It Keeps On Keeping On.

In which The Author goes on a mini-tour of South Wales

I know it's been quite a while since I updated you on my involvement with the Anthony Nolan Trust, for which I apologise. I've been busy with a few projects which have taken up a lot of my time. That doesn't mean that the fund-raising is on hold, though. Quite the opposite.

About a month ago, I had a message from Fay at the Brunel Arms in Pontyclun to say that their collection box was full. (In fact, she'd had to take it off the bar because it was bursting at the seams.) It was an excuse for a trip across the old county of Mid Glamorgan to check the situation out. Since my last visit in the autumn (see Just Another Weird Wednesday), the regulars had managed to raise £31, taking their total to a handsome £91.35.

The plethora of sport over the past six months (the 6 Nations, Wimbledon, the cricket, the British Lions tour, the Open golf championship, as well as the ever-present football) has helped to swell the coffers in the pubs, of course. The one in the Lighthouse might have lasted the weekend, but with the Welsh National Motorcycle Races taking place in Aberdare Park tomorrow and Sunday, I decided not to take any chances. I've paid it in three times since the start of December, but today's contribution of £21 took their total to a creditable £110.

I've yet to call into the Pagoda takeaway, a mere dust cap's throw from the main gates of the park. Their total currently stands at £84.60, and it's long overdue for a check-up. I'll probably go in on Monday and see how the land lies.

One of the newest kids on the block is also within easy walking distance of the park. I placed a box in the Hot Pot Fish Bar in Trecynon a few months ago, and paid a whopping £39 in this afternoon. I don't think Fatima could quite believe it when I emptied it over the table – and it was only just over half full. She was a bit sceptical at first, saying people were only putting coppers in. In the event, I was able to make up a single full bag of 2p pieces, and the pennies only totalled about 50p. The rest was silver and pound coins. I don't know whether the Qu'ran has a saying equivalent to 'Ye of little faith', but it did come to mind when I told her the final figure.

I've pencilled in a visit to Ebbw Vale some time next month, depending on when Rebecca C. is working, so I can have a sitrep on the collection box in the Bridge. Last time I checked, there was more foreign currency than sterling. We found that rather amusing, considering that Ebbw Vale isn't the most cosmopolitan of towns. The pub isn't even on the way from anywhere to anywhere else, so probably wouldn't pull in a huge number of overseas visitors. We decided to relocate it from the bar into the restaurant to see if things would pick up. Watch this space …

I know they had a head start on everyone else, but the runaway winners so far are still the Glosters in Aberdare. I paid in another £34 this afternoon, and that finally tipped them over the £400 mark – £416.59, in fact.

The rest – the Vapour Den, Dare Valley Cycles and Servini's Restaurant in Aberdare, the Bonki in Cwmaman, and the Commercial Inn in Cilfynydd ‒ are probably safe until mid-October. That's when the original designs of the pound coins cease to be legal tender. By then, they'll have pretty much vanished from general circulation. You'll still be able to pay them into the banks, of course, but you won't be able to spend them anywhere. It seems like the perfect opportunity to do the circuit again and make sure everything's in good order for the autumn rugby and the run-up to Xmas.

By that time, I hope to have at least another two boxes in place. My good friend Vickie B. has just opened a cafe and cake shop in Mountain Ash, a few miles to the south of us. I approached her this afternoon and she's happy to play host to a box. I've got another couple of irons in the fire as well. I've set myself a little challenge, to see if I can get twenty boxes ticking over by my next birthday. I think it's quite achievable, myself. I'm looking after a dozen already, and there are still a number of business friends I haven't sounded out yet.

Bear in mind that the boxes themselves don't take up much more room than a pint glass, don't need any looking after apart from my occasional visits, and don't demand any physical effort – unlike, say, a sporting event, which (in Wales, anyway) is almost guaranteed to be rained off after considerable preparation. As Mams would have said, they don't eat or drink. They just sit on the counter/bar and everyone else does the heavy lifting. It's an effortless way of raising money for an incredibly worthwhile charity.

Oh – I nearly forgot. You're probably wondering what my overall total is. I've just checked, and I've surprised myself: £768.54. Not bad going, is it?

The Unstarted Trilogy

In which The Author almost leaves a bookshop empty-handed

Yes, you read that correctly.

