that I’m fully aware of how the internet has changed the world. I remember waiting for the dial-up sounds on the phone which meant that I’d be able to go on MSN messenger, which was better than texting because it was free and we could use the first incarnation of emoticons.

But I digress. The point is, the internet is something that I grew up with, and that grew up with me. Each year in the life of Lauren brought ever more leaps in the use of technology and the internet. When the internet was severed this morning, I was midway through conversations with at least 5 different people. Instant messaging services like Whatsapp, Facebook Messenger et al mean that conversations can last for days, months and even years. Suddenly, I was unable to talk to these people. I couldn’t tell facebook or twitter about it. I was left with my own thoughts, my own outlook. I ended up scouring the building for a spot of 3G so that I could tell people that I was alive and well, because not hearing from me throughout the course of the day is now so out of the ordinary. I find it hard to imagine a world where you aren’t in constant contact with friends and family. Was it lonely, pre-internet? Or was it normal, because that kind of connection just wasn’t available?

At the moment, I’m reading The Fire Sermon by Francesca Haig. It’s set in a post-apocalyptic world. Time is cleaved into two halves by something referred to only as The Blast; there is the Before and the After.

As time went on this morning, the internet itself is very much like the Blast. It imploded into our lives, and changed everything. It would be quite a good measurement of time to refer to time as Before The Internet and After The Internet.

And then we move onto the technology. Being off the server means that nobody could access any of the work that we had previously saved. We thought it would be no problem, because so much of the job is physical. We could process books (which is essentially stamping and labelling them)…only the templates for the correct size were on the server. I at the very least could make a sign for the misbehaving lights. It wasn’t until I had finished typing the notice (without a logo – no connection to the server!) that I realised that without a connection to the server, I also couldn’t connect to the printer. I had to physically hand write the notice, which is possible the first time I have ever had to do that. As each Reader entered the library, I had to break the bad news that the wifi wasn’t working, which led to such dramatic reactions that it was funny. There were lots of frustrated eye rubs, exasperated chuckles and one Reader screwed up their face in horror and physically took a step back. We established that there was still WiFi in the Gryffindor Common Room – about half an hour later I was taking some books to reshelve, and almost every seat was taken by people desperately clinging to their technology.

A day without internet and access to our most important work was quite liberating. It gave us a chance to catch up on some work that had been left because it was more physical, meaning that anyone could pick up on it.

That doesn’t mean that I’ll be giving up the internet any time soon. I missed you, internet! I missed my friends, my family and even the strangers on the other end of social networks who let you know that they are there by the occasional retweet. Don’t ever leave me again, internet.

29.09.2014 – A Fire Alarm.

Monday, 29th September, 2014.

A Fire Alarm.

Today was a fairly normal day. I did normal library things, had a normal lunch, resumed normal library things, finished work, went for the usual post-work cup of tea…you get the idea. As one of the interns was on duty, we stayed in the flat and decided to catch up on Downton Abbey.

We were happily laughing away to Maggie Smith saying something simply outrageous (and discussing the extraordinary life span of the Labrador, Isis) when we heard the chaplain call down the hallway of the flat. She called to see if we were there, so we called back that we were. She mentioned that the fire alarm was going off.

We moved pretty fast. She explained that it had been going off for quite some time, and she had been looking for us. The standard procedure is for us all to assemble at the main fire alarm, check which alarm is going off and head off like some kind of amazing superhero team. One stays at the main alarm, one heads off to the site where it was set off and the other two help people out. Obviously if there is any sign of actual fire, we all leave the building. This time, it had been set off my a lot of steam from a very hot shower in one of the rooms.The alarm also goes off in the warden’s house, who is usually here before any of us can get downstairs.

I should mention at this point that we weren’t audibly impaired; we weren’t that into Downton. The fire alarm had somehow been disabled in one of the six zones, so the intern flat had remained silent as people filed outside. We called the alarm people and they came to reset it all and make sure all zones were working. We played hide-and-seek, but with alarms, where we spread out across the building to check that each alarm worked. It was fun, but I was kind of disappointed that I missed my chance to be a superhero. Part of the fun of being an intern is the agency you get when everyone else goes home at 5 I think I should have a yellow fireman’s hat just in case it happens again.

