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I almost beat up a kid the other day. But, in my defence, there were about 9 or 10 of them. They came in the library trying to use the computers, which I wouldn't let them do, so they kept on turning them on regardless and tried to nick the login and password from me and my colleagues upstairs. They went around doing the usual name calling at me: "aye, look at you with you're bruck up teeth, yah nah!" or "You look like that boy with the hunchback". Then they started chasing each other aroung, attacking each other with all the kids toys, a number of which were torn apart. they also nearly trampled a baby which was crawling accross the floor. This went on for 45 minutes. I think the final straw was when the ring leader  bust open the fire doors, chased one of his mates out on to the street and through a large plastic tomato after him. It was at this point that I snapped. I roared outside, grabbed the kid by the lapels, lifting him off the ground. "DON'T FUCK WITH ME!" I growled at him. He started to speak, but I cut him off, repeating the same line again. I think I was that wound up that I couldn't say anything else. I hate to think what I would've done in that situation had I not seen how scared he was. I let him go, and he ran off. His trouble-making mates came over to see what was happening, but I just growled at them, and as soon as I made a move towards them they legged it in fright. I was till pretty wound up, so coming back in, I slammed the fire doors, chucking the above mentioned tomato, which I had rescued from being run over on street, vicously into a distant corner. The remaining kids, who hadn't been causing as much trouble, had a frigtened look in their eyes and immediately said "We're not with them!" However, the mother of the baby seemed quite relieved, and I spent the rest of the day feeling rather guilty. So there we have it, a true story of horrible child abuse. Not funny, but worth mentioning, I think.

Oddboy:

Just been looking at your website actually. Very nice. I've been ignoring countless numbers of customers whilst I've been fascinated by the bouncing alue balls underneath my cursor. If they hit the edge of the screen they bounce away! This might be the most amazing thing I've seen in my entire life EVER! Also, the South Park versions of Dredd and torquemada made me laugh so much that i think i just scared all the customers out of here (which is good).

Honestly, this job'd be great if it wasn't for the fucking customers.

I've just served a bloke who looked like a cross between the guy with the shrunken head in Beetlejuice and the old Indian headman who wants his Shankara stones back in Temple of Doom! Honest!

"In WH Smiths they had a childrens colour bible next to a sex guide book... I thought that was fairly bizarre."

Not another one!

"I really like Byrons library tales, it is a career path I had considered myself but now I realise you probably have it worse than I do when it comes to the nutball brigade"

I wouldn't be put off (well, actually I probably would). It depends what you want from life. It can get a bit repetative, but, like Eddie Campbell says, repetition is good as it gives you the chance to do a lot of useful thinking and planning. And time to spend tooling about message boards. Plus, most of the people you end up working with are really nice. I work part time, so I work in different libraries all over central London. St.Pancras is nice, as I even managed to find a copy of Shaolin Vs. Llama there, but all the every single Harry Potter tape has been stolen, as has LoEG Vol.1. However, all libraries have their fair share of nutters, but none seem to attract as many as West Hampstead, which seems to be the library capital of Greater London, and from which all of the above stories have originated. There is one library worse than this: Queens Crescent. I advise anyone - don't ever go there. Ever. Its not the nutters, you see, its the general public. There a rough lot up there, and its quite normal for members of staff to be spat at, attacked and threatened with knives. Sorry, this is really off-putting, isn't it?

(ps. what exact kind of 'handling' did you offer Mr. Cook when he was visiting? If I ever make it to the point where someone wants to sign something I did, I'll have to try some of this 'handling' business. I bet Neil Gaiman gets really good 'handling'. I mean, it all sounds a bit Sampson and Delilah, as you insnare him in your "web of sin". Still, I'd hate to think what you'd have to cut off for him to lose his artistic skills.)

(pps. I am working very late, so please feel free to ignore my, frankly bizare and incomprehensible ramblings. I'm writing like a drugged horse and currently feel like I'm one too.)

the reason why the IBP didn't work in your case was because you were using the BNP, or Bald Nobodies Principle, theoretical model instead. As everyone knows, the BNP is the principle that dictates that anyone deciding to enter a overtly racist political party will always lack both hair and a recognisable personality, both of which they hop to attain through taking a strongly controversial view on a contentious issue. People who follow the BNP hypothosis then immediatly fall under the HGHHP (Haven't Got a Hope in Hell Principle) and the TABP (Talking Absolute Bollocks Principle).