I've just returned from Pontyclun, where Fay J. and the regulars at the Brunel Arms have managed to raise a very respectable £31 for the Anthony Nolan Trust. This takes the pub's fund-raising total to over ninety quid. It's definitely worth making a special trip across country every six months or so to pay it in. In reality, I won't be able to pay it in until tomorrow, because Barclays no longer have a branch in Pontyclun. I could have walked the two miles or so into Talbot Green, but given the way the 'high street banks' are pulling out of the high streets, there was no guarantee I'd have found that branch open anyway. I'll do it in Aberdare and post the receipt to Fay, as usual.

And talking of well-known high street brands …

I had the best part of an hour to kill in Cardiff, so I walked over to Waterstones for a nose around. There was no sign of Jeff, as usual – he might have been on lunch, or in Newport, or in Abergavenny, or in any other branch within a train ride's emergency cover range. I didn't see any of the old gang, in fact. I headed straight for the Science Fiction section, eager to pick up anything by Paul McAuley, whose forthcoming book I finished proofreading on Monday. Or maybe on Sunday. Or possibly yesterday. It's a long story …

Anyway, Craig L., my contact at Gollancz, had mentioned Mr McAuley's novel Fairyland, which is published in their SF Masterworks series. That seemed a decent place to start exploring Mr McAuley's backlist. Therefore I wasn't especially surprised when I failed to find a single book by him. When Craig first mentioned this upcoming project about six weeks ago, I asked whether Mr McAuley was a new author, as his name didn't sound familiar. (He turns out to be quite the opposite – as a scientist turned writer, he's frequently mentioned in the same breath as Stephen Baxter.)

I emailed Craig back, joking that I never got to run the Science Fiction section because that particular role was always given to someone who never read books. Instead, it was the preserve of people who were into superhero films, computer games, and manga books. Even if they were fairly au fait with the genre (like Scott P. and Gareth M.), they were never given free rein to stock a decent range of backlist titles which would guarantee repeat business.

Now that Waterstones is run almost entirely by computers which decide a branch's stockholding based on the percentage of shelf space allocated to each genre, you can spot the winners and losers a mile off.

Take the History section, for instance. When I was in the shop a few months ago, I amazed myself by being able to find books on the Hundred Years War and the Crusades. Ten years ago I'd have lucky to find anything that general. I didn't want a huge tome on either – just something I could use to double-check names and dates if I get another historical novel to work on – and the two books I found suited me admirably. But I wouldn't have found them when I was working there.

When Louise was running the History section, her pet preferences (the areas she'd studied for her degree and her own personal heroines) decided what we stocked. Yes, of course we tried to take account of the school and university syllabuses. However, by and large Louise's choice of books was determined by a mixture of how interested she was in the topic, and how well she got on with the publisher's rep. When Russell was the rep for Routledge, you could guarantee finding pretty much every new title on the shelves within days of publication. When John took on the role as part of the ever-growing Taylor & Francis portfolio, T&F's titles dwindled almost to the vanishing point. You should never mix business with pleasure, especially when it comes to stocking a bookshop.

The new Waterstones History department is rather thrilling in comparison. Presumably there's enough turnover of titles to justify the increased shelf space and vastly improved depth of range.

I can only assume that Horror is showing the reverse of this trend. It's gone from being an entire island and a couple of bays to barely half a dozen shelves and half a table. It's no great loss, to be honest. The post-Twilight Vampire Romance bubble seems to have burst, thank Goddess, and now the section consists pretty much exclusively of James Herbert, Stephen King and Richard Laymon. It's business as usual. Never been a fan, don't care if they sell or not.

The Artificial non-Intelligence in charge of stocking the Science Fiction section seems to be one capacitor short of a full circuit board, though. I'll give you a theoretical example to begin with.

Would anyone, even in their wildest fantasies, ever stock The Return of the King without also having The Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers? Who the actual fuck would start reading a trilogy with the last book?

Yet that's what Waterstones seem to be doing at the moment. Having finished John Hornor Jacobs's Infernal Machines (for pleasure and profit) about six weeks ago, I was pleased to find one of the preceding books on the shelf. Only one of them, though: Foreign Devils. There was no sign of The Incorruptibles, which is where the whole saga begins. I checked the tables to make sure I wasn't just missing it, but it was nowhere to be found.

