Lady of Letters and Leisure

Jerusalem and Tel Aviv - the last instalment

2011-12-14T12:17:00.001-08:00

On our return from the Negev Desert, we found ourselves with nothing much to do. To a certain extent, we needed a quiet day. In our last few days in Israel, we were more inclined to take it easy. We remembered Reuven, the taxi driver who had taken us around Jerusalem on our first day, and decided to contact him and ask him if he would take us to Tel Aviv, to see the daughter of local friends, here, and her family. Mobile phones were not too effective, with the exception of texts, but our hotel receptionist eventually managed to get through, both to our friend, to invite ourselves there, and to Reuven.

One of the places that Reuven took us to on our earlier trip around Jerusalem was the Protest Tent outside the Prime Minister's residence in Jerusalem. This was to remind people of the imprisonment of Gilad Shalit. You can read about it here: http://www.israelmuse.com/2010/08/pic-gilad-shalit-protest-tent-in.html. Since then, Gilad Shalit has been released from captivity.

There were three days left. We arranged with Reuven that he would take us to Tel Aviv on the following day and also that he would deliver us to the airport on Thursday, 24th June.

In the meantime, we strolled around Jerusalem, took a photo of the Irish pub, and had a meal in a kebab place, opposite, where the waiter was very keen to talk to us in English to practice his use of the language. We had been eating a lot of vegetarian or dairy meals and it made a change to have some meat.

On Tuesday, 21st, off we went to Tel Aviv. Looking back at my photos, I am disappointed to find that there are too many where we have intruded into the main picture. Reuven was very keen to take photos of us, unfortunately.

We drove alongside the promenade at Tel Aviv, seeing the rows and rows of people on the beach with their umbrellas or shades. We also went along the high streets, filled with expensive shops. The most interesting visit, though, was to the artists' quarter at Jaffa, which was fascinating. Here are a couple of websites, where you can find out about what we saw, in the absence of our own photos: http://www.pitt.edu/~agtaylor/Israel/Jaffa-artist-quarter.html or try

http://www.aguide2israel.com/index.php/fuseaction/destination.home/a/1676/title/Jaffa.

Reuven was insistent that we go into the Frank Meisler galleries, filled with unusual, or idiosyncratic sculptures, made from materials such as bronze, pewter, silver and gold plating, some of them very amusing. You can carry out a virtual tour here - www.frank-meisler.com - and be sure to read the separate pages about the Kindertransport and Frank Meisler's three major sculptures, commemorating this - the one at Liverpool Station, London, depicting the arrival to the safe haven of England.

I have one photo, which I think is also at the artists' quarter of Jaffa, and shows a bridge, which we later crossed. Reuven told us to make a wish - I wished that Tainted Tree would become a best-seller, but it hasn't worked yet.

We lunched at a café overlooking the sea, before going on to visit our friends, where Reuven left us. Later, he called for us to return us home.

Reuven wouldn't take our money then, having negotiated a fee for that day and the trip to the Airport. He told us he would also throw in a trip to the Israel Museum - http://www.imj.org.il/imagine/galleries/judaicaE.asp - on the following day. Alas, this was not totally successful, as we found it difficult to navigate around the place and got lost, finding our way eventually to the modern art section. This made the OH very grumpy and unreceptive to the rest of the exhibition. I think if we had started out at the Jewish Art and Life section, which showed reconstructions of synagogues from India, Germany and Italy, and artefacts, such as menorahs, mezuzahs and candlesticks that would be found in a Jewish home, he would have enjoyed it much more.

Much of our time in the last couple of days was spent in Ben Yehuda Street, watching the world go by.

There were no problems with our journey home, and looking back now from the chill of an English winter, it seems far away. Soon though I'll be back to blogging about what's going on here.

Books - mine and others

2011-11-22T06:41:00.001-08:00

Since, as always, I am bogged down with things, I'll just give a quick resume of what's happening on the books front.

The Goldenford team have been active in the last couple of weeks; we held the second of our writers' workshops at Cranleigh. The first had a disappointing number of recruits, but we decided against cancelling and our attendees said that it was very good. The second, last weekend was very well attended and enthusiastically received. We also sold a number of our books, there.

Following that, we had a book sale at St Peter's School, Merrow, and were very satisfied with sales there, too. I advised one young woman not to buy my autobiographical book, The Fruit of the Tree, telling her it was about cot death. Later the others asked me why I'd said that to her.
'She was pregnant,' I replied. But no, the others thought that the smock she was wearing is fashionable now. A lesson to me. Don't judge from appearances, and let people read the blurb for themselves.

We have also been at a meeting with Guildford Library about an event next year for World Book Day, when we will be there all the evening, talking to callers-in about our books. There will be other authors, and it will be promoted by Surrey Libraries.

I have been very successful in the last couple of weeks with my Kindle version of Tainted Tree, which has had good sales following a plug in http://dailycheapreads.com/ and the American site of the same name. I should receive some good royalties during the next three months.

In addition, Untreed Reads have just published my fourth short story - The Green Girl - a bit different from most of my down to earth writing, a fantasy, in fact. You can find it at www.untreedreads.com , and they are currently having a sale of many short stories and other works, so pay them a visit.

I'll be returning soon to my Israel blog, but not today.

Finally, here's my latest book review:

Brooklyn by Colm Tóibin

Brooklyn tells the story of Eilis, the younger daughter of an Irish Catholic family, just leaving school. Her older sister, Rose, has a good job, and the impression given is that the family - that is, the two sisters and their mother - are not flush with money and it is important that Eilis and her sister are both in work to maintain the family. Their brothers are already working in England. Despite the difficulties of getting work, there is no feeling that the family are on the breadline. On the contrary, they have a happy life and a great deal of laughing goes on. Eilis is on the cusp of adulthood and involved with dances and meeting young men. Nevertheless, more or less without her agreement, it is arranged that she will go to Brooklyn to live in an Irish community where there is a much greater possibility of finding work. During the course of the next year, Eilis has to overcome her sadness at leaving her family and adjust to a new life.

This was an unusual book in that it was written in what I felt was a rather formal, old-fashioned way. I felt that the heroine was slightly detached from me, the reader, whereas we tend now to get into the mind and thoughts of the main protagonist.

I also thought the book hardly had a plot at all, although it was a story. As such, it was full of detail - interesting at that, but not all the events that happened would necessarily have an outcome later on.

Brooklyn gives an insight into America in that period, but in the end, I came to the conclusion that this was the story of the immigrant experience, specifically the Irish/American experience. Travelling on an ocean liner, far away from friends and families, living as a paying guest with strangers, and having to adjust to the pain of homesickness must have been what many young people did in the 1950s, when they left Ireland in search of success.

At the 11th hour

2011-11-11T14:34:00.000-08:00

I went to London today and arrived at the ticket barrier at Waterloo at just on 11 o'clock. Although a few people were milling about, I joined the many people who stood there on the concourse for two minutes. A moving experience.

Ben Gurion’s resting place

2011-10-25T13:40:00.001-07:00

The owners of our B & B had made a magnificent attempt to build a garden with sun-loving plants and stone rockeries. This was not a good time of year to judge it. Just as an English garden, starved of sun may not be at its best in winter, so perhaps a desert garden may show off its colours to greater advantage in a cooler time. Certainly June was a very hot time of year to be there.

We were to leave the area on Monday afternoon, 20th June. In the morning, we joined our cousins for breakfast. (The owners of the B&B were away, and we didn’t want to use their cooking implements and raid their food cupboards, so apart from a cup of tea, we left everything as it was.) I took another photo of the local environment, and can almost feel the heat, as I look at it now.

It was decided to go to the Ben-Gurion’s Tomb National Park, which was a walk away from our cousins’ home. Two of the children had gone to nursery, but we took the youngest child and went with our cousin, while her husband was at work at the college.

We were able to sit beneath a tree, and there were other mothers and babies sitting around too. We also watched the ibex - a kind of goat, grazing on the grass in the park. Despite the desert conditions, here at least, grass did grow and vegetation grew in amongst the stones.

It was tempting to stay under the trees, doing nothing, but the park is the home of the graves of David Ben-Gurion - the first Prime Minister of Israel - and his wife, Claudia. To have travelled all that way and not visited them would have unforgivable.

Ben-Gurion and his wife had settled in kibbutz Sde Boker on their retirement. As Wikipedia says: ‘He saw the struggle to make the desert bloom as an area where the Jewish people could make a major contribution to humanity as a whole.’ It was also his wish to be buried on this spot over-looking the desert.

Looking at this view is like looking at a landscape on the moon.

After lunch, our cousin took us and one of the children in the car to the bus station at Be’er Sheva, where we caught the bus. It was a pleasure to travel in this air-conditioned, comfortable vehicle, particularly without having to worry about the driver’s problems, as in our trip out. As we neared Jerusalem, which felt very much like home by then, we were able to watch the scenery change.

A Trip to the Negev Desert

2011-10-17T10:49:00.000-07:00

On Sunday morning, June 19th, we’d been offered a lift to the Jerusalem bus station, but we had to be up early. We travelled light, with all but an overnight bag left at our hotel. I wish we could say all our behaviour was sensible, but in fact, the next bit of our journey was not as simple as I’m sure it should have been.

We got the impression we had to go to the enquiries hall at the bus station, whereas in fact, had we made straight to the bus, it might all have been a great deal simpler. Then again, it might not. At any rate, we did not go straight to the buses, but went up to the next level which was vast, and jam packed with people, most of them soldiers returning to their bases after the weekend. Marooned in a sea of people, we looked around frantically for a kiosk or a person to ask where to go. A person approached us - did we want help? I knew immediately that he was touting for business; sure enough he was a taxi driver, and within minutes we were agreeing to go with him, rather than search for the correct bus. When he initially asked where we were going, I said - Be’er Sheva, because that’s where we were catching the connection. We agreed a fee of about 600 shekels, and to start with, he had to take us to draw cash, because I didn’t have enough. Of course, once we were in his taxi, I told him we wanted, not Be’er Sheva, but Midreshet Ben-Gurion, 60 km beyond that town. My understanding is that this is part of the Ben Gurion University, which is at Be’er Sheva, but our taxi driver got, I think the wrong impression about the length of this journey. Consequently, as he drove further and further from his home territory, he got gloomier and gloomier. We heard that he was not a well man, the details of an impending operation - and that his wife would kill him if she had known he was going so far away. He hinted he would want a very big tip in addition to the additional 4 or 500 additional shekels we had negotiated for the extra journey.

It was miles from Be’er Sheva before we began to see signposts to the college, and we had to put the driver on to our relation who we were visiting, for final instructions. In the meantime, our cousin had privately texted, ‘Don’t give him any more than 700 shekels.’ Too late for that. We’d agreed a figure, but when we finally arrived, we didn’t add to that. Consequently, I felt guilty just in case all his angst was genuine, even though I feel that taxi drivers who purport initially to be helpful strangers deserve what they get.

The journey took us further and further into the desert to the settlement of 1200 people, which Wikipaedia rightly describes as arid. The college itself specialises in the study of solar energy and waste water. When we collected the children from their nursery with our hostess, the heat was intense and unbearable, even walking for less than ten minutes. But building is going on, and more people will come to populate this area.

It was a relief to get to the house, which with its high ceilings was quite cool. Our hostess showed us how they used ‘grey water’ pumped from baths, etc. to irrigate the garden. A pergola was attached to the house, over which grapes grew in abundance from a vine which weaved its way through it. The children played just outside in a paddling pool, shaded from the sun.

Overnight, we stayed at a nearby B & B, and once again, high ceilings and cool, spacious rooms were welcome. We had no problem falling asleep that night.

Sabbath in Jerusalem

2011-10-12T13:48:00.000-07:00

This is a continuation of my holiday blog, which has taken back seat to several book reviews recently.

Sabbath in Jerusalem: Because we were going away for a couple of days on Sunday, we chose to stay where we were in Jerusalem for the Sabbath. Anyone who wants excitement should avoid doing this. Almost everything was closed and we were pleased to find a café where we could have a sandwich. Actually, it was the same place where we had been for our evening meal the previous night, having walked to Ben Yehuda Street, which is a very lively spot normally, to find it completely dead. So we did little during the day, except stroll around. We also chatted with the bride’s brother for a while, as the café was opposite his hotel. He told us about an event in the Old Town, which he and his girlfriend were going to, and we and another wedding guest joined them.

As soon as night fell, the character of Jerusalem changed. The cars were flooding the streets to get to the Son & Lumiere entertainment in the Old City. First we went through the Mamilla shopping mall, which has only recently been opened, following a throng of people, as we walked together past the shops and past the sculptures which line the arcade. Check this site for a virtual tour: http://www.3disrael.com/jerusalem/mamilla_mall.cfm. At the end of it, we got to the Jaffa Gate, and here you could hardly move for the body of people occupying the area. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oLGHZfHgdz0&feature=related . This is another view of the area, once we arrived at the Old City. We walked from one quarter to another, each one marked with its own colour, and there was an air of excitement around. Whatever their differences, it seems it’s possible to have some sort of co-operation for this sort of attraction. There were coloured lights all around and light shows on the walls of buildings. However, much as we would have liked to have stayed, our companions were leaving Jerusalem the following day, and we were going to the Negev desert, departing early. So reluctantly we left, but at least it made a climactic end to our day.

Miss Garnet's Angel

2011-10-03T08:01:00.001-07:00

At first sight, the latest book circle read - Miss Garnet’s Angel by Salley Vickers seems comparable with another book we read, Miss Pettigrew lives for a day, another story of an elderly or middle aged lady whose life we hope is going to be transformed.