28.09.2014 – By the Hearth.

Sunday, 28th September, 2014.

By the Hearth.

My last few blogs have let you know about my growing love for photography, and my new-found ability to make a fire. Tonight, the two combined in what turned out to be rather a creative night. I’ve told you about Hootsuite (it’s for scheduling tweets) and about how it is quite often the bane of my life. Since Gladfest, we’ve started promoting our next literary festival, Hearth. The main focus of the festival is the evening, when the cold is shut outside and everyone gathers around the fire to discuss anything and everything with four authors. It’s difficult to market a cold, wintery night on a sunny autumn day in only 140 characters. I’ve been meaning for a while to do something to ease this imperfection, and tonight was a good chance to do it.

I lit the fire (by which I mean I forgot and had to get someone from the kitchen to help me – though it turns out it wasn’t my fault after all!) and it acted like a magnet. We only have one working hearth in the Gladstone Room and suddenly the sofas and chairs closest to the fire were full. Myself and one of the other interns had already bagsied the two armchairs closest to the fire, and were each armed with a cup of tea and a good book (Sons of Thunder by Giles Kristian for me).

As the night wore on, and Viking battles waged across the sea, the fire began to quieten and so did the Gladstone Room. People started to filter off to bed, and we added an extra log to the fire. The other intern was soon deep in conversation with a very interesting guest who was a member of the clergy but used to be a librarian (if I was a dog, my ears would have pricked up). As it was, I found it pretty difficult to concentrate on Sigurd and his Wolfpack, and then my eyes lingered on the fire. I looked to the shelf I had organised earlier today, and saw the books of the authors coming to Hearth. (Look at the fire I made!)

I looked to the floor and saw my empty teacup. They best way to sell an evening by the fire is surely…with photos by the fire?

I spent the next hour or so trying to perfectly capture the cosiness of Hearth. I enlisted the help of the other intern’s slippers, my cup of tea, a glass of red wine (for the photos, not me!) and more sap-covered, crackling logs for the fire. The result was these.

Open Doors to Closed Access.

Saturday, 27th September, 2014.

Today, we had a reasonably impromptu event at the library, and I just happened to be covering reception. The event was called Open Doors to Closed Access, and we had bunting and balloons.

I’ve never been much of a fan of Closed Access. My inner librarian has a firm belief in it – that books must be preserved and kept from the walking bags of water that are human beings. On the other side, however, as a human, I’m very much on Gladstone’s side. The point of the formation of the library was that he lamented what would happen to books upon his death – he didn’t want them to be put in a corner somewhere gathering dust. He believed that books should be read – and so do I. The other day, when I found Natalie D’Arbeloff’sRevelations book, the first thing the librarian said was that it should be put in Closed Access because it was 1 of only 150. It was interesting, because the very reason I showed him the book was because it was my gut instinct to show everyone – something like that shouldn’t be hidden away in an attempt to preserve it, because then what are you preserving it for? Who are you preserving it for if no one is ever allowed to see it? We came to a compromise; it’s now on display in the History Room, albeit behind glass.

Today’s event was when we got out some of the most interesting books, including one of our oldest ones from the 1400s. If you’ve been a long-time reader of my blogs then you’ll know that I relate everything to Keats; my six-degrees-of-Keats. I remember one of my earliest blogs when I found a book from the early nineteenth century in Lichfield Library, and I was amazed that the book existed at the same time as Keats was alive and writing. It’s strange to think of that now; I spend every day amongst 19^th century books – relatively speaking, they aren’t that old. On the tours, I see people everyday who are amazed at the age of the books – I have to go into Closed Access myself to see what I consider to be old. Even then, I remember showing the prospective interns around and telling them that our collection wasn’t that old – even the 1700s, it seems, is not quite old to me anymore. The book from the 1490s, however, is old. I only managed to put it in perspective with the aid of literature; Shadow on the Crown is set in the 1000s. This book was made only 300 years after that – 300 years beforehand, Vikings weren’t even close to dying out!

The day seems to have been a success. The figures aren’t finalised yet, but from reception I counted 130 people on the tours. Even with only a few days notice, the lure of old books brings people out in force. And here’s a little collage I did for marketing.