I moved on. Ben Aaronovitch's occult police procedurals featuring the young Met copper Peter Grant have really made an impact since they were first published. (It was my close reading of Foxglove Summer, the fifth Peter Grant novel, which opened Gollancz's doors to me in the first place.) I wasn't surprised, therefore, to find the series opener Rivers of London face out on the shelf, along with two of the others, but not necessarily in the right order, as Eric Morecambe might have said.

I moved on again. Gavin G. Smith's The Beauty of Destruction was the first proof I ever worked on. I found that on the shelf, but neither of the books which precede it. What's the fucking point of that?

Jon Wallace's Rig, my first copy-editing job, has recently come out in paperback. Craig very kindly sent me the first two as preparation for the typescript, so I was eager to see the finished book. I found it all right – beside Barricade, which opens the story. There was no sign of Steeple, though. Ever get the feeling you've missed something important?

Skimming the rest of the display, I spotted the distinctive yellow jacket of a Gollancz SF Masterwork among the Ps. It was The Prestige by Christopher Priest. There were none of Mr Priest's dozen or so other books on the shelf, though. His first novel, the hallucinatory and terrifying Indoctrinaire, was published 45 years ago. He's generally regarded as one of the elder statesmen of British SF, along with Brian Aldiss and Michael Moorcock. There was one of Mr Aldiss's books on the shelf (got it), and a collection of Mr Moorcock's short stories. Yes, you read that correctly, too. Just the one. Mr Moorcock's published works would take up least two shelves by themselves.

The Prestige first came out in 1995; Greybeard is thirty years older, and Mr Moorcock's short stories were published sporadically through the late 1960s and early 1970s.

Messrs Moorcock and Priest have both had novels published by Gollancz within the past couple of years, and both were acclaimed in the SF magazines. I've got them at home, but only through the good offices of Waterstones in London. If I was relying on the Cardiff branch, I'm sure I could be forgiven for assuming that they'd curled up their tootsies and shuffled off this mortal coil (to quote a line from another classic comedy routine).

I wandered over to the music section. We've recently marked the fiftieth anniversary of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Cub Band, so I was sure I'd find a plethora of books about that musical landmark. Not a fucking sausage. In fact, there was only one book about the Beatles, and I've already got that at home. Does anyone read the fucking papers any more?

I was about to leave empty-handed when I spotted a face-out copy of All the Madmen, Clinton Heylin's recent(-ish) book about the uneasy relationship between British rock musicians and mental health. I say 'recent(-ish)' because according to the title page it's been out since 2012. I've never seen it in Waterstones before. If it hadn't been face out, I wouldn't have seen it today either.

I've necessarily based this entry on a cursory examination of the shelves in one 'flagship' branch of Britain's only surviving national book retailer. I've worked on a small sample of authors whose books I've worked on over the last couple of years, too. It's a reasonable basis for further study, I think. I've been out of the bookselling game for over eight years now, as Facebook reminded me over the bank holiday weekend. It was, as I said at the time, 'the end of an error'.

With the benefit of twenty years' experience at the sharp end – and when I walked away, I went with half a dozen colleagues whose time in post was comparable – I think it's fair to say that Waterstones are missing us more than we miss them. I wonder how long it'll be before the smaller branches start to wither on the vine. There was a time when every town worth its salt had a branch of at least one high street bank. HSBC closed its doors in Aberdare last year. NatWest are going at the end of the summer. They've all pulled out of Mountain Ash already.

In the same way, all but the most piss-poor of towns had a bookshop. Given what I've seen today, I can't help wondering how long it'll be before Waterstones starts going the way of Barclays and the others of the 'Big Four' banks.

A Nation of Hairdressers

In which The Author gives his friend some careers advice

When Rhian and I were in Aberdare Park to see the cyclists depart on the Tour of Britain, we bumped into our friend Jodie B. We've known her since she was a barbint in the Conway, so we were surprised to see her lurking outside the little cafe by the lake. It turned out that Jodie was doing a couple of shifts there during the college vacation. Naturally, we asked her what she was studying.

Neither of us were particularly surprised when she replied, 'Hair and Beauty.'