It seems immediately like a feel-good book, and in fact, initially, things go rather too swimmingly for Miss Garnet. She seems to make friends so easily in Venice, one begins to wonder why she couldn’t manage it so well in the UK.

Perhaps this is all down to the magical qualities of Venice, which is a character in its own right in the book. Not having been there for a very long time, decades, in fact, I felt that a regular visitor would derive more enjoyment from the book that I did, for they would recognise more places, the churches, the restaurants, the bus numbers even, and so would feel they were there.

After the idyllic beginning to her trip, things begin to fall apart, and Miss Garnet experiences a number of mishaps and disappointments. She becomes interested in a guardian angel, which appears in various forms as she visits different parts of Venice.

Apart from Miss Garnet’s story, there are, in addition, two parallel stories, one, the biblical one of Tobias and the Angel and his eventual bride, Sara, and also that of Toby and Sarah. The similarity of the two sets of names rather heavily signposts the relationship between the two stories, and to add to it, there are some rather contrived episodes allowing misunderstandings to occur, which I found rather unsubtle.

Although very readable in parts, I thought that, like a recipe with too many ingredients thrown in the pot, there were too many stories, too many coincidences - too many flavours in fact, that did not always gel.

The Ghost by Robert Harris

2011-09-22T07:45:00.000-07:00

With serendipitous timing, my book circle read ‘The Ghost’ by Robert Harris, this month. Serendipitous, because the main character of the book is someone engaged to be the ghost writer of the ex-Prime Minister of the UK, who resembles to a certain extent our own ex-Prime Minister, Tony Blair. In the novel, he is accused of crimes relating to extraordinary rendition, which, of course, has been in the news again quite recently. In addition, we have just observed the tenth anniversary of 9/11, the day which triggered off all such events in the last ten years.

The narrator - the ghost - had a humorous self-deprecating voice, which made the book very readable, even though the book, in time, developed a darker edge to it. He, as befits a ghost, does not have a name. It is suggested that the ghost writer takes on the identity of the person who he is ghosting, and in the case of the narrator, he does take on some aspects of his subject’s life. He also, in this particular case, follows the path of his dead predecessor who has been killed - either in an accident, or by design.

The ex PM who bears a different name from our own ex, and has a different background/upbringing/university and also a shaky marriage with sexual liaisons going on both on his part and his wife’s, quite unlike (one assumes) the marriage of TB and CB. Nevertheless, one cannot help finding resemblances to TB, and wondering, therefore, how the author got away with this piece of chutzpah.

The book then, is on the whole, a thriller, but the political aspect is interesting and gives food for thought. I haven’t read any of Robert Harris’s novels before, but it was definitely a page turner, and I enjoyed it.

Noontide Owls - a fantasy

2011-09-10T10:53:00.000-07:00

Ahead of the launch of my friend, Irene Black's novel next week, I thought I'd include my review, which is quite genuine and not influenced by friendship:

Noontide Owls

The story begins when the Conquerors, the brutal occupiers of Shoogmunimera, formerly and latterly known as Ambamar, leave the country, having plundered its riches and reduced it to a barren land. Originally united in adversity, the various tribes whose home it is soon begin to split apart, each trying to get the best of what remains. Within these tribes, brave individuals struggle to reunite the warring factions. This story runs concurrently with tales which describe how each of the tribes had originally found their way to Ambamar.

Irene Black is skilled in the art of description, and in her two earlier novels, she uses this to great effect to capture the character of the Indian subcontinent, which is featured in both previous books. I am not normally a reader of fantasy books, but I read Noontide Owls, having read these other two books, and I was not disappointed.

In fact, this genre has allowed Irene Black to give full rein to her imagination, without the restriction of a factual background. As such, a fantasy world has been created with ordinary and extraordinary mythical creatures inhabiting it. The book is enhanced by a number of black and white drawings illustrating some of the chapters.

With appealing main characters, Maara and the brave Trumpeters, Arolan and Elin, Noontide Owls is an intelligent and beautifully written allegory for adults and a fantastic adventure for young readers. I strongly recommend it.

These are my granddaughter’s comments, as told to me:

‘I enjoyed reading Noontide Owls, and I would read it again. It was really fantastical and adventurous. My favourite characters were the two trumpeters because they were such fun to read about. As far as the ending was concerned, I liked the way it was resolved.’

Asked if she found it difficult, 10 year old Eve said, ‘It was the perfect age for me, but I do read books for people older than my age.’

Freedom by Jonathan Franzen

2011-09-06T07:48:00.000-07:00

I put off reading ‘Freedom’ the latest book by Jonathan Franzen, because I had failed to finish 'The Corrections.' Once I got started, however, I started to enjoy it. This substantial book describes a marriage which has difficulties. It concentrates on the main protagonists, the wife, Patty, the husband, Walter, the children, mainly Joey and to a lesser extent, Jessica; some extra marital problems.

Franzen does this with a certain amount of humour, even though he is documenting the breakdown of a marriage. This is not a book you read for the plot, even though you want to know what is going to happen next; it’s really a case of getting to know the characters. I thought the autobiographical part, seen through the woman’s eyes was extremely perceptive and contained the sort of truths I would never write in my own fiction. Just too revealing. I also thought that as a man, he got under a woman’s skin in a remarkable manner. However, I felt that the story from the son, Joey’s perspective was really too coarse for me. Yes, it was funny, but just a bit too OTT.

There was some complicated stuff about the organisation that Walter is involved with and a bit of politics, and Franzen made some points about the environment and companies that pretend to be environmentally friendly while ripping everyone off, but I didn’t feel this was the main point of the book.

Towards the end, I got a bit impatient. Franzen started bringing in the relations of both and Walter and telling me things about them I wasn’t really interested in. Why did he come back to these relatives so late in the book, when their first appearances were so long ago, I had forgotten all about them. He was still readable, even then, and then, as we wound our way to the end of the story, I found it completely satisfactory.

I may even return to The Corrections.

A visit to Bethlehem

2011-08-29T10:14:00.001-07:00

The UK wedding guests were to be around for a couple more days after the wedding and Gil Zohar (www.GilZohar.co) offered to take us in a minibus to Bethlehem on the following day. He told us that Israeli citizens cannot cross the border to Bethlehem, as the authorities do not want to risk them getting kidnapped, but as he had a Canadian passport, he would be able to take us. I am not normally an intrepid traveller, but I felt very confident that all would be fine, and we and the rest of our little group agreed.

Across the border, the first stop in our travels was to an Arab shop, where we were offered juice and coffee. I stuck to juice; I’m not a great lover of coffee and I guessed this would be strong and bitter. While there, I bought key rings made of olive wood for the grandchildren, and at a second little shop, bracelets for them. Michael was very tempted by a beautiful carved olivewood chess set, but we knew we had nowhere to put such a thing. One of the shopkeepers called Gil, his brother, and told us, ‘Politics is shit.’

From there to Bethlehem and the Church of the Nativity. There are probably better photos than these to be found. Unfortunately, on mine, you cannot see the impressive main altar at the east end, which is the property of the Greek Orthodox Church, and which according to wikipedia includes an Orthodox iconostasis, crowned with gilded angels, icons, gilded chandeliers and lamps. Nor can you see clearly, the colours of the exposed Constantinian mosaic floor, revealed beneath the wooden floorboards of the nave, because despite the flash, there was insufficient light for my camera.

Most of our party did not descend to the Grotto of the Nativity, as there was a queue of an hour. Just one of us particularly wanted to go down there, and she was quietly shown down a different staircase; possibly a tip was called for, but none of us asked how it was arranged.

Next, we went to the adjacent Church of St Catherine’s (above) which is built in a more modern Gothic revival style, and apparently has since been further modernized.

I had to look long and hard to find the name of the Church of the Milk Grotto, and the article shown at this website (http://www.catholicnews.com/data/stories/cns/0707062.htm) describes exactly what the Franciscan Brother told us, when we were there. I found it very moving to hear him speak about the women who had come there hoping to become pregnant, some of whom were subsequently successful, and people who had contacted him and told him they had been cured of cancer following their visit. Who can explain the mysteries of faith? It was a very peaceful place and we stood and looked below at the chapel, where there is always at least one nun praying, and moved quietly along corridors ornamented with religious icons.

Out into the Bethlehem street past the Peace Centre to the car park, where, with assistance from the locals, we managed to get the minivan out of a tight corner. From there we went on to Herodian, a fortress described as one of Herod the Great’s most ambitious building projects. (See http://www.jewishmag.com/93mag/herodian/herodian.htm). I decided I did not want to climb, and sat under shade, until the others returned. Gil, our guide, pointed out which of three water butts was drinking water, and it was reassuring to know that we could take from this butt, and not have to rely on bottled water. The photo is the view from the car park.

From there to Shepherds Field, (also known as Ruth’s field) where we viewed a small but lovely Catholic chapel, where a feature was the roof specially designed to let in light.

We were very hungry by now, and in Beit Jala, Gil took us to an Arab restaurant, where we partook of chicken, charcoal grilled outside in the street. I had eaten a lot of dairy meals, during the past few days, and thoroughly enjoyed the chicken, served with an array of dishes, as you can see.

Our final visit was to Hebron, to The Tomb of the Patriarchs (called al Haram al Ibrahimi in Arabic and Ha Ma'rat Ha Machpelah in Hebrew) which is the main religious site in the city. Abraham's burial place and the main holy site in the city, is on the border between the Palestinian and Jewish sectors. We went to the synagogue and saw the shrines to the patriarchs. There are better photos on the internet. However, you can see the many memorial candles left by people who have visited. You can read about it below:

Quoted from this site: http://iguide.travel/Hebron#/Sights. The Muslim side of the Cave contains the only known entrance to the Cave below (it is locked by a marble door). And as well, the tomb-markers of Isaac, and Rebekah, with the tomb-markers of Abraham and Sarah lying on the border of both the Muslim and Jewish section of the cave so both have access to Abraham and Sarah's tombs from each side. The Jewish section contains the tomb-markers of Jacob and Leah. Most of the time, half of the building is used for Muslim and half for Jewish prayer. On a few predetermined days each year, each religion gets to use the entire building.

We had to pass through a passport control, to go to the mosque, but we were not allowed in, because it was Friday and people were at prayer.

Although we understood it was a good thing that mosque and synagogue were side by side and both used for prayer, nevertheless, this border area of Hebron was almost deserted - except for some small boys selling trinkets - and a grim, tense atmosphere pervaded the area, which seemed poor and down at heel. I was not surprised to read in Wikipedia of violent incidents that have taken place there, and I was happy to get back on board the minibus and leave the area.

Arriving back at the border, we were held up for about 15 minutes while they examined our passports. We began to wonder if they were ever going to let us back in, but all was well.

It was the end of a very full and memorable day. The next day was the Sabbath, when we would certainly be resting.

Walking tour of Jerusalem

2011-08-21T03:44:00.000-07:00

We had no definite plans for the 16^th June. The wedding was to take place that evening and we needed something to occupy the early part of the day. Walking out into Shatz Street, (which leads into King George V Street,) where our hotel was situated we saw the bride’s brother and girlfriend in the nearby street café. We joined them and found they were intending to go on a walking tour, at which Gil Zohar (www.GilZohar.co) would be the guide. Most of the wedding guests from the UK, who had shared the minibus journey to the Dead Sea, were on the walk, along with strangers, but we already felt as if we were friends.

The couple marched off at great speed to the rendezvous at the Jaffa Gate, with us puffing away behind. The Jaffa Gate, says Wickipaedia, is a 16th C Ottoman gate which is located on the western side of the old city (facing the direction of Jaffa). It is the main entrance from the western section to the eastern (old city section). It is worth looking up just to see the photos of the gate. Here several guides were to take people on tours. The walking tours, were free, although it was expected that one would produce a tip for the guide. They were regarded as a ‘taster’ and one would pay for a more detailed and extensive tour of the city, where one would go inside some of the historic buildings. However, on a walking tour lasting about three hours, in the blazing hot June sunshine (30 deg C?), we felt we had covered a great deal of ground – much of it, in and out, up on rooftops and down narrow steps. Unfortunately, because I was trying to keep up with the party, I took photos on the hoof, as it were, and some of them were no use at all. A few, however, give a flavour of our trip.

Since The Jaffa Gate is where the old city begins, this is where our tour of the old city began, taking us through the Christian, Jewish, Arab and Armenian quarters of the city, each leading into the other, and presumably cohabiting side by side. For inside the walls of the city, they do seem to live together, despite the continuing wars on the borders of Israel.

Someone asked me if I was worried about going to Israel, and yes, I was quite apprehensive. The unrest in Egypt and other middle eastern countries could have had an effect on Israel, and the present problems on the border with Egypt illustrate that. But I am a natural worrier; I even worried about the injections which were suggested on my e-ticket – though in the end, our local surgery recommended only Hepatitis, and discounted polio and rabies. Once we had set out, my worries dissipated. The lengthy interview by Israeli security, at Heathrow, was reassuring, and after that, I was quite relaxed.

To return to our walk, that day, as shown in our photos, we went on a roof top to see a much better view of the Dome of the Rock than on our taxi tour; we visited the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and we saw the Western (Wailing Wall). This we had also visited with our friendly taxi driver, two days before. Men and women are separated and go to different parts of the wall. I had the camera, but I didn’t take photos of the people praying there. As a matter of fact, it seemed to me a bit of an intrusion to do so, even though many people do. Neither did I post a message there. We also walked the Stations of the Cross, albeit, in the wrong direction. It was fascinating seeing the different cultures in each of the four quarters of the old city, and we rounded it off by having coffee or juice in the Arab quarter, before the OH and I took a taxi back to the hotel.

