Skip to main content

A Problem of Packaging

What I have learned today is that budget archive boxes are a false economy. Any saving is squandered on parcel tape to wrap the miserable container to the point where it resembles the misshapen prey of a filing-obsessed spider.

The full box bulged and warped as I wrestled. It repeatedly burst open at the top and disgorged slithering contents. It mocked me with torn handles and strained joints (those of the box rather than my own). I fought back, suppressing an uprising of RHS Chelsea catalogues, a stampede of assorted articles and the subtle exit of  book reviews, all destined to be consigned to the cupboard.

And it dawned on me that this is not a problem I have had before. Filing is not exactly second nature, but I have never before had to quell an actual mutiny of both packaging and subject matter.

But then, as the back catalogue becomes more extensive, more bulky and weighty then surely it must become more potent too. Libraries are powerful places. History, knowledge, the fact and folly of human invention and imagination set out in rows and stacked high into the rafters. Whispering and pulsing on the edge of perception, these massed words, and the books and articles that contain them, are lit and curated. The keepers of knowledge and opinion remain ever vigilant. Yet still they are able to catapult us into the past, the future or into other worlds. They have the ability to bring to us our deepest fears, to offer hope and salvation and to play upon our proclivities, sensibilities and weaknesses - as well as building greatness.
Something nasty in the woodshed? ...So what is under the stairs?

But how much more raw and fearsome must be a collection that is hidden in darkness. An untidy citadel of jumbled thoughts and ideas. Unwatched. Crammed together. Fact and opinion in a hybrid swarm of publication and publicity. Ideas compressed to neutron-star density. Swallowing light and distorting time. The shades of fashions past and techniques eternal, translucent in the pages; the energy of stories well-told, accumulating.

It is no wonder then that the boxes bulge and groan.  Perhaps as the archive becomes more powerful then so should the container that holds it. The Luggage* in the Terry Pratchett books might do it. Perhaps, rather than cheap boxes bound with gaffa tape, it is time for oak chests bound with iron.
(Although this would only exacerbate the issue of weight. The boxes are already almost too much to lift, so unless the archive can exist partially in another dimension, with contemporary mass reduced accordingly, I’m going to need a fork-lift truck. Or an orangutan.)

'The Orchard Odyssey' - my new book is out on 22nd Sept 2016
But the problem is not going away. I’m filing and archiving after a weekend spent lecturing and giving garden tours at the National Botanic Garden of Wales. The snowdrop buzz intensifies. And the snowdrop buzz will be joined in the autumn by my new book, The Orchard Odyssey, published by Green Books. Articles are in the pipeline. Ideas spring forth.

 Only last week, there was a sense of hiatus; January looking forwards and backwards, as it will. Snowdrops not yet upon us, tree fruit passed. But both also impending.

 So soon have things moved on. The cycle continues.
Shoots of Galanthus nivalis (Sandersii Group)
Clearing the decks is the order of the day. So whatever 2016 throws at one, at least it is possible to walk across the floor. Or bound across it, as the case may be, the squash-court of life permitting the ricochet of another idea. And it seems to me that a large box, independently mobile on lots of little legs, attitude problem optional, might be just the thing to carry my notes and an emergency sandwich (cheese and cucumber).** 

 And, should I vanish entirely, perhaps someone could check the dimension occupied by the archive, that is ostensibly in the cupboard under the stairs. 
A new dawn
* Given the orchard fixation, the fact that it is made of sapient pear wood is particularly appropriate

 **That it is also always full of neatly pressed underwear, smelling slightly of lavender, appeals. Note to self: if this element spontaneously generates, maybe feed it an annotated lingerie catalogue or two....^
^ Picky? Moi? 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

On The Road

Galanthus 'Fly Fishing' at Bellefield House . My latest snowdrop crush. Back in the dim and distant mists of time, when dinosaurs roamed the land and pterodactyls were frequent bird table visitors, I spent an enjoyable few years managing rock bands. There were headline gigs, support gigs. Mainstream venues and pubs. In some places the PA was state of the art, in others you thanked your stars for the decent size amp in the back of the van. Some nights the crowd was ecstatic. Others, the bar man, his dog and a couple of regulars would sit there, nodding and comparing the band to musicians that had died before the lead singer was born. Occasionally people listened to the first thirty seconds, got bored and went off to get drunk and find someone to sleep with. So it goes. I have just finished a modestly epic tour of the land, promoting The Plant Lover’s Guide to Snowdrops . And, as I pull myself vertical, brush off the debris and straighten out again, there are som...
4 comments
Read more

The Essential Apocalypse Skillset

Let me tell you a story. Several years ago, I was painting the bathroom of a house in Bristol. The window was open and it was a pleasant sort of day and people were wandering past. Around about four o’clock I heard a couple of sets of feet come down the hill and then stop. “Look, cherries!” said one voice (female, mid to late teens). “No, I don’t think they are. They can’t be.” Said the other, doubtfully (ditto). “Well, they look like cherries. Let’s try them!” “No, they are probably berries. Completely different. Some of them are not red, they are blackish. They are probably poisonous.” “Oh. Yes, I suppose so.” (disappointed) The feet moved on. I looked out of the bathroom window at the large and heavily laden cherry tree leaning over the wall of the garden opposite and wondered what the world was coming to. Red Sky in the Morning, Shepherds Warning ((c) N Slade) I am actually still wondering. When my grandfather was a child, he and his brothers (and a dog) ...
7 comments
Read more

A Different View

Sharp angles and offset rhomboids: Heligan in Winter I woke up this morning convinced that it was late. The light was grey behind the curtains and the room was silent. Reluctantly, I looked at my phone and discovered that it was in fact early. It has been a busy few weeks, but walking up the road, the magnolia buds are suddenly swelling in furry promise, and lilacs pertly tipped with green;  Crocus tommasinianus have appeared where there were none. Acer griseum and white-barked birches stand bold, in full knowledge that their spare charms will soon be overwhelmed with spring. Time has passed while I was not looking. So as the season creeps forward - and faster it does, when ignored - I am looking back, with a kind of regret. The thing is, that although gardens are considered 'off peak' in winter, there is often no better time to see them. This is the point where they show their true colours and strengths. As a visitor, you can read their geometry and detail without ...
2 comments
Read more