Tag Archives: #books

What is a book?

I asked myself, ‘Graeme, What is a book?’

I found a dictionary, took a look,

and under ‘b’ there were a plethora of words:

butterflies, broomsticks, bees, and birds,

and so on;

looking carefully, I found the word, ‘book’,

and in great detail it explained to me:

‘A book is more than life, you see;

without a book, what could you read?’

And, on this point, I most heartily agreed.

‘A book is stories old and new,

some made up, some almost true;

a book is there to make you think,

you read a book, and then you blink,

in wonder’s wide and amazements hue,

in such disbelief, and often fear.’

‘What is a book? I asked myself.

I picked up another book,

to took a look.

Seed Cake

Seed Cake

Not a popular choice these days;

but, when reading old novels,

or listening to old radio situation comedies,

the seed cake might be thought

to be making a comeback.

I’m not quite sure which seeds

a seed cake needs;

but I am probably not going to be

baking a cake anytime soon.

Keep those eyes and ears peeled

for any more mentions of the old seed cake.

Please let me know if you hear any – I would be mightily interested a bit.


Start a book, finish a book?

How many times have you started a book,

only to put it down way before the end,

with no intention to ever pick it back up again?

It doesn’t happen to me often;

but ‘twice’ in one week?!

One was a 99p special that promised to be okay, one was an old ‘horror’ book from an author from the 70’s and beyond.

My tastes may have changed on the second one, my strong dislike of unnecessary crude language put me off of the first.

So, I returned to the sanctity of an Agatha. Miss Marple to the rescue once more.

And, normal service has been resumed.

It’s not that I don’t try (and like) new books – ‘The Lip’ by Charlie Carroll was interesting – but I do tend to follow the authors that have established themselves upon my reading lists.

Right! I’m off to see what is happening with the murder investigation at Chipping Cleghorn.



Surrounded by books,

I receive the funniest of looks

as I smell the pages

of an old and treasured tome,

that has found its way,

to here, today,

which is but it’s latest home.

Written hundreds of years ago,

by a man that I am sure

I am soon to explore

by the reading of his words;

and published in a classic font

that fashion knows no more.

I pay the price

for a literary friend,

whose journey never, ever,

seems to end.

Books (in the Book Shop Place)

Books (in the Book Shop Place)

Agatha Christie, Mills and Boon,

David Niven’s ‘The Moon’s A Balloon’,

JRR Tolkien and the Ring of Doom,

various titles around the room.

Seamus Heaney, Lewis Carroll,

‘How I Spent My Life in a Barrel’,

Enid Blyton’s ‘Famous Five’,

‘A Long Way Down’,

‘51 Ways For A Slug To Survive’.

A ‘Self-Help’ section over there;

but, please, please, please take care,

doing D.I.Y.

And may ‘I’ now suggest Fred Astaire’s

‘Dancing For Beginners’,

or, maybe, you could feel the economy of ‘100 Student Dinners’.

If you seek the meaning of the word,

‘Swashbuckling’ – a dictionary

(you may need a cutlas),

to find the treasure, an atlas;

or, perhaps, Ordnance Survey maps

which map out Devon and beyond –

speaking of ‘scurvy dogs’

there is a book on ‘Pet Care’

for those of whom we are most fond…

… and before you know it,

time has flown,

you have a bag of books,

that now ‘you’ own;

and off you toddle,

with a smile on your face,

having paid a visit

to the Book Shop place.

“The Title of the Book”

Liskeard Prompt for 03/12/2019

“The Title of the Book”

The title of the book was something that Elderad van Cinq had not settled upon. He had a ‘working title’ that is for sure, but as it was ‘Words Upon Pages’ it wasn’t to be taken seriously, and definitely wasn’t considered apt, six months later, when Elderad’s book was being edited for posthumous publication.

Not that the book warranted much at all in the way of editing – Elderad wrote with a perfectionist’s eye, and barely a tense needed tightening in the whole of the one hundred and thirty-seven thousand words – of which more than a hundred had been plucked from ancient obscurity, and almost fifty had been created solely for the purpose of adding a contrasting freshness to the reader’s experience when discovering the world of Cassigney and its environs.

Being Elderad’s first, last, and only book, he was unable to promote it by the usual means – book-readings, book-signings, book-selling door-to-door, etcetera – as I may have inferred, he was well dead by the time it hit the book-shop shelves.

The title of the book had caused the publishing company quite a deal of trouble; the subject matter of the book, the characters, the locations of the action, all had one defining factor – they were as dank ditchwater, deadly and dull.

So, why was it that this book was awaited for with such bated breath?

The reason was that Elderad was the King of Cassigney, well, he had been until his untimely death at the ripe old age of thirty, and at the hands of person or persons unknown,

‘The King is dead,

Long live the next one!’

thus the king’s words were thought to be of worth.

And, it was rumoured that the king had written within the book about his imminent (to his mind) death.

Luckily, for the plot to thicken enough, but not too much, the hand-written manuscript was kept under lock and key, and the copies upon the shelves, and in the hands of the excited amateur sleuths (of which there were many), although they had been lovingly produced and packaged (‘value for money’ being a watchphrase of the particular publishers involved) it was only to be from the original that the murder was to be solved.

For ‘Murder’ it had been.

The book was given the title, ‘The King’s Tale’, that had been changed to ‘The King’s Story’, followed by, ‘King Elderad’s Tome’, ‘The King an Die’, ‘King E and the Mysterious Affair at Styles’, and lastly, but not least, ‘How a King Was Murdered.’

This last, and also not least, title was proudly gilded upon the cover of a print run of one hundred thousand books. They literally flew off of the shelves – and, as is the usual case, there was one selling for pennies in a charity shop long before lunchtime on the day of release.

There were also ‘signed’ copies being touted around – as much as this was an impossibility – and that had added a few shillings to the prices asked.

The title of the book was destined to be the title of the book at the top of the best-sellers list of Cassigney for many months.

It turned out that the book was there for three months exactly, until it was discovered that the butler had done it.

The book entitled, ‘My Story’ by A. Butler was rush-released, and it was this book that knocked ‘How a King Was Murdered’ off the top of the best-sellers list.

It, too, was published posthumously.

Red or Read?

Red or Read?

Roses, I once read,

are red;

so are books,


and letter heads,


old telephone kiosks,

the letter in

the book

by Nathaniel Hawthorne,

and the colour red,

when written down

(usually in black ink, though).

‘Book NOW For Christmas!’ by Graeme Sandford



That was what the sign advised.

But, I thought, what did it really mean?



I would have understood exactly, but,

Socks are socks, one left, one right, usually in a matching pair and with either a less-than-humourous motto, or a colour scheme to make you heave… or both!

But a book is a matter of self:

I would rather not have Fergie’s autobiography (Sarah or Sir Alex) and I like my authors, to be of an ilk.

I would have to know somebody very well indeed to even consider purchasing them… a book!

So, the sign has exclaimed, where it could have questioned.

Advice given, against a suggestion of the contemplation of perhaps… possibly… maybe… maybe not… buying a book… as a present… for somebody… for Christmas… which is still three months away!

But as for buying oneself a book? Well, that’s a different matter.

 And now, today, it’s ‘SUPER THURSDAY'”