The wedding took place in the evening at Ein Yael - another magical place. The bride and groom looked wonderfully happy, and we shared the experience with about 300 other guests. Once again, I was chilly. Be warned, visitors to Jerusalem. You really do need your cardy in the evening.

Ubik

2011-08-14T15:41:00.001-07:00

Ubik - my latest book circle read.

It took me several chapters to get into Ubik, (written in 1969) so my first complaint is that the initial characters who meet up in order to carry out some sort of project, in a 1992 of the future, are barely defined at all. The main character Joe, is absolutely fine. I liked him and got to know him. He is hard up, and constantly scrounging money, so a very human anti-hero. The others in the team, however, make hardly any impact. To me, therefore, they were just a list of names. I couldn’t work out who was who, and wasn’t terribly interested in doing so. Nor did I really understand the project and the competing team, with yet another set of names. I did, however, enjoy the humour of the doors that had to be paid before they would open, and similar futuristic jokes.

After several chapters, the story began to interest me. What was going to happen to Joe’s team, a group of people who were being struck down by an invisible force? Joe and the team are pulled back into another era – 1939 – there is a villainous woman who is working on destroying them, or so it seems, and their old boss, Runciter, apparently dead, is sending messages, trying to help them.

Things get very pear-shaped, however, for by the end of the book, we don’t know who was alive and who was dead, who was awake and who was dreaming. I got lost a little around here, but on the whole, I’d enjoyed the middle and latter end of the book.

I realised that Philip K Dick was being philosophical here. He was expressing his feelings about death – do we just go into another state and imagine we are alive? Do we dream, and do our dreams feel just like life? When Runciter tries to help Joe with the all-powerful Ubik, it seems he is talking about God, manifestations of God and perhaps faith or religion. Is Runciter God? is Joe God? Or is Ubik God? What is the difference between life and death? What is reality – and is everyone’s reality the same reality? These I think were the questions, though I don’t think Philip K Dick gave us all the answers.

A trip to the Dead Sea

2011-08-07T10:34:00.001-07:00

Before we set out for Israel, the bride asked if we would like to join about half a dozen other guests from the UK on a trip to the Dead Sea, accompanied by her tour guide friend, Gil Zohar (www.GilZohar.ca). The OH and I were delighted with the offer and accepted immediately, and the trip was planned for the day before the wedding, 15^th June. Gil collected the guests from three hotels, two in the centre of Jerusalem, the Montefiori and Jerusalem Tower and another in East Jerusalem, where at this point, I realised I might need some cash to supplement what I’d brought in. Three of us set off to an ATM, but typically, I got somewhat confused and had to repeat the operation. Later, in the holiday, when I did it on my own, I found it was actually quite easy – although I must say that one ATM refused to deal with me. I may have been unlucky and it was just going through a bad day.

We set off eventually, the scenery changing dramatically en route. Having said that, the views over Jerusalem are pretty impressive anyway. The OH was interested in the tectonic plates and discussed the possibility of earthquakes with Gil. I read that seismologists have shown that the fault line running through Israel and under the Mount of Olives is connected to many other major fault lines. Along our journey, Gil pointed out to us the area of the caves where the Dead Sea Scrolls had been discovered, and beyond this, we arrived at more or less sea level, as shown by the marker. I subject you to these unflattering portraits of the OH and myself, purely so that you can see this.

The heat was intense outside the bus, but I went to visit the camel, based there, and at first thought he was just a model. However, with a passenger on board, he suddenly rose up. One of our party tried him out. We went on then to one of the commercial outlets that functions near to the Dead Sea – the Ahava factory and showroom, which manufactures creams and lotions. These creams are created from minerals that exist in this part of the world, for the Dead Sea does not flow away into rivers and oceans but loses its liquidity purely through evaporation, leaving behind in the waters a high concentration of salt and minerals.

Shortly after, we arrived at our destination, the Mineral Beach, and our party collected towels and went down to the water’s edge. There you could bathe in sea (never on your front, because it is almost impossible to turn over) get coated in the therapeutic mud, have a rinse under the shower and bathe in the pure water pool. I paddled my feet and dabbed my hands in the water, but as a non-swimmer, I avoid going in anywhere where I am likely not to have control of the situation; this was one of those occasions. The OH nearly lost his shoes in the water – they floated off. He couldn’t right himself from his position, floating on his back and had to paddle backwards, and beach himself on a rock, to get out of the water. The minerals can damage jewellery and I had left a ring, watch and pendant behind at the hotel, and put sticking plaster over my wedding ring, but I wasn’t in enough to do any damage. Then I headed for one of the shades and chatted to the bride’s mother, before going to the café for refreshments under cover. It was too hot for me to be out in the sun.

The bus was like a furnace when we returned - 45°C, I think, but fortunately the AC brought it back to a reasonable level after a few miles. We stopped then to look at St George Monastery at Wadi Kelt (or Wadi Qilt – various spellings), but when Gil said that if we were prepared to climb up, we would see a wonderful view of it and the surrounding area, I eyed the climb and opted out. The OH took photos of the monastery.

In the evening, we joined the family for dinner at Beit Ticho (The Ticho House), in Jerusalem. The temperature drops dramatically by night, and even though I had a long sleeved dress on, I was cold. What a contrast to the day.

**********************************************************

And in complete contrast to that, we eventually took ourselves out this afternoon to Wisley Gardens, where we spent some time admiring the Bowes Lyon rose garden. I didn’t take my camera, which was a shame, but one of the first things we encountered near the entrance to the gardens was a treat for all the senses. The tea place was planted all around with edible plants and herbs, little green patches of parsley and mint and tall tomato plants, interspersed with marigolds. There were also round courgettes and tiny chilli peppers. And before we noticed what they were, we could smell the herbs and tomatoes. At the same time, a little band of men, wearing dinner jackets and bow ties, which having looked at the Wisley website, was probably the Panama Café Orchestra, playing music from the twenties and thirties. Apparently there’s live music at Wisley every Sunday afternoon throughout August. We would have sat and had our tea there, except that we hadn’t walked long enough to deserve it. We did have tea and cake later, when we'd walked long enough, but regrettably at one of the other cafes.

Holiday in Israel

2011-08-02T14:07:00.001-07:00

With the aid of photos, I hope to recreate my holiday in Israel, as it’s now more than a month since we went and returned.

We were going to the wedding of the daughter of a friend, which is the reason we have taken many of our holidays in recent years. And more power to them. We hope that a) people will continue to get married, b) continue to invite us, and c) hold the wedding somewhere we haven’t yet been (but not too far away.) Up to now, the weddings have taken us to Yorkshire, Scotland, Ireland, Sweden and New York.

The bride – a tour guide - had first given us quite a lot of information, which was extremely helpful, and had also arranged a trip with another tour guide, the day before the wedding, which was to take place on 16^th June. We left home on 13^th and had a good flight there, in the middle of the day. The bride herself picked us up from the airport, late in the evening. We stayed in a hotel just off King George V Street (a relic of England’s history in Israel) in a pedestrianised road, which also had a little café at the end of it, and this proved useful for sandwiches, pizzas and the like. Many of the Israeli restaurants are dairy only, as meat and milk are not cooked or served together in kosher establishments. Because of the predominance of these dairy places, we had a lot of light meals – unlike at home.

On our first day, we took a taxi to Yad Vashem, the memorial to the Holocaust (Entrance shown above.) As I have recently said, the two books I had been reading had been on my mind, anyway, but the exhibits are a grim reminder of the way that Hitler and his armies swept through Europe, destroying the many millions of people he regarded as ‘second class citizens’ as a matter of policy. The exhibits show the outrages committed by the Nazis, from many, many countries – where previously people had had reasonable lives and saw no reason to leave. However, the countries that fell under his control are so numerous – one sometimes needs to remind oneself of that – so when people left one country and fled to another, he soon overpowered that country too. Those who succeeded in getting to the UK and America were lucky (in general). However, there is nothing to say that we could not have been overwhelmed too, had things turned out differently. Thank goodness for that little stretch of water between us and Europe. Without it, things might have been different. We spent about three to four hours there, and then, very tired, both emotionally and physically, we left.

A taxi driver pulled up and we gratefully jumped into the cab and asked to go to our hotel, but our driver wasn’t having it. ‘Why,’ he asked us, ‘do you want to go to your hotel in the middle of the day?’ We replied that we were tired and we hadn’t eaten. ‘I will take you somewhere to eat,’ he said, ‘and then I will take you on a tour of Jerusalem.’ And that’s what we did. The Dome of the Rock - from a distance.The cemetery at the Mount of Olives

Special deals on Untreed Reads

2011-08-02T04:47:00.000-07:00

My e-publisher, www.untreedreads.com have some special deals at their site. Read on for information.

RICK R. REED

Buy either PENANCE or OBSESSED and get CRIME SCENE free.

CHRIS BAUER

Buy HARRIGAN'S PRICE and get either A KILLER OF A DEAL or SPECIAL CHARTER at 50% off.

EARL STAGGS

Buy WHERE BILLY DIED and get THE THANKSGIVING COOKOFF WAR at 50% off.

GISELLE RENARDE

Readers who purchase Giselle's latest work from loveyoudivine.com titled WAXING IS FOR PUSSIES can send their proof of purchase to general@untreedreads.com with "Giselle Renarde" in the subject line and receive a coupon code for 25% off UGLY NAKED PEOPLE and LOVE AGAIN from Untreed Reads.

GARRY MCNULTY

Buy MOM AND DAD AREN"T GETTING ALONG (NOW THAT MOM'S A ZOMBIE) and get ERIC AND DERIK: TWO CLONES SEARCHING FOR LOVE for 50% off.

LINDA FRANK

Buy AFTER THE AUCTION and get any one Fingerprints mystery short story for 50% off.

DOG DAYS OF SUMMER

35% off FOOTPRINTS IN THE BUTTER by Denise Dietz

35% off AN IMPERFECT MIRACLE by Thomas L. Peters

NATIONAL AMERICAN INDIAN MONTH

35% off ENGLISH LESSONS by Jack Ewing

35% off MOUNT: A MOUNTAIN MAN'S ADVENTURES by Arlen Blumhagen

35% off DAKOTA, OR WHAT'S A HEAVEN FOR by Brenda K. Marshall

35% off BLACK CLOUDS AND EPITAPHS by Pete Peterson

The Glass Room

2011-07-25T05:02:00.000-07:00

Before I went on holiday, I read The Glass Room for the reading circle. I started off feeling, now this is a relief after the last fragmented book – a traditionally written literary novel. However, some of my feeling of appreciation faded away during the course of the book, which I felt lost its way a bit and for me lost impact in the latter half.

The Glass Room is based on a real building in Czechoslovakia - the Villa Tugendhat, designed in the late 1920s by Mies van der Rohe, which (I quote) is a celebration of steel, glass and space, an enduring reminder that modern materials can make for exquisitely sculptural architecture. (Personally, I have never been convinced by this modern preference for glass and steel. Bricks are much more homely and cosy. To work in an office with a huge window is a nightmare in summer - as I found out in a very modern building at a temp. job in Guildford.) However, let’s put all that to one side and get back to the book.

I was very interested in the couple who first instigate the design and building of the house, Viktor and Liesel, who having built the place, need to leave it, when Viktor, a Jew, becomes aware how Nazism is sweeping through Europe. The problem for me here is that while they leave the house, we do not follow them through their lives. Instead, we are forced to revisit the house and see who else occupies it in the ensuring years. The author may have been fascinated by the house, but I was not, and seeing that Viktor and Liesel had occupied a large percentage of the book, the other characters introduced later seemed irrelevant to me.

Others have commented on the coincidences which also take place in the book, some of which I was prepared to forgive, but others seemed contrived. At my book group, we also noticed the amount of fairly explicit sex that took place. As someone commented, the only thing left out, was a variation with animals. Was it necessary? I didn’t think so, myself.

The wartime events were of the most significant to me – and I particularly noticed how Liesel was reluctant to leave Czechoslovakia, even though the Germans had invaded Austria and subsequently, the Sudetenland. She didn’t think they should worry about things across the borders. That, of course, was the downfall of many victims of Nazism – that they couldn’t believe that it would happen in their land.

New writing from the 20th & 21st century

2011-07-21T07:00:00.000-07:00

July 2011

I have read four books recently, and not commented on them at all. As a result, they are fast fading from my mind. The most recent was An Invitation to the Waltz by Rosamond Lehmann. She was on the fringe of the Bloomsbury set, and there are echoes of Virginia Woolf in the way she concentrates on a very short space of time and presents the thoughts of the main protagonists, rather then telling a story with a strong plot. On the one hand, I have to say that it was amusing and endearing to get under the skin of the teenage girl, Olivia, as she prepares for the all-important first dance. On the other hand, this is not a book I would pick up thinking, I really must find out what happens. I think the latter half was slightly stronger, when Olivia is actually at the dance and having to suffer as she waits for partners - the indignity of being forgotten by one of them – the misery of being stuck with another unsuitable one, and so on. I had read, many years ago, Dusty Answer, which was a darker sort of book, and which I found strangely haunting, although unsatisfactory to me, in some ways, because I could not identify with the type of people who were the main characters. I simply didn’t live in those kind of circles.

