Alex Bell - fantasy author

I realised it’s been a while since I did a Wunderkammer post, and as I don’t want the blog to be lacking in weird stuff, here I shall present not one, but two, instances of weirdness.

Number One – the Mastodon:

As you can see, it is both shrivelled and dead. Obviously, therefore, I love it. I found this mastodon whilst heading an archaeological dig in the wild jungles of Peru. Now Seth, as I like to call him, keeps my shrivelled mermaid and shrivelled bigfoot company. There is a fourth member of their little gang, but I will write about him another time.

Number Two – Erin’s New Hat:

This is Erin’s new hat. My Mum recently went on a trip to Marrakech, and she bought this for him in one of the markets there. That’s how cool my Mum is – when she goes on holiday she brings back presents for me, and for my skeleton. And it was perfect timing too because Erin was becoming bored with his Victorian top hat, and had taken to trying to put it on the Siamese, which she dislikes. And an unhappy Siamese makes for an unhappy human. Now, because of the hat, we are all happy, and living together in harmony once again. Soon, Erin will own more hats than I do. I spoil my skeleton almost as much as I spoil my Great Dane. Moose has a hat too. Here she is wearing it on her birthday:

So make that three instances of weirdness.

Oh yes, we are all mad here.

It’s a good thing I don’t live in Manchester because there is a shop there called Pad that I would probably spend a small fortune in given the chance. Half the stuff in my bedroom comes out of that shop. And my kitchen. And my jewellery box . . . With the aid of some cheap flights my Mum and I went shopping in Manchester in March. Pad was our first stop and because my Mum is friends with the lovely owners, David and Darren, we were provided with tea and chocolate croissants whilst we walked around. You know - the sort of pastry that’s so good it flakes off and melts in your mouth. This is shopping as it was meant to be experienced. Naturally I now refuse to set foot in any shop where breakfast is not included.

Here’s an example of some of the amazing goodies they have. I demanded these from my Mum for my birthday whilst we were in the shop:

And this magnetic blackboard clock is a great new surface area on which to stick up yet more pictures of Moose, and to occasionally write reminder messages to myself:

Pad does home and kitchen stuff as well as jewellery, garden and kids stuff. And it’s all so stylish, so retro, so cool. Hey, did I mention this shop is cool? Because it really, seriously is.

Actually, I don’t need to go to Manchester to spend money in their shop anymore as they now have a website at http://www.padwebstore.co.uk/default.asp. But until I have some spare cash, I’m going to try to pretend I don’t know about the site. It is the responsible thing to do, no matter how much I might covet these Marmite espresso cups:

Or the blue stripy monkey:

These things are not, strictly speaking, necessities (at least that’s what I’ve been told). And, having recently spent a frankly astonishing amount of money acquiring the most gorgeous Great Dane puppy in the world, I am not supposed to be buying anything that’s not a necessity at the moment. Still, sometimes I can’t help wondering . . . if I wasn’t supposed to buy those Marmite cups then why do I want them so badly? Eh? I mean, I don’t even drink espresso . . .

But for anyone who’s not on a self-imposed spending ban, or who needs a good birthday present for someone, I would heartily recommend this little treasure trove of a shop.

In other news: summer is here. I know because when I woke up this morning, Erin had put his summer outfit on during the night:

This is my skeleton.

His name is Erin. He was a present from my parents for my twentieth birthday. I think the only thing that can really top him gift-wise is the beautiful violin I got for my eighteenth. I love my skeleton - absolutely love him to bits. This is his winter outfit, and that hat is a genuine Victorian antique that I bought for him especially on Ebay (sometimes I use it as a hiding place for my Siamese’s toys if she’s keeping me awake by playing with them on my back when I’m in bed). Erin is a gentleman of quality - he wears only the very best. In the summer he wears an outfit that is worth a grand total of five hundred pounds (I let him borrow my Ralph Lauren sunglasses when I’m not using them).

The point is that not only is Erin exhibit number three in my Wunderkammer, but he is also my invaluable writing aide, friend and confidante. Seriously, I can tell him anything - he’s very discreet. And if I’m having a problem with whatever book I’m writing then Erin is sometimes able to suggest a solution. Of course, he only talks to me at night when the rest of my family have gone to bed, and even then he only whispers. It’s only when he decides to go downstairs in the middle of the night and start playing on the baby grand piano in the dining room that my parents and I have . . . had words about him. But I’ve told them both before: Erin goes, I go. It’s as simple as that.

Most importantly of all, he gives me an excuse to buy silly hats - because I’m not really buying them for me, I’m buying them for him.