I have managed to wangle a pass to the British Library because of my research needs for the book version of
Talking Cock. This is great for two reasons. One, I have access to every book ever written ever and two, because I can now use the British library as a free office to work in.
The British library has none of the distractions of home (like my bed) and I feel that having to "go to work" will really help me focus on getting stuff done. There are also other people around to look at when I get bored, which is much more interesting than my cramped office.
I got in reasonably early today and did some good work on my film. This is about a man who gets a mystery sexually transmitted disease and as such I didn't really have to draw on the library all that much (though they must have some books on the subject). But it was kind of cool sitting in this austere library and writing rude jokes about sex and disease and male stupidity.
Not that it's as austere as the old British Library which I was also a member of in the early 90s (when I was working on the Macmillan Encyclopaedia of the Royal Family - which had the misfortune to come out about a month before the Royal Family started disintegrating, thus making most of the book redundant!)
Still it seemed oddly cool to be part of this scholarly elite, and best of all you can work on your lap top in there (there are even plugs). A place where I, researching my book about cocks and my film about STDs, am on an equal footing with the bloke next to me researching the poetry ofÂ… some French sounding bloke that I've never heard of.
My mother is embarrassed that my book is about cocks. She wishes I could be like my school friend who is writing a definitive biography of Shelley. Then she could show off to her friends. Last time I was home they quoted my a friend of my grandfather, who heard one of my radio shows and said "What a waste of a good education!"
Is it a waste to write about cocks?
Is it any more of a waste than writing about the poetry of a largely forgotten Frenchman?
I feel oddly proud that I am making a living out of something so base and stupid. And the British library, God bless it, sees my research as being just as important as anything else in the building. I have earned my 5 year pass.
I just hope no-one happens to look over my shoulder and see the terrible filth I have been writing.