The book which I read some weeks ago was If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things, which I was going to allow to simmer. Well, to be honest, I don’t think the soup improved, because my memory of it is sketchy. This is undoubtedly a post-modern book. It doesn’t flow like an old-fashioned novel, where someone has a story to tell. It is more of a construction. As such, as far as I remember, various people tell of what they remember of a particular day and a particular event in a particular street. I don’t feel I have the time to read many books twice, but this would probably lend itself to that. The first time you read it, (rather like Behind the Scenes in the Museum), you spend a lot of time, working out who everyone is and where they fit it. I think perhaps on a second reading, you would feel you know the characters better, and you would pick up the various clues. Perhaps, because I’m old-fashioned, I like a traditionally told tale, and so I wouldn’t give this book, or Invitation … full marks, but I think, possibly, I didn’t give If Nobody … quite enough opportunity to shine.

The other two recent books have both been concerned with the Second World War and the Holocaust, and acted as appropriate bookends to my trip to Israel. But more of that another time.

Butterfly and books

2011-07-10T12:44:00.000-07:00

If you've been missing me, I've been busy, holidaying and reading and generally trying to catch up. I'll try to get some of my holiday down shortly, but first a word or two about Tainted Tree, and thanks very much to Sharon Bidwell, who you'll find on Facebook and whose books are at Amazon, for her review of TT, which she's very kindly included on Amazon and which I've set out here:

I’m happy to say I took Jacquelynn Luben’s ‘Tainted Tree’ on holiday with me. Initially, I thought I was in for a slow read, but that’s only because it’s a very different book to the type I’ve been reading lately. In reality, this book moves at a gentle, steady pace, perfectly in keeping with the story. A bequest leads American adoptee, Addie Russell, to Surrey in the UK where she will uncover facts about her past that are both painful and bittersweet. The exploration of both her family's history and self-discovery are a slowly unfolding journey of revelations that the reader takes almost as a ghost hovering on Addie’s shoulders. Nothing is rushed; nothing is uncovered out of a logical, practical and perfectly paced sequence. I found the story refreshing, and although capable of making the reader tearful at times, well-balanced and realistic. The writer has said that every word in this book was necessary, and I quickly realised what she meant. I became as engrossed as Addie in the search for her past. A good and well above average summer read.

Thank you very much, Sharon. Much appreciated.

In the meantime, we at Goldenford have published A Brief History of the Whole World - an adapted version of the book written by George Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury four hundred years ago. The launch took place recently at the historic Abbot's Hospital in Guildford, and the book is now officially available for anyone who wants to see how the world was viewed four centuries ago. It's been adapted and edited by the Master of the Abbot's Hospital.

I have three books that I want to write about here, but since I was at the Royal Opera House to see Madam Butterfly at the beginning of the week, I think they will have to wait. Irene and I went in the afternoon, and had a meal in Covent Garden, which was busy and noisy. Then up to the very top of the Royal Opera House, which is daunting if you're not very keen on heights. I don't mind sitting looking down, but I don't like walking down steps looking down. When we got to our row, I had to pass a man who was already in his seat, and rather than face outwards, I edged along face to face with him. I resisted the temptation to grab hold of him, as if he were a bannister, nevertheless, there was a point when we were almost dancing, if not quite embracing. However, you don't want to know about all that.

This was the first time I had seen Butterfly, although, of course, I know the famous aria, One Fine Day, and much of the story. I hadn't realised though what a cynical character Pinkerton is. I was quite shocked when at the beginning of the story, he says he will rent a house on a 999 year lease, but can terminate at the end of a month - and then applies the same attitude to his forthcoming marriage. What's more Butterfly is only 15. Butterfly was composed at the beginning of the 20th century, but what it's describing is no different from sex tourism today. I felt that unlike some operas, it had a really strong plot. As for the music, Butterfly herself was wonderful, and won a 'bravo' and spontaneous applause for 'One Fine Day'. I don't know whether it's right to applaud mid-story, but I do know from my half a year in a theatrical agency, that in the musical theatre, they love a show stopper. I thought the whole production was good, but I read a slating review on line from the Independant; hunting around I found a good one from The Guardian. However, they both approved of Butterfly, played by Kristine Opolais. My one criticism, which was also mentioned by both papers, was Butterfly's dying scene, when she starts flapping her arms (clad in her white bridal outfit) and lurching forward. What is she doing? I thought, and then realised she was being a dying butterfly. But it didn't work for me; I'd have preferred her to lay dying on the ground in view of Pinkerton. Her 'tacky, flapping gesture' as described by the Guardian, was not only undignified, but what's worse, almost comic - just at the moment, when one should be moved to tears.

Emotions are heightened by that sort of occasion. It put me in a romantic frame of mind and I noticed a couple in the street, as we came out to the street, kissing passionately. As we crossed the bridge to take us back to Waterloo, some young men passed us by. I could imagine that it was the sort of occasion - a warm night in London, buzzing with people - when such a group might turn to a couple of women and say, 'How about coming for a coffee, girls,' and a romance would be born. I had to remind myself that I was no longer in my teens or twenties, and that it would not be happening to me.

I got home at 12.30 like a proverbial Cinderella, and found the OM asleep in a chair. And, as Pepys might have said - and in fact, did say, And So to Bed.

Garden photos

2011-05-22T14:37:00.000-07:00

Above and below - our garden in May, as described in my last posting. Various rhododendrons on the turning circle at the front, and the view of the back with different coloured foliage.

Below: The view over Surrey from the Space Science Laboratory. (Nice view, shame about the lecture - you can tell I'm not a scientist.

And now - Loseley Park

Above: Loseley Park near Guildford - the walled garden

Above: Some photos of Wisley Gardens on a recent visit.

Books, and Blossoms in May

2011-05-14T06:53:00.001-07:00

In the lovely sunny days that have passed since my last entry, we have had several days out, not least because of the bank holidays all falling together. Two trips to Wisley – one with the OH, and the other with friends, our first visit to Loseley Park in Guildford – I may find some photos – and a family lunch at Cookham for 16 people, when we celebrated the 93^rd birthday of an aunt. I also went with the OH lecture at a science laboratory in Holmbury St Mary. Nice garden and wonderful view. I took some snaps there too. We also went to a friend with a wonderful garden, similarly, on the North Downs, though I forgot my camera on that occasion. We were most impressed with the walled garden at Loseley. It was a windy day, but inside the walled garden, it was sunny and beautifully sheltered; we couldn't believe that roses were flowering there already, so early in May.

On the writing front, I gave a very successful talk at Knaphill Library, to the reading circle there – about a dozen or more people. I had a number of book sales, there, of all three of my books – Tainted Tree, my genealogical novel which tells of American adoptee, Addie Russell's search for her identity; A Bottle of Plonk, a tale of a cheap bottle of wine, and the people whose hands it passes through, and also, The Fruit of the Tree – my autobiographical account of my experience of cot death and miscarriage.

I had a lovely email from the group organiser, who said, 'We really enjoyed your talk, the group were all talking so enthusiastically about you afterwards that I had difficulty persuading them to go home so the cleaners would come in.'

This is all most encouraging, particularly as my American e-publisher, Virtual Tales, has ceased to be, and I'm waiting to see if the American version of Plonk – Have Wine, Will Travel, will be taken up by Untreed Reads. Of course, I now have three short stories on line, two of which have been published by www.untreedreads.com and contracts for several more, so anyone who wants to try out my work with something really short, will find these, both there, and on my Amazon page.

I finished reading If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things, but I won't comment on it now. I will let it simmer in my mind, so that I can give fair comment about it.

I thought you might enjoy another virtual tour of the garden, because, of course, everything has changed since the spring photos and description.

Now that the red leaves of the pieris have faded, the back of the garden is muted and full of subtlety. We have many colours of leaf – the pieris themselves are a yellow-green or lime green, now, contrasting with the emerald of the laurel, and the darker shades of the conifers, around and behind them. The even darker cotoneaster is now peppered with tiny white flowers and their marzipan scent attracts numerous bees to visit. They blend in with the grey green of senecio, and this, in turn, highlights the coppery red of the berberis, alongside it. This is the view from my kitchen window and my little study window, where I now sit.

At the front, the garden is, at present, filled with a vulgar display of colour, quite the opposite to the back. We have rhododendrons of pale mauve and pinky mauve – the natural varieties – and also deep purple, pink and scarlet bushes, occupying a centre bed. I love these wonderful colours, just as much as the quiet tones of the other garden. The other front beds are edged with masses of cranesbill, not large showy flowers like the rhododendrons, but in quantity, doing a fine job of bringing colour to the garden at this time of year, and also attracting bees. The beds are also sporting the blue of cornflowers and potentillas of lemon yellow and gold against the backdrop of senecio, pieris and wine coloured berberis. Just in front of the window, there are three roses in bud – survivors of the havoc wrought by numerous deer over time. Two nights ago, I saw a deer in the garden – I shushed it away, and the roses have survived again. Whether they will get a chance to flower remains to be seen. It was cold last night, so I don't discount the possibility of frost. I will wait till next month before putting out bedding plants. We still have winter flowering velvety pansies in yellow and purple, in two tubs and two hanging baskets by the front door.

We have three rainwater butts, and have used them to water wherever it was necessary – not the grass, just plants. The butts were only one-third full, after five or six weeks with no rain, but the rain last weekend refilled them, and we're getting a fourth butt, in case of dry weather, late in the year. Not that I'm complaining. This has been a wonderful spring.

My last book circle read - The Lacuna

2011-05-10T07:39:00.001-07:00

I didn’t really enjoy this book, to start with. There was so much concentration on the writing and not enough on the main character. I recognised that this was a literary book, but each time I put it down, I couldn’t remember anything about it. For me people are more important than lyrical writing. I can’t say that I will enjoy something that’s badly written, but I can be tempted in to almost any good story and good characters.

Initially, the hero, Harrison Shepherd, doesn’t seem to have an identity. Each person that he works for seems to give him a different name. I started to get interested about page 70. Whether before or after that, I enjoyed it when Harrison is first employed to make plaster by sculptor, Diego Rivera, and liked the idea of him becoming expert at it because it was like making dough for sweet buns. I liked the beginning of the relationship that had developed, there.

I began to see the humour in the Harrison’s words and descriptions. Gradually the book took off, and I enjoyed all the latter part, as he progressed to manhood (and became an influential writer) and particularly the important relationships in his life – that with Lev Trotsky, with the Mexican artists, Rivera and Frida Kahlo, and most of all, with his secretary and protector – Violet Brown. I was also extremely interested in the period of the ‘Un-American activities’, the witch-hunts, which Harrison falls victim to, and moved by his increasing sense of aloneness and desertion by many. I appreciated and applauded the ending.

I would give the book 3.5 if I could, not, 4, because it took too long to get to the point, but better than 3, because in the end, I enjoyed most of it. Just as I would have chopped a chunk off the end of Poisonwood, so I would contract the beginning, and get to Violet Brown much, much faster, in The Lacuna.

Spring pictures

2011-05-04T13:38:00.001-07:00

April - far from cruel

2011-04-12T08:32:00.000-07:00

My garden in spring always makes me happy, and these last few days, with no rain, and sunshine as warm as May or June, have allowed me to wander in and out just to see what’s coming up. My ideal is that there should be colour and flower throughout the year, but somehow, this year at least, the early flowers have stayed and many of the new ones have arrived.

So today, I’m taking you on a virtual tour. I can’t really capture the whole view in photographs, so probably there won’t be any. You’ll have to make do with words and descriptions alone. At the back, at the end of a lawn, there’s a mixture of laurel and leylandii, which despite its reputation does a good job at screening us from neighbours. In front of that I can see three pieris, one of which was planted last year and the others, the year before. Pieries bear a white hanging flower, not dissimilar to a catkin, but though these have few discernible flowers this year, they have bright red new leaves, contrasting with the old lime green ones. At their feet, the first of the bluebells are making an appearance, contrasting with the pillar box red foliage. At the moment three tiny rabbits are frolicking on the grass and eating what they can of my plants, no doubt.

Down the side of the grass, there’s a mix of shrubs in greens, grey and wine red, in front of which are yellow and red polyanthus – or primula, or primroses, whichever you like to call them. Blending in are forget-me-nots and the shrub, mahonia, which has evergreen leaves but these have red mixed in with the greens, and now sport bright yellow flowers.

Outside of the front window of the house are two further beds, and there is a far one, where little grows because of the huge chestnut tree which shades it. We have started growing daffodils there, and they were in evidence, a couple of weeks ago. On the other beds, there are still some daffs, polyanthus - and bluebells just starting, plus a mass of grape hyacinths (muscari). These tiny flowers, which, like the daffodils, will be untidy in another week, have nevertheless cheered us with their brilliant blue colour, impossible to record on camera. Here too, we have another group of mahonia with their bright yellow flowers, and more pieris, showing both creamy white flowers and vermillion leaves. We used to have a gap in May, just after this cornucopia of colour, when almost everything turn to leaf. But the first of the cranesbill blooms, the size of a two pence piece and bright pink – almost periwinkle – has made its appearance, and more of these tiny perennial geraniums will encircle the beds as the spring progresses.

Learning about rejection at Panton House

2011-04-07T15:48:00.000-07:00

I was listening to a programme about actors today – some time back in the 60s or 70s. They were short of money, trying out all sorts of things – a bit like writers, really. Now of course, they’re the important actors of our time – Bill Nighy, Alun Armstrong and others. Back then, they struggled. It reminded me of the theatrical agency that I joined as my first job. Where are you now, Renee, I wonder. We were a foursome in a small set of offices in Panton House, Panton Street, not far from Picadilly. The boss, Renee (never work for a woman!), next one down, Basil. My sidekick and Renee’s secretary, Carole (now was it with or without an e.? ) And me, the office junior.

