A Dictionary of Science

This book is, quite frankly, a work of utter genius not in a Dave Eggers sense but the old school brilliant way. The classy, unadorned cover makes this the book equivalent of that grandfather we all have, or all should have, that shames you by wearing a tie even when asleep (and also calls the local cab driver "that giant negro fellow.") Similarly, just as ones grandfathers knowledge of all things ended in about 1955, when he retired, this book has not aged well and would doubtless lead any keen young scholar  trying to pass his eleven plus astray. Although clearly they should being to the local comp rather than succumbing to lure of the local toffery.

In fact this mighty tome probably underpinned the scientific knowledge of two of my educational nemeses while at prep school and some other silly school that rather shames my socialist leanings. Mr. Preece was a noted incompetent famed for his scientific horror stories including the famed story of the man who ate a pork scratching and ended up having all his limbs amputated (I'm not really sure what the moral of that particular story was but I've yet to eat a pork scratching for fear of ending up like a creation of Dalton Trumbo) and the dangers of carbon monoxide (you get sleepy, ever so sleepy and then ...... YOU DIE). He also managed to leave me and another young private school boy behind in the Science Museum leaving us vulnerable to the evil glances of passing Paedophiles and slack jawed yokels from passing comprehensive schools with their radical hair styles and unpolished shoes. As for Mr. Croft, you Sir got your comeuppance when that heaven sent seagull fired down that angelic shit onto your head whilst you trundled along a beach on the Isle of Wight. Never has being a 10 year old fat, gruddily ginger prep school boy been so utterly wondrous. Sadly, it all ended in tears when we managed to accidentally flood our hotel and had to leave the island under armed guard.

And just to prove how amazing this dictionary is I've included my favourite entry (well second favourite after heroic zero nought definition that is a work of art) that I'm sure will have fallen out of any contemporary dictionary of science despite it being a key part of modern civilisation. The electric bell. Amazing. Like the Dictionary of embroidery, it is this sought of basic knowledge that will put me at the forefront of post-Rapture society. 

Mary Thomas's Dictionary of Embroidery Stitches

When first purchased Mrs. Big Dicks [phwoar], for I managed to snare an innocent before revealing my darker side, was somewhat cynical about this dictionary but it has proved itself to be an invaluable addition to the household. Our lodger, Sir Alexander Fairfax-Cholmeley was so overcome by delight upon seeing it on our shelf he was compelled to immediately call his mother (who also owns a copy) and then once that trip down maternal memory lane was complete latheringly regaled us with stories about how he once used the lesser seen Albanian heterodox latinate reverse stitch to re-attach a button to his favourite great coat whilst simultaneously winning the under-14 Duns Tew Croquet championship. 

And given our increasingly straitened times owning a repository of every stitch known to man and how to deploy it on some unsuspecting piece of fabric will prove invaluable. So when the Rapture comes and all those holier than thou muppets that you've spent valuable time sniggering at ascend to heaven and water turns to blood and most things fall apart I will immediately one up on the rest of the doomed population of the  Earth and will soon be able to have London Fashion Week back up and running. 

The Time Literary Supplement, no less, states that "Nothing is too complicated or too simple for Miss Thomas... This book will do much to improve the already rising standard of work in England; it is delightful in every respect" while the Scotsman, somewhat oddly, focuses on "the cover of the book, [which] by the way, is not the least of the charms." While the cover, shown above, can't compare to the cover of a piece of contemporary chick-lit emblazoned with a with a giant spurting phallus and a pair of Jimmy Choos I think the Scotsman might be being little contrary. That said a nice stout font embossed on the linen cover is slightly hornifying, is it not?

Just for good measure, I include a copy of the first page of the Dictionary of Stitches and the Algerian Filling Stitch, which is embellished with a nice jaunty illustration of suitably stereotypical image of something Arabic like a camel being fed a large piece of water melon by a small negro child. Stitching and casual old school racism. I mean this is bound to be a big seller in the care homes of Dorset. The rice stitch is illustrated by an equally tasteful mushroom cloud over a cross-legged Japanese man. I might have made that bit up. But I might not. 

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The next dictionary will be little bit more filthy so I can include lots of expletives, as much like the internet is a conduit for porn the first thing most people do with a big dick [not me anyway] is to look to see if it contains the word "fucknut" and how it is best deployed in modern conversational English.