It started with Simon Armitage. He borrowed it off a friend of a friend because it was about East Yorkshire and was from a poet who hailed from there. This interested him largely because it was hard for him to imagine a poet from these parts. After all, he had never met one amongst the frenzied Tiger supporters. But Simon was different and after only a few pages he fell in love with the wry and truthful writing style. He devoured the little book.

And that’s it. That’s when his appetite for pocket penguins grew. The mentality behind it made perfect sense to him. He could read snippets from authors without feeling vested in a full novel. If he liked what he read in the little book then he could simply read some of the author’s large book collection. In his mind he likened it to a single, before buying the album. Add to that his love for verity, this mixture of classic and contemporary just seemed to suit him. Even the designs of the little books themselves were appealing. The matte finish, the various graphic designers who, in his words, “did a damn good job” selling the books. All these things drew him in.

And so he made a pledge in his heart. A little life goal. He would collect all the books in the series. He would be a better writer for it. He would have interesting dinner conversation. And he’d be able to claim that yes, Anais Nin, Freud, and Kafka could be found on his bookshelves. And, dare I say it, he would be cultured.

So the hunt began. The whole set was unavailable these days unless you really wanted to fork over some money. He didn’t have said funds to do such so he started buying a few at a time, reading them and then thinking of another to get. He only thought it fitting that Simon Armitage be the fist book of the collection. Next was Stephen Pinker’s Hotheads because he liked the cover. Then George Orwell’s In Defense of English Cooking, and Anais Nin’s Artist and Models. His little plan was going smashingly, and with each book he received he felt excitement and a sense of accomplishment.

Then on a brief visit to Oxford the unexpected occurred. He went to “see Marcus off” in London and decided to make a weekend in Oxford out of it. He was staying with the lovable and giddy tall man with curly hair that he had met on the road trip. And on John’s book shelf, emitting a strange radiating light, was the entire series. Perfect condition. Beckoning to be read.

He couldn’t believe it. And amidst jealousness and longing stares at the coveted set said something to the effect of: “You… have… the… pocket… penguin… set? The WHOLE set? Do you know how rare that is?”

John did not. For rarity wasn’t an issue when the set was released six years ago. Also being in England (the only place in which the set was made massively available) put different perspective on the matter. Nevertheless, not much more was said on the topic.

His next day in Oxford was spent in an unplanned fashion. It began at the Jericho Café, the very cafe where he was taught to love fried mushrooms for none do better. Then he met up with friends to see one of John’s Oxford Castle tours and couldn’t help but laugh at the bleak history being recounted with enthusiasm.

The guide to his group (John): (with smile) “…there families and students would literally rip the body’s to pieces fighting over who would get to keep the remains. And on your left we have…”

He, Hannah, and India all agreed. “Best tour ever!”

Sometimes on the tour he would stop and make mental notes of some of the romantic and tragic stories. He wrote on his hand: “I’m like Princess Matilda all dressed in white, and I’ll flee my castle on this snowy night…” and thought it historically geeky, but a poetic thought none-the-less.”

Afterwards he spent the day with the aforementioned cool Oxford girls. They gave him a lift on their bikes and taught him their secret recipe for Banoffee Pie (his favorite pie). He even made one himself and had the rare privilege of choosing the word to be adorned onto the pie with raspberries. As he saw the classy table setting, flowers and all, he knew exactly what three-letter word to use to juxtapose the setting.

For the next twenty minutes he gorged himself on the pie, admiringly eating much more then his fair share. He was certain however that this was the best banoffee he had ever tried. The girls, unimpressed with his ability to eat a whole pie in minutes, turned their attention to Patrick McGoohan and The Prisoner, their random television addiction.

All too soon however he had to leave, and the girls dropped him off, sharing some Whites Boy Alive on the way. At the train station John met him to say goodbye. He had a pack with him and said it was a gift to be opened on the train. For those of you cleverer than he you probably can guess the contents. He could not, and thought that perhaps it was a second hand suit to try on. A nice and thoughtful gesture. But when he followed the implicit instructions to “open on the train” he found not cloth staring back at him, but paper. 70 mini-books. The set.

Clearly he would have to decline such a nice gift, but John being the most generous fellow he had ever met persuaded him otherwise using the “I’d rather see them in a good home” tactic that you’d use with a pet.

And so he sat there amazingly grateful. He thought about how easy his little life goal had just become. Like manna from heaven he mused. And then he gulped up a whole book on the train ride home, pausing at times to think about how cool it would be if someone were to search all the luggage that he was taking back home with him. A backpack with 70 books, and a toothbrush. Definitely the way to pack light.

As he finished the last paragraph in Design Faults in the Volvo 760 Turbo he considered the fact that this was probably one of his favorite gifts. But he also knew that the gift giver, John, would have no idea of his full appreciation of it. Unless he stumbles across this blog…

Books, banoffee, beauties, bikes, tours, tea, trains, retro tv… all in one day! Why don’t I live in Oxford?

Pie 3 Pie 2 Pie