I thought it would be exciting, but it was boring, because I didn’t have challenging enough work to do. We had very few stars through the door, but an inordinate number of young hopefuls, each clutching their portfolio of photographs and their CV of accomplishments. My boss expected me to make coffee in the morning and tea in the afternoon, but I had to heat the water in a saucepan. My coffee turned out really well – but the tea was hopeless – you really should have a kettle for tea. She bought the cheapest tea, anyway – I think it was Brooke Bond Dividend – because I know her little son use to get some sort of benefit, like a stamp or similar from each pack.

One day the little blighter – he was 3 – was brought to the office and put in my care, because there was no babysitter available. While I wasn’t looking, he opened all the drawers of the filing cabinet and it nearly fell on top of me. When she went abroad, she used to ring in and get me to telephone her husband’s office on one line and her father in law on another. (We only had three lines.) The first time I did this, I cut her off. But Basil covered for me.

We never discovered anyone important, but that’s not surprising because most of the young actors and actresses who darkened the door were sent away. I learned about rejection long before I experienced it.

I’ve been out to lunch today, and we sat in the sunshine in a pub garden. Then we moved to our friends’ garden and sat there. Yesterday, we walked through our lovely woods delivering leaflets about the meeting in a week’s time. We do not want our wood destroyed and fenced off.

Earlier in the week, I took 1000 words to Guildford Writers; progress is being made slowly on the novel, Innocent Bystanders. Ditto my reading book The Lacuna. I can appreciate the writing, but I can’t say I am being drawn to read it. As far as I’m concerned, it is putdownable.

At the weekend, we visited the family in Cambridge. The two granddaughters are both in a position to look down on me, as even the 9 year old is taller than I am.

This morning I got a notification that my story, An Affair of the Mind had been reviewed by

Aquaflame64 of Night Owl Reviews, who said:

The story is three and a half pages long but has a relatable charm and a tiny sense of humor. I believe everyone out there has let paranoia get the best of them at one point in their lives. We've all had that moment where we look over our shoulder because we think someone is following us. Rosalind has months filled with these moments after a bus ride. The story has two twists that I didn't see coming and found very satisfying.
The only bad part of the story was Rosalind’s obsession with a man she meets on the bus. I can understand the attraction towards the man. The months of obsessing and fantasizing about the man seems to go a bit far and feel forced. Other then that minor problem this is exactly what a short story should be.

Aquaflame64 gave it 3.5 points out of 5, and I was quite happy with her review. You can see it here:

http://www.nightowlreviews.com/nor/Reviews/Aquaflame64-reviews-An-Affair-Of-The-Mind-by-Jacquelynn-Luben.aspx

Reading, Writing, Music and Chocolate

2011-03-23T07:47:00.000-07:00

Another pretty active week has passed, and I'm thinking of getting this down and then going for a walk. I just had a chocolate biscuit, courtesy of Irene, so perhaps I'd better walk some extra steps.

Since my last posting (that's better than blog, surely) I have been to another meeting of those against returning our local woodland to heathland. I haven't changed my mind on this; there are places where heath is fine; I just don't think our little woodland is one of them. We have a public meeting arranged for a couple of weeks' time, when more people hopefully will have taken an interest.

We at Goldenford Publishers arranged a musical evening in Guildford last Saturday night, using the prestigious Guildhall for an event which featured the Erato Consort singers and the Minstrels Gallery players. Jay Margrave gave readings of her novels, The Gawain Quest, Luther's Ambassadors and The Nine Lives of Kit Marlowe, all of which feature Priedeux, a hero who moves from century to century, rather like Blackadder, only without the humour, I've always thought, but the author has suggested Virginia Woolf's Orlando is more appropriate.

On Monday, Irene and I raced up to London to see Lucia di Lammermoor at the Imax by Waterloo Station. A wonderful experience, featuring Natalie Dessay as Lucia and Joseph Calleja as Edgardo. Also interesting was the filming of the work behind the scenes in the intervals, at Metropolitan Opera, which showed the placing on stage and removals of the sets - a Scottish moor and Lammermoor Castle, including a two-storey high spiral staircase. This starred the Chief Carpenter -but perhaps 40 minutes of him was a bit long, and if the lights had come on during the intervals, we could, more easily, have wandered off for drinks and icecream.

I was out yesterday, for a pub lunch with friends, and in the evening, to Guildford Writers, where having averaged 7 or 8 for some months, 12 people were suddenly present, and a great deal of talent was showcased. I have added a little more to my novel, but not enough to read out this time; just as well, as 5 minutes per person was about all we had time for, for of course, we needed time for comments and our usual break. Hot chocolate was back on the menu at the Institute after about 2 months. Just as well, as the cafe at the Imax was out of it. Has someone cornered the market in hot chocolate, I wonder.

I now have a formal invitation to speak at a local reading circle in May, so will shortly start preparing my script for this event. Must also soon start on the next book for my own reading circle - The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver.

A Month in the Country

2011-03-15T11:06:00.001-07:00

Goodness. A whole month has elapsed since my last blog, and it has been quite a busy time. Ay, there’s the rub, as Hamlet might have said. When I’m busy, I haven’t got time to report back here, and when I’m not, there’s nothing to say.

Firstly, there was the family visit, when the Son&H and the ProdigalD came with their respective partners and a total of four granddaughters – oh and the dog. The latter arrived on Friday and the former on Saturday, and we had a family roast for the ten of us (not the dog). The semi-vegetarians of the next generation down had my speciality, vegetable terrine – recipe available to those who ask nicely. It’s a long time since I’ve catered for a large group, but it worked out all right. Everyone got on well together including GDs 2 and 3, who are both 9, and who stayed home and played together when nearly everyone else went for a walk. GD1 was very keen to take control of the dog, and GD4 didn’t care one way or the other.

If was February then, and having counted 18 snowdrop flowers this year, I checked up on last year’s total, which turned out to be 16. It appears that last year, I had split my two clumps into four, but one lot must have been either dug up, or damaged by the very cold weather. My daughter in law thought I meant 18 clumps when I told her this exciting total, and expected to see a vast swathe of white blooms. I’m a gardener. I’m patient. Part of the fun of planting a new bulb, or moving an old one is to see an increase year by year.

Two outings later that week were to Opera South at Haslemere, when we met up with the OH’s cousins in an annual tradition and had tea, sandwiches and cakes in a pub in Chiddingfold. Then on to see Peter the Great. Later in the week, I went to London to meet my friend, Pam, and we went to Tate Britain to see the exhibition of water colours, which were surprisingly varied.

Apart from mid week lunches with friends, the OH and I went to a family birthday party (60 is the new 40) – this time meeting up with his cousins on the other side. Just as well, because this weekend, my side were represented when I did lunch for 11 of us. No vegetarians this time. I made chicken with peppers and mushrooms; loads of potatoes, ratatouille and green veg. I cooked more than I needed, so there’s another meal for us, when I’m feeling lazy. And the OH is delighted that there were leftovers from the three desserts – apple crumble, fruit salad and pears in chocolate sauce. Also two portions of homemade cheesecake, which I froze so we wouldn’t be tempted. I’m up two or three pounds since a few weeks ago, and resumed walks yesterday.

Last week was also the reading circle and the book I’d suggested, The Help went down well with most people. I thought it was a really good read and fantastic for a first novel. My comments:

I’m not a fan of books with a message. So I might have shied away from The Help if I hadn’t heard a serialised version on the radio, a year or so ago. That convinced me that this was a book well worth reading, and I was not disappointed.

The Help tells a story about apartheid in the USA in the 1960s, the casual racism of white middle class women, the disdain which they, or at least some of them, treat the women who run their homes and bring up their children. However, this is told with such lightness of touch and such humour that one absorbs the information at the same time as wanting very much to know what’s going to happen next.

The story is told through the viewpoints of three women and in their own voices: Abileen is a pious and caring person in late middle age. She loves her charge, Mae Mobley, and endeavours to bring her up with good principles and self esteem and tries to give her the affection she doesn’t get from her mother.

Minny is about forty, sassy towards her employers and impulsive, sometimes unable to reign in her behaviour and her temper. She does, however, seem to develop affection for her employer though she doesn’t exactly own up to it in her autobiographical account.

Skeeter is a 24 year old white woman, who is having difficulty in satisfying her mother’s desire for her to make a good match, but who realises that her ambition is for something more than that.

Out of this comes Skeeter’s move to journalism and her attempt to portray the lives of the black women servants. The two black women show tremendous courage in taking this on, as do the rest of the interviewees. But Skeeter is also brave, because what she faces is ostracism by her friends, potentially her family and even her potential future husband, and, despite their faults, she does feel affection for these people who reject her.

I had to suspend disbelief about one or two things, and more specifically, the happy ending. In reality the consequences could have been much worse. However, I believed in the characters, including those who were not the star players. I was comfortable with the voices of the main characters and got used to their way of speech very quickly. For me, what is important is the authenticity of the characters and my ability to empathise with them, as well as the plot. The Help succeeded in that on all counts, as well as being a page turner.

As far as my own works are concerned, PLR and the ALCS, (good to register with both if you’re a writer) both paid out money to me, which I appreciated. Also I have progressed a little with the current novel, Innocent Bystanders and I’ve proof-read An Affair of the Mind, which I assume will soon be live at Untreed Reads. I also have a contract to return for another of my short stories.

Another Goldenford meeting is impending, so I’ll call it a day. Daffodils are out now in our garden. Good to see some colour again.

Books from different cultures - and mine

2011-02-16T10:32:00.001-08:00

I’ve been getting to grips with our new digital recorder – and the OM is happily sitting in front of it now watching some wartime stuff from the channel Yesterday – the channel that features Catherine Cookson and Antiques Roadshow, as well as wartime memories. Not that I’m knocking Catherine Cookson – I’m sure she gets more from Public Lending Right than I do. Isn’t she one of the top earners from PLR? Which is due to be paid into my account any day now, I believe.

It’s irritating to note that Tainted Tree has disappeared from Woking Library. Particularly irritating because it was borrowed quite a lot. Over the Christmas period, it was constantly on loan – and then it just disappeared.

I’ve had a quiet couple of weeks, and caught up with my reading -which has taken me to Jewish, Scottish and Chinese cultures - and English too, in the case of the book circle read – Diary of a Nobody - George and Weedon Grossmith. I don’t normally read ‘pretend diaries’ but Diary of a Nobody is a gently satirical book. It’s easy to read and moves speedily through a year or so in the life of Mr & Mrs Pooter and their ‘smart-alec’ son, Lupin. Also included are Mr P’s friends – Cummings and Gowing. The author, it seems, likes little word games and so does his hero, who frequently employs them in order to make a joke, and repeats the jokes if no-one laughs.

Nevertheless, there must be something about Mr P; it seems there is a regular open house, his friends visit frequently and are usually made welcome; games are played and alcohol consumed.

Mr P may be a bit of a bore and rather earnest, but he is respected by his boss who recognises his worth. And for all that the author makes fun of his lower middle class status, he allows him to succeed in the end.

In Mr P's obsession with small domestic irritations, I could almost see him as an earlier version of Ed Reardon, except of course that Mr R (from Radio 4) is not at all Mr Nice Guy - which is why we all love him so much. He was ranting this week about dustbins and about telephones where you press numerous buttons to get through to a human being. I so identified.

The other book I’ve just finished is The Finkler Question. I understand Howard Jacobson’s mother thought the book was too Jewish to succeed. Although, in spite of that, it was this year’s Mann Booker winner, I am inclined to agree with Mrs Jacobson, and can’t help wondering why non-Jewish people would want to read it.

Although there is a fairly thin plot, the novel is more a lengthy discussion than a novel. As such, it throws up interesting ideas: what is a Jew - who are the people who would apply that description to themselves, and how do they differ from each other. It’s a question Jews have asked themselves from time immemorial.

It starts off with one being amused at the characters. The main character – Julian Treslove - is obsessed with Jewishness. He wants to be a Jew; he wants a woman who is Jewish, but he is actually a Gentile. Although he describes himself this way, he seems more like the archetypal Jew as portrayed by Woody Allen – full of angst. The only thing is, he’s very good looking, unlike Woody, although I couldn’t picture him as such. I did laugh out loud a few times at the beginning. But for me the book darkened, when it starts to talk of the anti-Semitism cropping up all over the UK. It reminded me of when I read The Exodus and the tales of the various people who came together in Israel in the post-Holocaust days, and how each of them had fled from some terrible experience in one or other part of Europe. I asked then the question, ‘Why?’ and Finkler brought about the same reaction in me.

If this blog is, for today, turning into the ‘Front Row’ (see Radio 4) of blogging, it’s because apart from reading, I’ve been listening to such interesting things on the radio recently. The sun hasn’t fallen from the sky, a wonderful memoir, prompted me to return to that slot every morning, without fail, to listen to the tale of a Scottish girl, removed from her loving but dysfunctional parents, together with her sister, to a strict children’s home. One person recognises her musical talent and changes her life. I thought it was so good, I bought it for my daughter in law’s birthday, along with The Help, which I’m reading myself for the next book circle meeting.

Then straight on to The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother also in the morning on Radio 4. Absolutely fascinating memoir of a mother, who, in my opinion, didn’t know when to stop organising her two daughters. There have been mixed opinions about this. Some people have said that it’s better to have a mother who imposes some discipline than a laissez faire approach to child rearing, where children do exactly as they want. Agreed. A middle of the road approach is probably right, I think. But this was not a middle of the road approach at all. Here was a mother who did not think her children could be trusted with the smallest detail of their lives – or that’s how it seemed to me, listening to the, no doubt, edited episodes. From the vantage point of being a grandmother I would say that you have to learn to let go, from nursery school onwards.

