Goodbye Moto

I hate mobile phones. These days it's almost impossible read a book on a train without being interrupted by a hideous ringtone followed by someone shouting banal comments into their phone. Businessmen are the worst, particularly the ones who sound like second-rate actors in an afternoon TV soap:

'Well, that's no good. Tell APG they've gotta fast-track the order otherwise we lose the account...yeah, there are some operational issues...we need to be more robust about the schedule...'

Then you discover they're talking about incontinence pants.

As for texting, what's all the fuss about? It's the John Bull Printing Set of the 21st century. I really can't be bothered spending five minutes tapping away at keys to produce a message that could be spoken in five seconds. Life's too short. That's why I'd never contemplate Twittering.

I know that Twitter is becoming increasingly popular, but I don't get it. There's a limit to how much I want to know about someone's life and on Twitter, even Stephen Fry is boring.

But worst of all is the camera function. It is the Kodak Instamatic of the digital era, producing blurred, grainy images that look as if they've been copied from CCTV. I will never understand those people who record the most important events of their lives in glorious 0.3 megapixels resolution. I briefly used my phone's camera function until I discovered how crap it was.

Here are some of the pictures I took:

One evening I was walking to Lewes station when I saw these oil paintings, attached to some railings. I don't know why they were there. The next day they were gone.

This giant human figure, lying on the floor of Victoria station, made the normally grim-faced commuters stop and smile.

This is the famous Lewes Dancing Man, strutting his stuff to a Rolling Stones track. During the last few years he has acquired a minor cult status and there are now videos on YouTube.

Überchav, sitting opposite me on a train. Luckily he was too engrossed in his game to spot me taking photos. The camera failed to capture his wispy little blonde moustache.

These two drunks staggered around a shopping arcade before collapsing on top of each other. What began as a comic scene ended up being sad and touching, as two men nestled-up together and fell into a deep sleep.

In my last shop I reluctantly agreed to let a local woman have an 'angel healing' evening. Before the event began she requested some time alone on the shop floor so that she could 'cleanse the space'. She was standing right in front of the CCTV camera and I'm afraid I gave into temptation.

As you can see, some of these images might have made good photos if they hadn't been taken on my crappy camera phone. I shall never use it again.

Happy Birthday Karen Carpenter

Which of these names is the odd one out:

Jimi Hendrix, Keith Moon, Janis Joplin, Karen Carpenter, Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison ?

There are several possible answers, but I suspect that most people would pick Karen Carpenter for obvious reasons. Unlike the other dead musicians she didn't take heroin, wasn't sexually promiscuous and, worst of all, made the sort of music your mum and dad liked. Even dying young didn't improve her credibility.

Confessing to liking the Carpenters is akin to saying you love jigsaws, comfy slippers and fondant fancies. However, it's time to come out of the closet.

Road Ode was my favourite song when I was nine and I still love it. As today would have been Karen Carpenter's 59th birthday, it seems like a good excuse to play it:

Three hours ago...

Is it me, or does this building scream out the theme tune of The Omen?

Independent ideas

What do the words independent bookseller mean to you? It's a difficult question, because there is no right answer. Some independent bookshops are run with flair and imagination by passionate bibliophiles; others exude an air of decay and misanthropy that will make you rush to the nearest chain. An independent bookshop is as good as its owner.

I really can't see the point of having an Independent Booksellers Week. If independent booksellers are any good, then surely we should be supporting them all year round. If they're not, then good riddance. It's pointless to try and create a 'brand' for a disparate group of people.

Worst of all is the logo.

According to a spokesman from the Booksellers Association:

“Our aim in commissioning a new logo was to create something unusual and eye-catching, a memorable design that would stand out amongst the many brands on the high street, just as independent booksellers do. We are very grateful to Damian Horner for giving us his time and expertise in coming up with this logo. It is fresh and funky yet timeless, and it will stand as the logo of Independent Booksellers Week for the foreseeable future.”

Oh dear. The F word. If you can explain how the image above is 'funky' then I'd be very grateful. All I can see is a rather embarrassing, low budget logo that was created in Photoshop. It's trying to be fun, but just reminds me of my Sunday school teacher's attempts to get 'down wiv da kids'.

Damian Horner, the former head of Mustoes advertising agency says:

"I would be stunned (and worried) if the many hundreds of booksellers who are involved in Independent Booksellers Week unconditionally love this logo at first sight. It is not bland in any way which means it modest budget.(?) This is a great logo. One of the very few that you will see today and remember tomorrow. It is because of this I am convinced that it will not be long before booksellers and consumers alike, embrace its distinctiveness and fall for its charms".

Perhaps I'm missing something, but what charms? We have a crude image of an open book superimposed onto a pair of running legs.

If I am wrong, please tell me. I will defer to the wisdom of my peers, particularly those who do it for a living, like Grey Area.