26.09.2014 – ME MAKE FIRE.

Friday, 26th September, 2014.

ME MAKE FIRE.

As the nights have been getting colder, the other interns and I have been floating down to the Gladstone Room in the hope of a fire. We have found to our dismay that the coals remain black and the kindling is cold. It then occurred to me that as interns, we are the only members of staff left when the kitchen leaves. Perhaps it was our job to do it.

With that in mind, I asked our lovely operations manager if she could teach me how to light the fire. I assumed it would be simple enough – more or less throwing a match onto the coals. This is not the case.

Within ten minutes, we were both on our knees sweeping out the ash and the now-white coals from the hearth. It’s a messy business, but I enjoyed doing it because I felt like I was acting in Downton Abbery. All I needed was a pinafore and a bonnet.

The Op Manager showed me how to lay a fire – first with newspaper, then kindling, and then coals on top. I kind of felt like I imagine the first human to make fire felt. In a mixture of homo erectus and Downton maid, I arranged the coals perhaps for a little longer than I had to, and put the grate in front of the fire.

At the age of 23, with 18 years of learning and higher education behind me, I finally learned how to make a fire. It felt a bit strange, realising that it had taken me that long. But anyway, LOOK AT WHAT I MADE.

25.09.2014 – Shadow On The Crown.

Thursday, 25th September, 2014.

Shadow on the Crown.

This is a book I’ve been meaning to read for a while. I’ve recently discovered a love for historical fiction, and I think I’ve found me era – Just before and just after the early 1000s. You’re probably well aware that I’m currently knee-deep in Viking stories, and I love learning about the ancient Gods and rituals. If I could choose to believe in a God, I’d choose Ódin and the other Viking gods, no questions asked.

I remember when I first arrived that I learned Patricia Bracewell’s book was a Viking-era one. I impatiently waited for us to get the book in stock, and eventually got the hard back for my birthday anyway. It’s a beautiful binding (check me out with my conservator words!) and it really makes you feel like you’re reading something substantial.

I was a little disappointed when I learned that although it was Viking era, it was on the side of the Anglo-Saxons. My disappointment didn’t last long, though.

We are first introduced to Emma when she is growing up in Normandy, with a very Viking-y influence – her brother is forced to allow Swein Forkbeard (what a name!) and his Viking men to dock for the winter on his shores. We learn that her sister is sickly while Emma herself is wildly independent. She is the younger sister, so when rumours of an impending marriage to King Aethelred of England abound, both sisters assume it is aimed at the elder. Emma is shocked to learn that she will essentially be used as a bartering tool between her brother and the King – she is to wed him, but also gain the title of Queen. I can’t say much more without giving it away, but the story chronicles the life of Queen Emma of Normandy, as she is loved by the public and then scorned, as her health fluctuates, as she finds a wildly romantic and utterly over-the-top love (all the bits I love – deep blue eyes, soft lips, chiselled features!) and as she finds her footing, fighting against her tyrannical husband and deals with the Viking (yay!) attacks.

The story is written from several points of view, so we learn of plot twists sometimes before Emma. This book gives a voice to the Queen who has been largely forgotten – I at the very least had never heard of her.

The book has only added to my growing secret desire to learn history – maybe I can be a library assistant who is an expert in eighteenth century writing, romanticism and Vikings?!

25.09.2014 – Shadow On The Crown.

Thursday, 25th September, 2014.

Shadow on the Crown.

This is a book I’ve been meaning to read for a while. I’ve recently discovered a love for historical fiction, and I think I’ve found me era – Just before and just after the early 1000s. You’re probably well aware that I’m currently knee-deep in Viking stories, and I love learning about the ancient Gods and rituals. If I could choose to believe in a God, I’d choose Ódin and the other Viking gods, no questions asked.

I remember when I first arrived that I learned Patricia Bracewell’s book was a Viking-era one. I impatiently waited for us to get the book in stock, and eventually got the hard back for my birthday anyway. It’s a beautiful binding (check me out with my conservator words!) and it really makes you feel like you’re reading something substantial.

I was a little disappointed when I learned that although it was Viking era, it was on the side of the Anglo-Saxons. My disappointment didn’t last long, though.