Considering that Aberdare College has a pretty limited range of vocational courses anyway – and pitifully few academic courses – there's not a great deal if you want to proceed into further education. To make matters worse, there's virtually bugger all for anyone looking to return to college later in life.

I found this out for myself when I visited their open day just after the A level results came out. Apart from the ever-present Access to Humanities course (see Results Day), they weren't able to offer me anything interesting. They gave me a couple of brochures, but they just confirmed my suspicions that in thirty years' time, Wales is going to be a nation of builders, motor mechanics, care workers and hairdressers. I don't know what they'll be offering in the shiny new premises near Aberdare Station when it opens next year, but I think I can guess. Never mind all the guff you read about the 'knowledge economy' – in Wales, the future is going to be the precarious contracts economy for most people, and self-employment for the lucky few. It's what people like me are already calling 'the gig economy'. Naturally, some Tory MPs are seeing this as a positive step. Well, of course they would, wouldn't they? They can return to being the Landed Gentry, and the rest of us can tug our forelocks when we pass them on the way to our next day's casual work.

Anyway, this came back to mind when Clare and I were in Merthyr a fortnight ago. A few days before, she'd mentioned that she was thinking of going to college next autumn. I asked her what she fancied studying, and guess what she told me …

We were passing Thereisnospoon (and that's another story entirely) when I spotted a big banner advertising Merthyr College's renowned Performing Arts courses. As I've mentioned before, Clare loves singing (which is how we met, of course), she did some acting when she was in school, and she's written a few songs. This is partly the reason why I'm drawing her – and Chazza, to a lesser extent – into the live music scene in Aberdare. It'll be a chance for them to meet guys and gals who've been writing and playing for years. Considering that I can play about three and a half chords on the guitar and even fewer on the piano, I've been on the periphery of the Aberdare scene for most of my adult life. (I know more musicians than the average drummer.)

I pointed out the banner and said, 'That's what you want to be studying.'

Her eyes lit up straight away, so I suggested we stroll over to the campus and pick up a brochure. But she was focused on food, so I shelved the idea while we failed to get fish and chips on Fish Friday. (I know – you couldn't make it up, could you?)

On Monday we met for lunch and I mentioned Merthyr College again. I looked up their number and gave them a quick call. The lady I spoke to was very helpful and enthusiastic, and told that they were having an open evening that very same day.

'Why not come over and talk to the tutors?' she suggested.

I explained that Clare lives in Hirwaun, and I'm just outside Aberdare. After 6.30 p.m., you can forget any prospect of getting home unless you travel via Abercynon (by train) or Pontypridd (by bus). The lady from the college understood where I was coming from – literally and metaphorically – and I said we'd come over for an open day instead. In the meantime, I asked her to send Clare a brochure and we could read a bit more about it.

The job's a good 'un. Clare had the prospectus on Tuesday morning. We're going to sit down with it and see what catches her eye. If she goes down that route, she'll find it far more challenging and fulfilling than making coffee and sweeping up clippings for a year or so in the guise of a 'modern apprenticeship'.

After all, the very last thing Aberdare needs is another bloody hairdresser. I took the camera for a stroll this morning, to check the situation out on the ground. I already knew that there are three salons in Trecynon alone: one on the square, one opposite the top of the park, and one behind the Mount Pleasant (although one is closed for holidays at the moment, and I don't know the situation with the one on the square).

I proceeded in an orderly manner in a southerly direction, as the police officer said to the actress. There are two more in the little row of shops on the Gadlys – literally a few doors apart, as you can can see from the photos – a third in the old Park Bakery, and a fourth just below the Mackworth.

We haven't reached the town centre yet. I started off in Canon Street. There was, until fairly recently, a salon at the end of High Street, but that's gone. Still, there are plenty of others, so I shouldn't think it was a vital cog in the Valleys economic powerhouse. Incidentally, the first one, Walters, is in the upstairs premises which was formerly Lloyd's, back in the day, and where we always used to go for haircuts.

This second photo is interesting, showing two salons side by side. However, you only get the whole picture when I widen the angle:

Yes, you are reading this properly. We have an entire Makeover Mews coming together – a beauty salon and tanning parlour, two hair salons and a new nail bar, all side by side.