I’m also listening to The Far Pavilions (fiction, set in India) at 10.45 on Radio 4. Good thing there’s such good radio on at the moment, because February has been rather grey and wet, with only occasional sunny days. Nice to know, though that someone contacted the Goldenford headquarters and asked for a copy of Tainted Tree, and wanted to know about all my publications. I have a fan! That’s cheering. And we have crocuses in the gardening, which is also welcome. But a local body wants to change our local woodland to heath. What’s wrong with woodland. I like it. The locals are up in arms and lots of meetings are taking place.

Live stories, dead kings and old marmalade

2011-01-19T15:26:00.000-08:00

Mr Robin has only visited about once daily, since the weather became milder, though a frost brought him to the kitchen door very promptly this morning. I captured him (definitely him, this time) on camera, including a shot of his perch on the window sill where he first summons me to provide food, and him pecking at grains on the ground, unconcerned at the OM’s presence.

I don’t know what winter does to your hair. Mine looked appalling at the weekend. We were out to lunch at a place in Ripley with friends and I washed it in the hope of improving it, but it still looked flat and devoid of life. Having booked an appointment to get it trimmed on Thursday (tomorrow), it has now typically perked up.

Today, I dragged the OH kicking and screaming to the cinema in Guildford, and also met up with Irene, to see The King’s Speech, which is worth all the plaudits it has gained. We all enjoyed it, and the OM managed to sit still (unusual for him), through half an hour of mind-numbing adverts and trailors (does the Odeon want to drive us away?) and throughout the performance, which never flagged for a moment. Very moving, all the more so, knowing that King George really did have to face the terrible ordeal of speechmaking with a stammer.

On the writing front, the good news is that my short story Maggies Plot is now live at Untreed Reads at £1.25, payable, of course by credit card or Paypal, so it will automatically get converted into other currencies. It’s also available from the usual suspects - reduced royalty for me, I fear, but I’ll be happy to have the sales. From Amazon UK, it’s a mere 93p. It is, of course, just a short story.

In addition to that, I have also received from Untreed Reads, and returned to them the contracts for two more pieces, The Obsession and An Affair of the Mind. I was very chuffed to receive The Editor in Chief’s comments on An Affair …´ which read ‘Loved it, loved it, loved it. Brilliant stuff, and a definite yes for me.’

When I emailed my thanks, he replied with more praise, adding, ‘Not a single word wasted and a very high literary form. Such an absolute pleasure to read and definitely my kind of stuff. Hope you'll send more my way.’

Naturally, I immediately found another story to send to him.

Installing our new digital recorder has required a change-around, so that this new piece of equipment could be fitted into the same space as the video recorder, (still used for my Rosemary Conley Aerobics video which I’m proud to say I have performed at least four times since Christmas) and the CD player. I removed several photo albums and found a new home for them in another cubby-hole, first removing two files of papers dating back some decades.

Full marks to me for ruthlessness in throwing out (to the recycling, of course) a whole file of old jobs, but I couldn’t throw out the older file, more or less a history of our home, with skirmishes with the building society, when we were moneyless and behind in payments, planning application for an extra bedroom and the happy day, when we were offered laid-on gas instead of oil. I’ll just have to find another place to file it. Apropos my comments of a few days ago, I found correspondence about a faulty jar of marmalade, in which the manufacturers, apologising, said they had ‘jars of jam at the factory which were vacuum-sealed some seventy years ago and these are still in good condition.’ That, of course, was before the days of ‘Best before.’

Hobby-horses, birds and books

2011-01-10T08:27:00.000-08:00

The OM & I have been battling with technology, as yesterday, we set up the new digital recorder. The division of labour is that he deals with the hardware, and I deal with all the menus, etc., so when nothing appeared on the screen, yesterday, I got all the flak. Then his husbandship got on the phone to our neighbour who's usually ahead of us on this game, and also the Son&H, but neither had any immediate remedy - other than possibly getting an additional aerial. The OM then did a lot of grumbling about not having wanted it in the first place, and didn't know why we'd got it, before exiting the house to play different games with the old technology that lives in his shed. I, in the meantime, looked at everything we'd done, and pushed in a scart lead another 3 or 4mm or quarter of an inch, and switched everything on again, and magically the TV started hunting for programmes to install. Don't tell me I have to start dealing with the behind the screen stuff as well as front of house.

Having just come in from a trip to the bank, buffeted by the wind and chilled by the .. well er, chill, I have been asking myself rhetorically, is this any better than the snow of yestermonth? And why, since the temperature is 7ºC outside, do I still want to put the heating on? Just to remind you this is what it was like the day it snowed in late December, and below are the walks to and from our house to the main road, not long after.

However, today, I was able to ponder on a couple of hobby horses, as I trotted smartly along. One, I was able to share with the assistant in the chemist's shop, when she sold me short-dated aspirin. I told her I was unconcerned about the date, and I was pleased that she agreed that such medicines past their use-by date are unlikely to harm you, they merely may not be quite so effective. The Son&H, some time back, refused anti-histamines, that were past their date. Since the alternative was nothing at all, he would have lost nothing by taking them. Moving onto another tack, I confided that female members of the next generation down, are quite likely to throw out my food when they visit, due to the dates on them - or even, in the case of veg., because they were from an earlier meal. If I want to hold on to some left over spuds for a meal for the OM and myself, I have to speedily hide them. These modern women are ruthless. I mentioned that I believe there is to be a policy change, in that foods may have a 'use by' date on them, but not 'best by'. Foods with 'best buy' may merely not taste so good. That's really not a good reason to chuck out huge amounts of food. Things like ketchup, in any case, don't taste any different to me, well after their best-by date, and you can always add them into a casserole. Hotels and restaurants regularly use up leftovers from the previous day for enriching soups, or simply creating a different dish from them, and I frequently try to do the same.

My other hobby horse was alerted on looking in the jewellery and china shop, and spotting some china figurines of the Meercat - the one in those ads about insurance. Who would have thought this creature would become so popular? What really riled me was seeing a book in some best seller list about - would you believe - the Meercat. It was either just before or just after Alan Sugar's autobiography. Incredible. And to think the public could read any of my books instead.

So while we're on that topic, good news: I now have a cover from Untreed Reads and I hear that my short story, Maggies Plot (no apostrophe) will be published during January. The cover design is one that covers several short stories from the publisher's stable. Untreed Reads, although not welcoming full-length works, apart from submissions from their usual authors, are putting a heavy emphasis in 2011 on short stories and novellas. They would also like to see a lot more Spanish-language titles, so contact them if you have something to submit.

Maggies Plot has some elements of my own garden contained in it, and echoes of my own feelings towards the wild life around me. So it's not a great leap to tell you of my little robin friend, who has visited about twice a day during this cold period. He alights on the window sill and looks through the kitchen window, when I'm there, or sometimes arrives, as I throw out bird food on to the patio. He flies down, as soon as the food touches the ground, and then, because I usually say, 'Just a minute, robin, I'll get you some cheese,' he waits. When I reappear and throw out the portion of cheese, he dives for it, and takes it into the shelter of the hedge. Occasionally, if I'm short of cheese, I spread some wholemeal bread with chicken fat, and throw out small pieces. (I don't suppose he realises it's come from a near relative.) This is a photo taken some other time of a robin on our patio, which may or may not be this year's visitor.

Reading, Writing and New Technology

2011-01-04T12:33:00.000-08:00

Just time to squeeze in a quick blog before watching the second part of Silent Witness. Talking of TV, it's quite interesting to see that people still share and comment on programmes that they have all watched together - for example, Downton Abbey - and of course the same applies to radio - i.e. The Archers, where the majority of fans are horrified at the gratuitous death of character, Nigel, actor Graham Seed.

I haven't posted since December, but I feel as if I've been in limbo for a large amount of that time. Somewhere or other, I have more photos of the second lot of snow that fell and kept many of us marooned at home, for a second time. What with Jan/Feb last year and then Nov/Dec, 2010 has to have experienced the worst winter weather for a very long time. Somewhere in the computer are some photos I took a few weeks ago, which may be unearthed and posted tomorrow.

It's difficult to say what I did during the enforced imprisonment, except order things on line for the kids and send out cards. Fortunately, we were able to get to neighbour parties on Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve and to bro-in-law and to friends for lunches on the hols. The Son&Heir arrived with the womenfolk on 28th Dec, for a couple of days, after a 10 hour trip from the Lake District, which had not been much fun.

When I saw how many pounds I was putting on through lack of activity and surfeit of cake and chocs, I was motivated to take the odd walk - and even get out my old Rosemary Conlan aerobics video (yes, it's that old.); we couldn't take many walks in the cold weather due to ice, and the OM actually slid over and landed on his back, en route to the neighbour party. (Fortunately, no damage done.)

I bought a special present for the OM - a Swiss Army Knife. Don't you think that someone who was in the Scouts should have had something like that, always on his person? The main reason was because I have three kitchen knives without the pointed top - because his Lordship invades the kitchen drawers when looking for an implement. Now he will have his own little toy for those occasions. We also bought a Satnav and a digital recorder - but I haven't been brave enough to try out this new technology yet.

I heard again from Untreedreads that they are accepting a second of my short stories, (The Obsession) and today, I had an email from them, saying that they were making some changes to submissions for the coming year, and adding that they were now closed to full-length fiction submissions EXCEPT from existing Untreed Reads authors and a few other exceptions, probably until June, because they had a large number of full-length works. They added that they were putting a heavy emphasis in 2011 on short stories and novellas. I was quite pleased with that, as I have a number of short stories I'd like to submit. So all of you with new Kindles, I'll be reminding you when my, at the moment, two stories come out. And of course, I also have, Have Wine, Will Travel as an e-book to be downloaded from Virtual Tales.

Though I haven't done much writing, I have read the current reading circle book, Nice Work by David Lodge, and these are my comments:

I read Nice Work before, a long time ago, but I still found that the humour tickled me on the first couple of pages: the wife’s bedside reading – Enjoy your Menopause – and her pride in her en suite are two gems. I loved the fact that one of the loos was avocado – a joke that was possibly lost on me, twenty years ago.

Nice Work is an intelligently written novel, the conflict between the two main protagonists being a sort of representation of right and left politics of the UK. But Robyn and Vic don’t fit so precisely into those roles, for as time passes, you see more subtlety in their personalities. Vic wants to run his own business and create his own products, rather than being MD of a company, and Robyn begins to see the flaws in some of her own arguments, and to realise also how very privileged she is to be in academia – in fact how very privileged are the academics with, at that time, their security of tenure in the universities. There are some nods to Postmodernism and Modernism and literary criticism. I found that interesting, since I studied the former two briefly as a module in my degree course about ten years ago. I have to admit, though, to having failed to comprehend some of these references totally, though I don’t think that mattered too much.

There were interesting parallels to be drawn with today’s student protests, and Robyn’s dream of the university being opened up to everyone reminded me of a scene from A Very Peculiar Practice – a TV drama probably from same era. When I completed my degree, made up of various modules, through part-time study at the Department of Continuing Education at Surrey University, I felt that it had achieved that dream, but I believe this facility is no longer available.

I did feel it was a clever novel and enjoyable with lots of ideas contained in it, that made you think carefully about these conflicts, and lots of humour too. Just at the end, I thought the prose deteriorated a little, almost as if the author was impatient to be finished now that he had exhausted the ideas, and was eager to wrap up the story, which he did by some very tidy tying up of loose ends. Perhaps a fraction too tidy.

Cold climes, watery views and a nostalgic power cut

2010-12-08T12:45:00.000-08:00

Goodness, nearly three weeks since I was last here and in that time, we have had the worst November weather for decades. And all this may look familiar, because it was only last February, if I remember correctly, that we were hemmed in by snow, looking just as picturesque, and being just as much nuisance.
We have also had temperatures dropping to -6 0r -7C, locally, and unfortunately for them, in Scotland, -10 to -20C - that's about 0F. They are still having tremendous difficulties; we at least have had a partial thaw, and expect better weather during the next few days.

Just as well, as this afternoon, we had a power cut. I was contemplating an evening in front of the TV, after making the meal, watching The Apprentice, with a good log fire, again, and the fire was loaded up ready to go. In the meantime I was doing email correspondence, when there was ping, and the computer and the lights all faded away. It was not quite dark, and we lit the fire, found some candles and a torch; then the OH went in search of our gas light. One of the things we acquired, many years ago, when we lived here without electricity for six months, (as described my book, The Fruit of the Tree, was a gas light, and we have kept it safe for this sort of occasion.

I am the skilled firelighter of the family, so I sat in front of it, making sure it kept going, for some time. The plans I had made for that hour and a half, went by the board, but fortunately, the power came back at around 6.00, and I was able to get on with cooking. I will still be able to watch The Apprentice tonight.

In the last week of November, before the snow descended, we Goldenford Girls, took our books to several sales, and, particularly at the last one, were quite enthusiastically welcomed. But then in the last few days of November, the snow came down, and for a few days, I didn't leave the house. We had to cancel a lunch with friends, because they were marooned in their house on a hill. The OH even tried to get up the hill, (to prove a point, I suspect) last Wednesday, and then had to reverse and slide all the way down again.