I have a theory. I call it the Inverse Berridge Principle. It means that money spent is always in inverse proportion to the amount of money held (eg. the poorer you are, the less you will be bothered about holding on to cash like some kind of modern-day Scrooge or Jimy Page). To provide an example in action, someone will come into my place of work owing ?33.35 in fines. They will clearly not be a particularly well-off person, but will immediately and unquestioningly pay the fine. Someone else comes in. They seem slightly higher up the class ladder. Perhaps it is nanny's day off, and they have to look after the children all by themselves! Then a ghastly serving person has the temeritty to inform them that they have a 12 pence fine on their card. "How dare you besmirch my good character!" they cry. "I could never have brought an item back late. It is a physical impossibility". The one phrase that will ALWAYS be heard on occasions when the Inverse Berridge Principle (or IBP) comes into play are: "It's the principle of the thing, not the money". This is entirely wrong. There can be no principle attached to the amount of 12 pence. I would happily throw 12 pence down the drain, if for nothing than the idea that there might be a giant sewer-dwelling crocodile which might swallow the coins, like some scaley, green, predatory Christmas pudding.

Me and my co9lleague have just been ranted at by an old northern lady, who told us that she knew Tony Blair was "slimy and weasly" before she voted for Labour in 1997, and the Conservatives, despite not being slimy, are just as bad because "of their insidious class obsession". "THAT is why I will NEVER vote again!" she then bellowed at the top of her lungs, as though she were addressing a massed congigation of attentive listeners, reminiscent of Hitler at one of Nuremburg ralleys I thought, rather than two librarians trying not to laugh in her face. She then stormed out. "But what can I do about this?" I thought. I am but one man, and cannot change the nature of partisan 'first past the post' party politics all by myself. But I guess thats just my problem, and I have to deal with it.

This woman has been seen many times, both here and in one of the local underground stations, shouting at people, for no good reason, about things over which they have had no input and are powerless to affect. She is just one of our growing number of regulars we like to call 'Byron's Circle of Friends'. The circle being one of the inner circles of hell, which our nice Mr. Dante and his chum Mr. Morningstar have reserved especially for us, and one or two paying guests.

(You may not be able to tell, but I'm very, very, VERY bored at work today)

"Good old Canterbury - Now i live in the midlands."

Run. Run as far as you can. Quickly.

"Where I used to work in Canterbury was right next to a car park frequented by the local druggies"

Is that the one heading towards Wincheap? As you might be able to tell, I used to live in Canterbury too, and it was fucking awful. You've never known hell until you've lived above a post office in teh middle of nowhere with an unbelievably obnoxious twat.

I dinnae work in't shop, lass. Libraries, thats were your genuine grad-a nutters come, and I should know, I've been threatened by enough of them. But my mate used to work in Boarders on Oxford Street, and he said it was a fucking madhouse.

I have held many jobs, but all of them dealing with idiot-bastard customers. The most amusing incident happened a couple of days ago, when a woman came up to my counter to complain that two bibles had been placed next to a book on astrology (Paranormal section next to Philosophy). she then rants on about how this is blasphemous, and am I going to move them? I tell her that I'll move them if they're in the wrong place, and then stare at her incredulously. In my head, I wonder if she thinks that somehow the religious nature of the bible could be desecrated by being in close proximity to a book on star signs. Perhaps a process of osmosis will render it unsanctified, as evil, dirty, devil inspired words creep across, polluting the holy text. Before we know where we are, we find that Jesus was a capricorn and according to his horoscope in the Bethlehem Star his planning skills are great, but his material is imperfect, and he should be on the look out for any tall dark strangers if he happens to be Galilei area.

(Interesting footnote: the lady came back in later and moved all of the bibles to a place of safety, where nasty words couldn't infect their holiness - the politics and photography section)

If you're in London, Forbidden Planet (the new Shaftsbury Avenue one) has copies of Button Man and Vermin Stars, but has sold out of Necronauts. This is basically the same case in Comics Showcase, Orbital, Gosh, Comicana, Mega City etc. However, if you go to Waterstones, Blackwells or Books Etc, either on Charring Cross road or Oxford Street, they should have copies of Necronauts. Book shops seem to have more copies than comic shops, in fact - even the Books Etc in the O2 Center Finchley Road has a few copies.

Yeah, but just when you think you've got Yeowell beaten, he'd snap back with the old punch through the chest routine, ala Zenith.

Eddie Campbell

Alan Moore

Badda Bing, Badda Boom!