And The Oscar Goes To . . .

Recently I introduced you to my oldest friend, Dingle. He lives in New Zealand now and was over here for the Christmas period. Well, he’s gone back now so I think I’m safe to tell you this story.

In 1997 I talked my way into Homerton College, the University of Cambridge’s main seat of learning for Education. I completed a PGCE and walked out of that city as a fully qualified secondary school English teacher. 

All Heady Books

It was an intensive course with lots of study and an overload of exhausting in-school training experience. I’d never worked as hard as I did in that time and have made sure to never work anywhere near as hard since!

The visits from friends during weekends and breaks were a real tonic and something I very much looked forward to.

One particular weekend Dingle came over and he explained we had job to do. He wanted to buy his mum a book for her birthday and insisted that I was the man and Cambridge was the place to complete this task.

Now, other than Bravo Two Zero by Andy McNabb, Dingle had never read a book in his life. Seriously. He wasn’t daft, very far from it, but books have never been his thing.

His mum on the other hand was an avid reader and absolutely loved the classics. Anything by the Brontes, Jane Eyre, George Eliot - all that sort of thing.

At this time the Stephen Fry Oscar Wilde biopic was in the cinema, and his mum had dropped heavy hints about the movie tie in book being a suitable present for her upcoming birthday.

In The Navy

In 1997 Dingle had just left the Royal Navy. He had seven years of service as a specialist ship’s diver and had so many incredible experiences. He was a physical phenomenon, putting himself forward for every mission going and was often responsible for the lives of his naval colleagues. Trust me, he has stories.

The thought of going into a bookshop, however, left him in cold sweats.

Dingle’s logical thought process was ‘Iain’s doing English at Cambridge. He’ll know where to get it.’

Makes sense.

There’s a fair few bookshops in Cambridge so we thought we’d get the book sorted first before moving our attention to our primary task: hitting the pubs.

The Eagle would have to wait, but we wouldn’t be too long, surely? 

Locating a book by a celebrated, world famous author in a city bursting with bookshops, was bound to be a swift endeavour. Especially while the book currently had Hollywood’s marketing might behind it.

“Which book is it?” I asked.

“Don’t know, it’s just out with the film,” he said.

No problem. I assumed that it would be a reissue of The Picture of Dorian Gray, with a still from the film as the front cover and a wordy introduction from it’s Wildean wannabe leading man, Stephen Fry.

We stepped into the first bookshop. Dingle insisted I did the talking.

“I really don’t know what I’m asking for mate, this is your sort of place not mine.”

He felt uncomfortable. Fair enough. I didn’t mind.

I Still Haven't Found What I’m Looking For

The first bookshop was aware of the film but didn’t have the tie in book. I was a little surprised but no problem. 

We hit the second and it was the same story. Hmm, a bit odd.

The third was no use either. That seemed very odd to me.

We pushed on through several more and it was the same disappointing answer each time. But we couldn’t give up, Dingle insisted.

To be fair we didn’t visit every bookshop we passed. There’s loads of secondhand and antiquarian shops that it would have been pointless visiting.

We didn’t bother with the oldest bookshop in the city, Cambridge University Press. Well, actually the bookshop isn’t really that old but the CUP, founded in the 1500s, is the world’s oldest publishing house. 

I remember that fact because I’d already had to visit there a couple of times to buy the (outrageously expensive) set texts for my course. They were unlikely to stock anything with Stephen Fry on the front.

We didn’t bother with the Sarah Key bookshop either, passing its letterbox red door and window frames, even though it’s one of the city’s most famous booksellers. It’s known as The Haunted Bookshop, but it focuses on children’s literature and we didn’t think it would help us in our mission.

Poetry Is Not For Me

I had an ace hidden up my sleeve however. I’d saved Heffers for the end. 

More than a bookshop per se, Heffers is really an enormous labyrinth with books. They would have what we were looking for. For sure. They have everything.

And lots of helpful, friendly staff who can find every book you could ever need.

I’d done all the asking at the other bookshops so far and was bored of doing it now. I thought it was Dingle’s turn to ask here. He’d heard what I was asking for in all the shops so it should be straightforward.

I hung back while Dingle plucked up the courage. He approached a stereotypical bookish young man with curly hair and a brown cardigan.

“Excuse me mate.”

“Yes, how can I help?”

“I’m looking for a book by a man called Oscar Wilde.”

Now, you can often detect an air of snobbery in many of these bookshops and with that one very general line I felt that my mate might well have opened himself up to a sneering reply. 

But no, the lovely assistant didn’t miss a beat. He very gently asked “Of course. Is there a particular title you have in mind.”

“No I don’t actually know the name of it,” said Dingle.

Then he added the immortal line

“But it’s his latest one.”

Oscillate Wildely 

Over the years Dingle has been responsible for making me laugh the hardest I’ve ever laughed. Usually on purpose, quite often by accident. That line is one of my favourites.

I didn’t know that while we'd been searching, Dingle was under the impression Oscar Wilde was a living author. He was totally unaware Oscar Wilde was dead. And had been dead for nearly a hundred years. His “latest one” had been published in 1898.

The assistant tried his best to stay professional but he saw me buckle and then his face just cracked too. 

Dingle knew he’d messed up somehow but couldn’t work out what it was. He just stood there flustered, watching me bent over, silently howling and the assistant desperately trying not to crumple too.

One of the great joys of a strong friendship is watching your mate make an idiot of themselves.

Weird Lover Wilde 

So what’s the learning from this? Why’s it a Top Tip?

Well, not for the first time I’m actually writing about a lack of clarity and then the danger of making assumptions.

We were doomed from the start. We didn’t have the clarity our mission required. We were setting off with duff information. There’s a couple of main points.

Firstly, Dingle set himself up to deliver that punchline because he didn’t actually know what he was asking for. 

In this situation he’s buying a present for someone important. Not getting the right thing would have been a disappointment.

It wasn’t about getting her an unexpected surprise. His mum wanted something in particular, something specific. We should have made sure we knew exactly what that was. We needed clarity.

Secondly, because we didn't have the full facts I then made an assumption about what that book would be. It was a guess but as it happened it was a very wrong assumption. 

There wasn’t an Oscar Wilde reissue. Well, not anything written by Oscar himself - there was a hastily written novelisation of the film it turned out - but we learned later that Dingle’s mum wouldn’t have wanted that anyway. 

Maybe there was a good reason nowhere stocked it!

I’ll Tell You What I Want

This week’s Top Tip is very simply to get clarity. When you want something, and it’s important to you, make sure that you know exactly what it is you want. 

In a scenario like ours you should know exactly which present you’re buying. 

If you’re setting goals then you need to make them SMART goals. Get clarity about your aims. Be specific. Know exactly what it is that you want.

If you haven’t got clarity then you’re more likely to fill the knowledge gap by making an assumption. 

That’s what we did and it ensured we traipsed pointlessly around the bookshops of Cambridge missing out on valuable pub time!

It would have been better to ask a few more questions and to get clarity. We could have called his mum or done something to find out more.

But then again, in hindsight, I’m glad we didn’t. Dingle would never had asked the bookshop assistant for Oscar Wilde’s “latest one.”

I'll leave the last word to Oscar and to an apt line I remember from The Picture Of Dorian Gray:

“Experience . . . was merely the name men gave to their mistakes.” - Oscar Wilde