On Wednesday or Thursday, I broke a tooth, and then broke more bits off it, in the next couple of days, till there was a great canyon in my mouth. But the dentist closed his surgery, and I couldn't get through till Monday morning. By Saturday, there was enough of a thaw to get to the shops and replenish fruit and veg supplies. And on Monday, I went to London, where the temperature had reached zero, I think, which felt almost balmy compared to the previous days. In London, opposite the National Gallery, in Trafalgar Square, the huge Christmas tree stood not far away from a giant menorah, celebrating Chanukah, with the ship in a bottle just behind. London, at its multicultural best.

I met the OM's cousin and we visited the exhibition of Canaletto's paintings - meticulous visions of Venice, many of them full of life and action - together with those of some of his rivals. (Coincidentally, I am currently reading The Glassblower of Murano.) I admired the truth and accuracy of all the paintings, and enjoyed the exhibition more than that of Gaugin. Cousin and I then spent several hours, chatting over lunch in the National Portrait Gallery cafe. It was good to have a day out after my brief incarceration.

I managed to write a few hundred words on the train, but the novel is progressing slowly, nevertheless. I have spent more time reading recently, both the Reading Circle reading book, above, and also I am editing - I say, editing, though it actually needs very little input from me - Irene Black's fantasy novel, The Noontide Owls, which is an impressive tour de force.

Today, I got to see the dentist, my centreless tooth having managed to survive without further damage. The dentist filled it with amalgam and warned me not to bite on it for a couple of hours - not to even breathe on it. As I have been doing for the last five days, I continued to eat on the other side of my mouth - and so far, it feels intact.

Tomorrow, I will be selling books at the Guildford Institute, after I've dropped my car off for its annual service. The temperature is supposed to be up a little, which will be welcome when I make the chilly walk from the garage to the town. Now, our fire has dwindled down to nothing, and we have coped with another cold evening - so as S Pepys would say, 'and so to bed'.

Procrastination, paranoiea and e-publishing

2010-11-20T09:28:00.001-08:00

I’ve spent quite a bit of my time devoting myself to the Goldenford accounts (together with numerous games of Freecell, etc.) The thing about having a particular job hanging over you is that frequently you don’t get down to it and you don’t get down to anything else either. At least that’s what happens to me, so perhaps it does to others too. At any rate, the accounts are finished and only have to be handed to the accountant, so perhaps now, I’ll be less inclined to get diverted by trivia on the net, and do something more productive.

The OH and I haven't been to any of the stately homes recently, apart from our visit about three weeks ago to the Winkworth Arboretum. We followed a trail along a path where the ground fell away from us into a valley. This was all fine when it was fenced off, but I became quite panicky as we made our way along an unfenced area. I took a photo, almost not looking through the viewfinder, I was so eager to move on to somewhere that felt more secure. Very stupid really, as it was quite a wide path. The photos are very beautiful though, as you can see.

As far as the social events are concerned, I’ve been to a Quiz Supper with the OH and other friends, and we came third, which was quite acceptable and good fun, anyway. I’ve lunched with two or three local friends, leaving the OH behind with instructions on how to butter a roll and take tomatoes out of the fridge. I went to a more formal lunch at a trattoria half way up Newlands Corner – an 80^th birthday party of a friend - which was most enjoyable. And I’ve had the Son&H and his womenfolk here for the most recent weekend. His daughters – Granddaughters 1 and 3 – now respectively nearly 12 and nearly 9 – are so tall and elegant, I cannot call them little girls, though an eight-year old certainly should be regarded as one. They are both now taller than I am, at around 5ft 6″ and 5ft 3″.

I have watched The Apprentice and Downton Abbey with enjoyment and disappointment at the number of loose ends left by the latter. Another series soon, please. What a dishy hero, too. I can see him having as many admirers as D’Arcy. Not totally sure of the truth of the characterisation of the heroine. She seemed such a strong willed and decisive young woman. Surely she would have made up her mind about him – if it weren’t for the fact that the audience has to be tempted along to the next series.

Also I’ve read the latest Reading Circle book – Songs of the Humpback Whale, and my review is below:

I found this to be a very readable book, whilst on the other hand, feeling able to criticise its structure and some of its characterisation. Having recently included my thoughts on the structure of a novel at a presentation, I felt qualified to make this judgement.

After a crisis at home, Jane leaves Oliver, taking her teenage daughter with her. Because, ostensibly, she’s no good at finding her way across America, her brother, Joley, feeds her information via letters, a device which enables her to do a tour of sights in the USA and perhaps allows the author to describe places which she enjoyed visiting herself. This was the first unlikely thing to happen. Jane describes her trip to get to her brother chronologically, whilst her daughter, Rebecca, describes all the events, including the very dramatic happenings once they reach Uncle Joley’s apple farm, backwards. I could find no good reason for doing this, because it took away every element of surprise, and whilst I hoped the author would pull something else out of the bag at the end – she didn’t.

I also could not believe in the characters’ emotions and reactions to some of the events. In particular, regarding the death which occurs, I felt there would be much more grief, guilt and anger – which is not shown.

I took the title to be a reference to the different ways in which men try to attract or behave towards women. A good title, perhaps, because, it fitted the current trend of rather cryptic titles and got your interest. I haven’t read the author before, and understand from many people who have that this is a far inferior novel to some of her others, and this, I am prepared to believe.

A couple of fairs are lined up during the next couple of weeks – in fact, one is tomorrow – where we Goldenford girls will sell our wares. From a writing point of view, the good news is that I heard from Untreed Reads during the week, and they are to send me a contract for my story, Maggies Plot for their site. I’ll be interested to see what happens about pricing for something so short. However, there’s no doubt that the ability to download something to Kindle or its equivalent opens another door to the selling of short stories. I can see that e-books will become more popular over time, and I’ll try to report how my first experience of publishing a short story on line goes. It’s possible, of course, to do it oneself, but I haven’t yet acquired that skill, and I’m inclined to believe it’s better to be filtered through a publisher who actually makes a judgement about the story.

Capturing the colours of Autumn

2010-11-05T10:46:00.000-07:00

Every autumn, I am carried away with the desire to capture the scene on paper or with photos. I imagine Monet felt the same way, when he painted his water lilies over and over again. So once again, I’ve taken some shots, and for good measure, throw in this poem which I wrote more than a decade ago. I remembered it a few days ago, when there was the same sort of light quality, and I took an enjoyable walk in the unusually mild November weather.

It was rather a forlorn poem, and though the period from November to February is my least favourite time of year, I’m taking each day as they come. The last few days have been a pleasure. There is a conflict here, which I hope I capture in the poem – being aware of the nature of dying of the leaves but recognising and appreciating the beauty of autumn, those magnificent reds and scarlets just before the trees and bushes lose their leaves, the brilliant yellow and golden browns and all contrasted against the evergreens. I’m pleased to have most of those colours in my garden at the moment.

Greens and golds, yellows and browns -

Shining in the low sun

Damped by the early evening mist

A blaze of muted colours

Lit by the eerie light

Of the sky, blue white

Edged by the sun's last touch.

So light it hurts my eyes,

As if I were thrust newborn into this place.

So why the sadness?

I have this ancient knowledge

That the sky will turn

From blue to pink through purple to black.

The autumn colours shout

A triumphant trumpet blast

Heralding their end.

And each of us rush blindly

Towards our own dark winter.

This is the best shot, I think, of those I took last week; all the rest are on my walk, down my lane and neighbouring houses and the newly arrived sheep in one of the local fields (are they pregnant? They are certainly not spring lamb.)

I do wonder why we can’t have double summer time here, or whatever it’s called. I would love to have lighter evenings. Apparently, when we experimented many years ago, it was found there were more deaths in the morning. But the reduction of deaths in the evening was not, at that time, recognised. Scotland could have its own time zone. If they do it in America, why can’t they do it here?

Last week, we went to the Jay Margrave launch party. I took the OM along, feebly protesting that book launches are not his thing. I found him at one point in an animated conversation with another man about a boiler on board ship. I left them to it very quickly. Later it transpired the man was a gatecrasher, but the OM enjoyed the conversation.

I got into a terrible tiz when I arrived at Sainsbury’s to do my poppy selling stint. I was so thrown by my diary error, that I dropped one of my gloves in Sainsbury’s and didn’t find it again. Fortunately, I was able to team the remaining one with the partner of one I lost in Guildford last year. My brain was still not working very well when I nearly double booked on day next week. Goldenford are going to three schools to sell our books, but I shall have to miss one of them because I will be at my book circle discussing Songs of the Humpback Whale.

Cows and whales and girls behaving badly

2010-10-29T09:58:00.000-07:00

Goodness, it's been a long time since my last blog. So I'll quickly try to get something down. I have had a busy few days - it seems to come in fits and starts. A quiet week, when I try to break the back of the paperwork, then no time at home and the post piles up again. A week ago, I picked up my library book - something about hump backed whales, but I've only read one page so far.

We had a family lunch last Sunday - always an enjoyable occasion - with my two sisters in law, and three brothers in law present as well as my one niece. So much talking and eating is very tiring, and having arrived at midday, we got home in time to see Downton Abbey - a regular slot for my Sunday nights.

The ProdigalD was arriving with her family that day - but I could rely on her not to appear before midnight, and my expectations were fulfilled. It didn't stop me sleeping rather fitfully until her arrival at 1.30 a.m. and this has contributed to my tiredness all the week. However, it was lovely to see her and hubby and two of my granddaughters, and we had a very good day on Monday. We had considered going to Guildford to get Christmas presents, but in the end there was a vote against it. GD2, apparently does not like shopping, and no-one else had any enthusiasm either, although I was hoping to take them all to the veggie restaurant at the Guildford Institute. It was a nice day, after the heavy frost the previous night, and we went for a walk through the woods, lifting the push chair over challenging bits of the route. (That's the two spouses - I've given up lifting things, since my op.)

Now that the PD lives in the country (real country, surrounded by cows and bullocks and things like that) she found it difficult to let off fireworks for Bonfire Night. Having bought them in Sussex where she lived originally and taken them to her West Midlands in the year of moving, about four years ago, she asked if she could bring them with her on this visit. As a result we had an early firework display on 25th October to which GD2 watched, thrilled, and baby GD4, watched from her push=chair, with an increasing lack of enthusiasm. Before and after, I did the food preparation of a veggie roast with green veg, sweet potatoes and the conventional sort, parsnips and ratatouille - and roast turkey for the OM and me - but in fairness - some of this, as in Blue Peter, I prepared earlier.

The family didn't leave till Tuesday, midday approx. and in the evening, I went to Guildford Writers, though I'd failed to produce any further episodes of my novel, Innocent Bystanders. (My hero is going though a hard time at the moment, pursuing the baddy through casinos and lap dancing clubs, trying to find some evidence of his wrong-doing.)

On Wednesday, we Goldenford Girls, did a presentation to an audience at the Guildford |Institute of recorded music linked to extracts from our novels, entitled Music and the Muse. It went extremely well, and the audience appreciated it. This was our first performance, but we feel we could do it again at other venues; one of its advantages is that, since our books are so different, so too is the music, mine being linked to my twentieth century novels, with a bit of sixties, eighties and a classical piece from 1917. Jay Margrave goes back into history and medieval times for her inspiration, while Irene has an exotic Indian link and a bit of jazz thrown in. I rushed home to eat and subsequently participate in a committee meeting in the evening, and sat yawning and making notes at the same time. Fortunately, I got home in time for The Apprentice as I wouldn't have wanted to miss Melissa behaving extremely badly in the course of the programme, and being charm itself for The Apprentice, You're Fired.

It was a relief to get to Thursday, though, and have nothing to rush around for. I was so tired, I booked an on-line delivery for today, rather than go shopping yesterday. And today is the first day I haven't felt tired, for a week. And no plans for tomorrow either.

Sunday, the OH is joining me and Irene to go to London for the launch of the latest Goldenford book - The Nine Lives of Kit Marlowe, by Jay Margrave. And after that, goodness me, we're in November, with more things planned, but hopefully, one or two rests in between.

A story of heroes and comrades

2010-10-17T15:10:00.000-07:00

It was a busy week, particularly the latter half and, as a result, my desk is piled high with bits of paper I haven’t sorted out. Even a trip to the Writers’ Circle results in several sheets with comments on them, for me to take note of - or ignore – as the case may be, as was the case this week, when I did manage to produce a further episode of Innocent Bystanders. I spent much of the earlier part of Tuesday removing pieces of paper one at a time, and filing them, acting upon them or presenting them to the waste paper recycling box. But it didn’t seem as if many disappeared.

On Wednesday, I met my friend, Pam, in London, with a view to seeing the Gauguin Exhibition at Tate Modern. Pam had a brainwave and instead of going by tube and getting lost en route from the tube station, we took a bus from Charing Cross to St Paul’s and crossed over the Millennium Bridge. First time I’ve done that – and of course, it doesn’t wobble any longer. I’m not a great fan of Gauguin – his rather flat, two dimensional style -though some of his highly coloured paintings are quite attractive. http://uk.images.search.yahoo.com/search/images?_adv_prop=image&fr=yhs-avg&va=gauguin&sz=all . Because we had tickets timed for 2.30 p.m., we first went to the Sunflower Seeds exhibit, created by artist, Ai Weiwei. http://www.tate.org.uk/modern/exhibitions/unileverseries2010/default.shtm . This occupied the whole of the Turbine Hall at the Tate, and was filled with people strolling over the massed ‘seeds’ (they are in fact made of porcelain) and sitting down and playing with them, particularly when accompanied by toddlers and children. We even saw a couple of kids of about eight and ten being buried up to their necks in the seeds. It was very much like being on Brighton beach, playing in the loose stones. On Friday, it was announced that people were no longer to be allowed on the seeds, because of dust – and I must admit to having had a coughing fit, near the entrance. However, I do feel quite privileged to have been one of the visitors in the three days that the public could walk all over the exhibit. It is sad, because without people, there, it does look like a room of shingle, or even, from above, a fitted, sculptured grey carpet. It’s the people that make the exhibit, though I know that Mr Weiwei’s aim was to show that a mass of seemingly identical objects are actually all individual – perhaps a metaphor for China and its history. You can still see a video of his thoughts and how they were made.