We are first introduced to Emma when she is growing up in Normandy, with a very Viking-y influence – her brother is forced to allow Swein Forkbeard (what a name!) and his Viking men to dock for the winter on his shores. We learn that her sister is sickly while Emma herself is wildly independent. She is the younger sister, so when rumours of an impending marriage to King Aethelred of England abound, both sisters assume it is aimed at the elder. Emma is shocked to learn that she will essentially be used as a bartering tool between her brother and the King – she is to wed him, but also gain the title of Queen. I can’t say much more without giving it away, but the story chronicles the life of Queen Emma of Normandy, as she is loved by the public and then scorned, as her health fluctuates, as she finds a wildly romantic and utterly over-the-top love (all the bits I love – deep blue eyes, soft lips, chiselled features!) and as she finds her footing, fighting against her tyrannical husband and deals with the Viking (yay!) attacks.

The story is written from several points of view, so we learn of plot twists sometimes before Emma. This book gives a voice to the Queen who has been largely forgotten – I at the very least had never heard of her.

The book has only added to my growing secret desire to learn history – maybe I can be a library assistant who is an expert in eighteenth century writing, romanticism and Vikings?!

24.09.2014 – Bookbinding Part IV.

Wednesday, 24th September, 2014.

Bookbinding Part IV.

This week involved lots of gluing. Leading up to this session, I’ve spent four hours on the Keats, and besides having a rather striking headband, it is still very much a book without a cover. Today, I reinforced the spine to prepare it for the final stages (by which I mean the latter half – the final 4 hours).

As I mentioned before, it turns out that covers are held to books only by a few pieces of paper. It is that fancy Italian paper that has its own grain direction, but is paper nonetheless. While last time I worked for two hours on reinforcing the binding, I was still very much working on the cosmetic look of the book too. Today was the behind-the-scenes, not so pretty aspect of reinforcing the spine.

Firstly, I made sure the end papers were firmly attached. One of the first jobs when I was preparing the books was to remove the original end papers. The reason that it was so cheap (61p!) is because it’s an ex-library book. Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to physically tear the pages from any book, let alone a Keats! The conservator shocked me with the ease and unflinchingness (it’s a word!) with which he eased the pages from the book. After I’d seen him treat books with such tranquillity and care, the ruthlessness of tearing pages from a book was a juxtaposition. However, my new end papers look much better – as one of the group always says – if it looks better after than it did before, it was worth doing. You can see the difference even in the quality of the paper.

It made me think about the relationship between humans and their books. From a quick google search you’ll find an outpouring of love for books from self-declared bookworms (like myself – given the name of my blog!) and there’s a kind of sanctity that people attribute to even the most broken book. One of the other interns once spoke to someone who said he enjoyed breaking the spines on books – we thought he must be a sadist.

My work as a gladintern is definitely changing the way I see books. Before I left Sutton to come to the library, I had a mass clear-out of my books. Collections that I’d held onto for years were taken to the charity shop, and I had cut my collection down to only one bookshelf. Yes, it was straining at the edges and the shelves themselves were bowing, but I was pretty proud of it. This clear-out stemmed from a single quote by the Grand Old Man himself – Books are meant to be read. It helps that I had a local charity bookshop where they do really look after the books – it’s not the normal kind where a Jane Austen can be squashed between a pair of shoes and a CD from the ‘90s. When I arrived at the library, the books-are-meant-to-be-read mantra took on a life of its own. Here was a collection that is still well-looked after, but different people come every day to enjoy its contents. I used to worry about lending out books in case they came back with a broken spine or a creased cover – but aren’t books meant to be read? The mass-creation of books means that if I really wanted an immaculate copy (but why would I?), I can get another one for a few pounds.

WEG has also encouraged me to write in books. When he wrote in the books, he made them unique and added value. I know I’d like to find a note from the past if I was perusing a second-hand bookshop. If I write in it and it devalues it…then what? I think the first book I’ll write in is my Keats – maybe I’ll sign it as the re-binder. But, as usual, I have digressed…

I had prepared the end papers a few weeks ago – cutting them down to size and gluing them to the rest of the pages. It’s pretty important that they’re the right size (bookbinding is definitely the pursuit of a perfectionist) and that they’re well attached because, as I said, they hold the book to the spine.

