This lunchtime, Borders bookshop/café/newsagents: having picked up a couple of special offer items, I’m on my way out into the street when I notice the two Georges—“Gorgeous” Galloway and “Moonbat” Monbiot that is—at 20 percent off. As always I have my long-suffering Minolta with me, so I get it out of my rucksack and uncap the lens in front of the ranks of discounted paperbacks, ready to freeze this pleasing vista for you, my loyal reader. Instantly a scrawny media studies graduate type with a glued-on-doghair beard and a headset is upon me. “I’m afraid you can’t take photographs in the store, sir.”
“What the fuck is a ‘store’, nosewipe? Do you know who I am? I am PooterGeek, freewheeling Internet superstar, and you are a mere wageslave, a pre-programmed ‘bot, scuttling along your short and narrow channel in the great global grid of capitalism, parroting the line fed to you by the masters of your faceless franchise,” I say, slapping his furry cheek with a copy of David Allen’s Getting Things Done: How To Achieve Stress-Free Productivity.
No. I just put my camera away and walk out. But I give him a scowl he won’t forget in a long time.
How long before Borders serve me with a writ for describing a display in one of their shops?