Vincentian 1

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VINCENTIAN ONE – an APAzine from A.Vincent Clarke, 16 Wendover Way, Welling, Kent, DA16 2BN, for the Jan. '95 mailing.

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Don't know about you, but this Xmas has left me feeling completely disorientated. Of course, this has been my natural state for some time, but the condition's squared at the end of '94. Day after day with screwed-up Post, shopping, rubbish collection, all the little signposts which keep someone without employment in touch with normal life. Even the season is showing signs of delirium. The front-garden grass is still growing, and next-door there's still roses on the bushes which have been blossoming since last June. Sparrows have been hopping about with little bubbles containing question marks hovering over their heads.

Weirdness has hovered over everything. Did you see that BBC2 'Weird Night' programme (or whatever they called it)? Amongst other items, they made a good job of illustrating extracts from the FORTEAN TIMES, a sort of compendium of reported fantasy, which resonated in the consciousness of this old-time fan. In its early days, Eric Frank Russell used to be the British representative of the Fortean Society, industriously digging out strange reports from the Press. Of course, you didn't have to believe a word of it but...... and there followed some titbit such as a story about a dog which said "Hello" and vanished in a whiff of yellow vapour. I was a member for a short time, but when their area of doubt (DOUBT was the name of the house magazine in its early days) encompassed and queried the efficacy of vaccination, I felt that I had better things to do with my time and subscription money. In those days I was a poor but real active faan.

But, in this BBC2 programme, there was to me one especially interesting item. Some bookseller, I think from Hay on Wye, told a story about meeting a woman customer who was enthusing about an out-of-the-way book which she remembered as being a special favourite from her childhood. She had now found a copy on his shelves after 'X' number of years. Delighted, she opened it – and found that it was the very same copy which had given her such pleasure so many years previously. I think he said her signature was on the fly-leaf.

Delicious coincidence, huh? Made you feel warm and slightly wondering inside, that Fate should have twisted itself into such a benevolent shape.

Except – I have a book called While Rome Burns by Alexander Woollcott, first published in 1934. It's a series of polished articles, mostly I think from The New Yorker, in the days of Dorothy Parker and Robert Benchley. One short article tells of a lady named Anne Parrish, the American author of two or three books I've never heard of. She was rooting through bookstalls in Paris, a typical tourist with her husband, who from a distance saw her pick a book, pay for it and come back to him. She was delighted to have found a title which she remembered from her nursery days. She opened it – and on the fly-leaf was her own childish signature.

And now young Connor has started an APA, with as few rules as he can manage. I suppose that he's relying on popular feeling to keep us in some sort of order. Weird. But I wish him – and you – the best of luck. Bigger and better efforts to follow when I get 1995 sorted out and in proper perspective.