I was quite surprised what the spine is made out of. I applied a rather copious amount of glue and attached a type of papyrus-cloth (I will have to ask the conservator what it is called and substitute it here!) which has to be oversized. I used the bone folder (not real bone – I checked! – and my most used tool) to flatten the cloth as far as it would go, and shape the corners of the book.

I then applied two layers of craft paper with the same method.

That…is the spine! There is some kind of fancy Italian card (once again with a grain) that will be attached the cloth which will constitute the outer layer of the spine. I cut down the papyrus-cloth with an intimidatingly large pair of scissors so that it was ready to attach to the boards that would constitute the cover.

After a discussion with the conservator, we decided to use the marble paper as the main cover for the boards and a dark blue cloth for the spine and the corners of the book. I used some size guides that he produced from one of the many drawers in the conserving room so the cloth is ready for the boards.

For now, the book is still looking not-quite like a book. Next week, I’m working on the boards which still look very much like boards – but I’m assured that it’s all coming together and we will give Keats’s words the cover it deserves.

23.09.2014 – Marketing.

Tuesday, 23rd September, 2014.

Marketing.

Since the marketing intern left (yep, still sad), out of all of the interns I appear to have become the closest thing to the new one. I used to spend rather a lot of time in the marketing office, helping out where I could but mainly going to show the marketing officer and the intern interesting books I’d found (such as the pirate one).

As time went on and I started to enjoy photography, I started taking photos of the library and grounds. By Gladfest I was firmly in the office, doing menial tasks like leafleting and putting up posters in the village.

Although first and foremost I love librarianship, marketing does have its positives. I enjoy unleashing the creativity (a lot of it, you may notice, has started coming out in the blogs too), and whilst I do the same data entry and envelope stuffing as the other interns, I also really enjoy other aspects of it. The other day, I made little packs of hot chocolate and marshmallows to promote Hearth. It was a nice break from computer based work (which is piling up with two projects plus operations work!) and a chance to make things pretty, a relic from my baking days. I decided to go for the vintage-y theme, so tied up the bags of marshmallows with string.

I’ve also been able to gain experience in things I find quite thrilling – as mundane as it sounds, writing letters to journalists who work for The Independent and the Times Literary Supplement was thrilling to me. We’ve been trained up on Hootsuite – sometimes, I admit, the bane of my life. It’s a platform for scheduling tweets and Facebook posts. We are supposed to do three per day on each, and all of them have to be different. When I have time to do it, I really enjoy it – seeing a facebook post I came up with a photo I took at the forefront of the marketing campaign really makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something. Seeing them get lots of likes is also a good boost.

As with everything, it looks good on my CV. I’m still working on time management at the moment, but I’m very much enjoying this new, more creative aspect of the internship.

22.09.2014 – A New (Old) Project.

Monday, 22nd September, 2014.

A New-Old Project.

You may remember, many moons ago, that I was working on transcribing some of WEG’s letters. Well, it’s started up again – and this time with computers. I know how to do what I’m doing, but I don’t quite know how to explain it. The librarian mentioned something along the lines of metadata, palaeography, Dublin core, granubobulating (I may have made that one up) and some other things that will look marvellous on my CV. I have over 550 to complete by Christmas.

It all sounds fun and lovely and wonderful…and then I come up against letters like this.

10 year old WEG obviously didn’t have time to write neatly.

To be fair, I’ve come across some pretty good letters. They make WEG (the founder of gladlib) into WEG (the man). I came across one to his wife which made me smile; he’d left the keys to his London House at home –

Allow me to translate (check out my palaeographical skillz!)…

Thomas made a mistake about my key and I alas a little one; I fully believed my London keys were in my travelling box but on arriving have discovered that I must have put them back in my table drawer. Please let Agnes open it & find them. Probably in the right compartment. They are a ring of 6 or 7 keys of various sizes not one of four.

Please ask Thomas whether a set of new socks are in my drawer at Hawarden? If so, I shall want ½ dozen pairs…

Bless him.

He also wrote a note at the bottom of one of his other letters which made me laugh, considering the hours I have and will spend deciphering his handwriting…

‘I hope he is better, there is a blank in your letter wholly unintelligible.’

Really, WEG?!