I got to the Palladium block of flats where the Palladium used to be, and remembered that there's a place in Dean Street as well. One small detour sorted that one out.

Back in Canon Street, I came across another two barbers' shops in fairly short order. The first has been open for literally less than a month. Between them there's another nail bar. (I decided not to include nail bars, beauty salons and tanning parlours in the photographic survey, because I've only got a 4 Gb memory card.)

My next port of call was Whitcombe Street. There was a barber's shop here in 1975, according to the Goad's map of the town which I've been working on for some time. Unfortunately, it cuts off slightly short, so it wouldn't have included any of these, even if they'd been in existence at the time. Once again, we have two for the price of one: next to Route 66 is the long-established Lynx. (Lyn, the owner, worked with Lloyd before he went out on his own a number of years ago.)

I doubled back into Commercial Street, where there's just one salon, amazingly.

An inspired hunch took me along Duke Street, into Market Street and through the market itself. There, at the far end, my vague memory of the new part paid off.

There's another 'two for one' offer on the corner of Merchant Street, as well, and then I made my way back into Duke Street.

I looped around into Cardiff Street, where my friend Shaun M. has a tattoo studio next to yet another barber's shop.

I knew there was nothing in Cardiff Street itself, but an inspired guess led me into the little courtyard of the former National School. I found a salon here, but there was no sign of life. Maybe hairdressers go on holiday mob-handed at this time of year. Who knows?

At the end of Bute Street, there's this real oddity which has been there since Goddess was a little girl. You get the impression that only ladies' stylists have trendy and/or punning names, don't you?

Back on Victoria Square, I knew I was in the right place at the right time. The first salon literally opened this morning. On the other side of the Lighthouse, Emma's been there for some years. Needless to say, there's a nail bar next to Emma's place. Right at the end of the row, once you've been transformed into the film star/ pop singer/ supermodel/ whatever of your choice, Victoria Studios can photograph the evidence for you before you go for a drink to celebrate.

I was about to call it a day when I remembered that there's a salon on Monk Street. It didn't take me long to walk up there and back into town.

I was heading for the library when I passed this place next to Thereisnospoon. I crossed the road to photograph it, and then remembered that there's yet another one behind the solicitors' offices, on the approach to St Elvan's Church.

I think that's a pretty comprehensive survey of the Aberdare scene at the time of writing. Of course, it's quite possible that I missed one, tucked away in a first floor premises. If you'd like some free advertising courtesy of The Author, please feel free to get in touch.

I think it's fair to say that every Cynon Valley community, except Penderyn and Rhigos, has a hair salon of some size. This doesn't take into account the plethora of mobile stylists, like my friends Ian L. and Jenny J. (No, not that Jenny, don't worry!) Most of their business comes from working people who would be hard pushed to fit a salon visit around their busy schedules. They also serve the growing population of elderly people, whether in their own homes, or by regular visits to residential homes.

Now, you'd think that with this wealth of cutting-edge skill (sorry about that), Aberdare people would be striding around like the proudest peacocks, showing off their individual 'dos in an attempt to outsmart (sorry again) their rivals in the sexual athletics. Not a chance! The post-Fordist bubble I described in And Now For Something Completely Identical burst a long time ago. It takes a brave person to buck the fashion trends.

Clare wore a dog collar on Monday (as had I, quite by chance) and said that she got several strange looks as she came into the library. Then we went for lunch, and she became aware that people were staring at us. We were both dressed in black sporting unusual accessories. I took an elsie (a photo taken on a mobile phone which contains another person) and posted her picture on Facebook, with the words 'We're sure the guys on the next table think we're on our way to a fetish night'.

Meanwhile, we were surrounded by young lads with One Direction haircuts, or slightly older lads with great big bushy beards, and women of all ages who think it's cool to dye their hair white. We were definitely something completely different.

I'm sure Clare would be a sad loss to the world of hairdressing, but I'd much rather encourage her to do something she's guaranteed to enjoy. After all, enough kids drop out of further education as things stand. They find out the course isn't what it's cracked up to be, and decide to do something else. It's a waste of everyone's time, and it doesn't do any great things for the country's prosperity. Aberdare really doesn't need another hairdresser, but we can never have too many creative young people reaching their full potential, can we?