I came home and had to force myself to do the ironing in the evening, because I was so behind with chores. I watched The Apprentice at the same time, so that made it palatable, and then went to the rolling news on BBC to see what was happening to the miners. I stayed up later than I should, just watching as the miners were brought to the surface, as I had also done on the previous day. Listening to the squealing girls on The Apprentice, incapable of co-operating with each other, it seemed, with all the egos struggling to be top, I couldn’t help contrasting this with the amazing ability of the men imprisoned down the San Jose mine in Copiapo, Chile, to work together as a team from the very beginning.

What a stirring story the miners’ rescue has been. I haven’t followed the individual stories of the minors, though I know that some have more than one woman in their lives, and some have fathered children additional to their acknowledge family unit. But I was affected by the story as soon as I heard how they had survived the first 17 days down the mine – they had worked together and rationed out their food and water. What self discipline they exhibited then and later. I felt they just had to be rescued and their concern for each other, their ability to act as a single unit was inspiring. And although there were concerns about how they would survive until rescue came, I felt that in succeeding to survive up till the time of their discovery, they had surely experienced the worst time of all and would be able to cope with anything else they were presented with.

From a psychological point of view, it was good that the initial forecast was three months, then reduced to two and actually, one month. And the engineering and the drilling, etc., has been magnificent.

This is so obviously going to make a fabulous book – all the ingredients are there; the drama and the human stories. It is also a very good example of how a novel could be constructed and shows how over time, we can get involved with a group of people. A tragedy occurs, people die – we hear, we’re sorry, but it’s at an end. But when the story of a group occurs over a longer period, we can’t help but get involved.

Meanwhile, we at Goldenford, had another rehearsal of our event, Music and the Muse, to take place on 27^th October at the Guildford Institute. Our audience will get tea and cake and us to entertain, all for a very modest price. After our rehearsal, I lunched with Irene, and then dashed home before rushing out again to the reading circle, where we discussed India House – a somewhat claustrophobic book purporting to describe the late fifties. It had some wit, but was, on the whole, a rather downbeat and depressing book. So it may have been well-written, but I wouldn’t be tempted to read it a second time. My bro-in-law came for dinner on Friday, and yesterday, I more or less flopped in front of the TV. Next week is looking quiet, though, so plenty of time to catch up with paperwork, washing – and the dreaded Goldenford accounts.

Two halves of cake are better than one

2010-10-11T13:49:00.000-07:00

I was busy all last week preparing my slot for the Goldenford presentation for the Mole Valley Arts Alive Festival. This was a more ambitious workshop than last year, and therefore more daunting, but I think, in the end, our pupils, or perhaps, subjects, were satisfied with it. One thing you can say is that our sessions are never po-faced. We always seem to have a bit of a laugh. The preparation, though, wasn’t really a laugh. At times I felt as if I was facing an exam, and by the night before, had the same sort of panic at the prospect of going blank once in the exam room. We are doing another one at the end of the month at the Guildford Institute, but I think it should be less alarming, second time around.

We also are putting on a musical afternoon, also at the Guildford Institute, and have done one rehearsal for that too. Don’t worry – none of us are singing – it’s all recorded – and just as well we rehearsed, because two of my pieces have talking on them before the music starts, and so we’re going to have to run them silently and start at the right place.

After the hectic Saturday, the OH and I spent Sunday afternoon at Winkworth Arboretum. We went to see the autumn colours, but we were too early. Because of the amount of rain we’ve had, the leaves for the most part, haven’t turned yet. The nice thing about visiting National Trust properties – and Wisley, for that matter, is that you can sit down to tea and cake as part of the outing. Feeling somewhat weak-willed, I ordered a slice of lemon drizzle and a chocolate gateau, and cut them into halves, so we each had a piece of both. Then we had to do a second walk to counteract the cake eating. We followed a gradual slope down to the lake, which took about 15 minutes. Alas, the gradual slope felt like very hard work on the return journey. The OM, who tripped over last week, also found it hard going, and his knee has puffed up today and has required several cold compresses throughout the day. We shouldn’t really have done the walk, but he thought he was better.

Guildford Writers tomorrow night, and I must try to get back to another instalment of the novel.

Autumn begins with an 'e'

2010-09-27T08:52:00.001-07:00

I’ve remembered to upload selected photos from the Sculpture Trail at Wisley. So here they are. Above is Heron, by Gilbert Shyman, made of rusty old shears and the innards of a bicycle, that the OH and I were quite tickled by. A snip at £825 and quite unique.
I think this rather lovely cat is Standing Cheetah.
The male with baby is called Paternita, which I told a young girl was Latin for fatherhood, but I suspect is a corruption of the Latin, or an invented word. But you get the general idea, just the same.
The coy young lady holding a pair of shoes is Salad Days, Bronze Resin, costing £4,995. I hope she makes her creator a mint.
I think this bird was Eddie the Egret, made of Marble/bronze resin. In an appropriate place near the water at the rock garden.
I always like traditional sculptures of the human form, and I though this was lovely. Not sure though of its name. It may have been Alex, by Sherry Craton Hotchkin.

Very much a female too, but quite a different style: Mobius Regina, is this queenly lady, by Richard Mason.
Great fun, this one, entitled Singing in the Rain, by Everard Meynell.

And back to the traditional, but alas, I can't identify this one. Go along, if you can, and see all of them yourself. There are many others which appealed, too.

As autumn began, I tried to enthuse myself with a little activity and send a couple of stories to e-publisher, Untreed Reads, with a biography. Untreed Reads haven’t read my stories yet, but replied to me that they would like to look at my non-fiction books – that is – The Fruit of the Tree and Cot Deaths – Coping with Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. They had looked up what I had to say about them on my website, http://freespace.virgin.net/jackie.luben and found it interesting. Fortunately, I didn’t have to send them a ton of paper, as they were both on my computer, although the Cot Deaths files had been converted from another format, and a couple appeared to be corrupted in some way. Their interest came as a total surprise to me, and that, in itself, was very welcome. However, many a slip twixt cup and lip. I won’t get excited about it yet.

We were back in the swing of things with a discussion last week with the other Goldenford Girls about our workshop which we are presenting in Leatherhead on 9^th October. I seem to be talking about Structure, Plotting and Dialogue. Actually, we are all covering similar ground with different slants on it, I think.

In the meantime, on Saturday, Irene and I distributed leaflets in Dorking where the Mole Valley Arts Festival had begun, with street entertainment. There was live music, dancing, a barbecue and a very good atmosphere. We gave out seemingly hundreds of flyers about our workshop, though we have only 16 places, so let’s hope they don’t all turn up. It was a sunny day, and gave one heart that summer was not quite over, though today I’m not convinced.

Tonight we have a committee meeting and tomorrow, it’s Guildford Writers again.

Visiting Wisley - and a tour round my garden

2010-09-19T10:52:00.001-07:00

I’ve had a lot of satisfaction from the garden this year. Firstly, earlier in the year, we planted a couple of pieris, a second hydrangea and a rhododendron, as well as bedding plants, of course. The pieris are in addition to those we already had, and we bought them because of the success of the earlier ones in the garden. A week ago, they were sprouting bright red leaves; now the leaves have changed to a yellowy green; they are a nice backdrop for the cotoneaster, which is just starting to produce red berries. We are soon going to have some lovely autumn colour, but there’s no sign of it yet, because we had too much rain earlier on.

The hydrangeas – this year’s and last year’s are at the front of the house. They started fading after one particularly cold night, so the colours now are muted, though they were an attractive pink and mauve during the summer, the mauve one having started out cornflower blue. We have, in the past, suffered from a lack of summer colour, and they were bought with this in mind and have been successful because we watered them regularly from our rainwater butts. The New Guinea busy lizzies have been lovely, of course; they always are. Come the first frost and they will be finished, but for the moment there is still a display of pinks, reds and whites. In amongst them are three rose bushes, which have flowered for the first time in many years. It’s been such a pleasure to have them back – and all due, I believe, to my neighbour removing her electric fence, so that now it’s her plants that get eaten by the deer, instead of ours. We also planted last year a second potentilla, and that started to produce more small yellow flowers when we had an oak tree at the front pollarded for the first time, and some of our shrubs received more light than in previous years.

Today is grey and rather depressing, so it’s good to think of the recent summer colour.

I had an email recently from Allromance ebooks, offering me the chance to promote myself by sending them a short story, to be downloaded free by their readers. I was pleased to do this and sent them a copy of A Gift of Gold , a short story written about two years ago. I re-read it and was quite pleased with it; a few days later, I received a contract, which although no payment is to be paid to me, protects my rights over the story. I’ll mention it, when it’s available for a free download.

Last week I made a second trip to Wisley to follow the Sculpture Trail and I’ll post some photos, probably next week.

Significant Anniversaries

2010-09-08T09:30:00.001-07:00

The Blitz was seventy years ago. I listened to Woman’s Hour this week, describing the blitz on Plymouth, and then Liverpool.

When I was writing Tainted Tree, I wanted to describe an event that took place as a result of a bombing raid, and looked through some books on the war that the OH’s father had passed on to him. I found that there was a major raid on Plymouth and, since a large part of Tainted Tree takes place in the West Country, Plymouth seemed to the be right place to use.

As far as London was concerned, I remember my father describing how everyone tried to persuade him to go into the shelter, but he preferred to stay in the house (on a regular basis). He was rather deaf at the time, so was able to ignore the bangs going on around him at our East London home. He had an ARP whistle which I found in a drawer once, and I believe he had to go out and look up at the sky, and then - presumably, blow it, if he saw a suspicious plane. I wish I had asked him more about his experiences, for as someone said today, the blitz was not just about the courage of The Few, but of the many – those that experienced it in their own homes.

In the road where I lived, when I was a child, a house opposite had been bombed, and remained a bomb site for all the years I remember. And a block of flats nearby were bombed, and I think I remember my mother telling me that they went to look for relations there, but never found them.

Our own anniversary falls on 11^th – another significant day - and we’ve been married long enough for me not to be surprised when the OM shows signs of male craziness – a bit like those odd men from Three Men in a Boat. Yesterday, he said to me, ‘We’ve got a problem. There’s a bird up the chimney.’

He could hear chirping, but any bird would not have been able to escape, as there’s a piece of polystyrene wedged there, to keep soot from coming down.

We have a very straight chimney, and I’ve been fooled myself sometimes into thinking that a bird has got trapped, when actually, it’s sitting on the roof singing to itself. I decided not to say this to the OM, as he tends to get a bit huffy, if he thinks I’m trying to evade helping him. He got in a very large dirty plastic sheet and asked me to cut it up. I couldn’t follow his plan, but it seemed he wanted to put it over the fire place, and was then going to catch the bird in a bucket, inside the fireplace (he asked for a box, but I didn’t have one), once he had stopped it from escaping into the room. This idea seemed full of holes to me, and my scepticism must have showed, because he said, ‘Well, what’s your plan, then?’ I said I didn’t have a plan, but I got him a somewhat smaller transparent plastic bag, which he attached to the front of the fireplace with masking tape. He left the large sheet over the carpet, ostensibly to protect it. In the mean time I carried out the nearest thing to my plan, which involved closing the curtains at one end of the room, opening wide the windows at the other end and moving the newly recovered settee out of the flight path.

(I didn’t believe for a moment that any bird worth its salt wouldn’t be able to escape from his bucket and plastic sheet.) After this, he pulled the polystyrene out from the chimney, and waited. It won’t surprise you to know that there was no bird up the chimney. But after we had stopped laughing, and after he had stripped off the plastic, I took the opportunity to clean the grate.

We have a decorator here at the moment and feel somewhat invaded – but he is doing a really good job on places that have become shabby over the years, and also, as a result of occasional floods and burst pipes.

At the weekend, we went to the RHS Gardens at Wisley, which is a nice easy trip for us. We decided to rejoin, even though we still have our membership of the National Trust. Many of the flowers have faded by the end of August, and Wisley has, as an attraction in September, a Sculpture Trail, which we followed. I didn’t take my camera, which was a shame because there was an interesting range of exhibits from some very beautiful bronzes to some interesting designs, for example, a butterfly and a dragonfly of stainless steel, both about two or three feet in size and some other creations which were amusing. We liked one sculpture – I think it was a heron - whose body was made of a motor cycle engine.

The following day we went to Hughenden Manor, the home of Disraeli. We started out earlier, as this was an hour’s journey away.

Thinking it was going to rain, we were primarily interested in the house, but the garden, which we saw after all, was also interesting with very formal planting in its main part, with some mature shrubs in another, and a walled garden full of fruit trees and vegetables. Visitors can play croquet on the grass, as you can see above.

The house, apart from containing the history of Disraeli and his wife, Mary Anne, also had a cellar devoted to the map makers of the Second World War. During that war, all the other exhibits were moved to one room and the manor was taken over, for use as a secret intelligence base, code-named "Hillside". The UK Air Ministry staff at the manor analysed aerial photography of Germany and created maps for bombing missions, including the famous "Dambusters" raid. Now, the cellar is a little museum in its own right describing that period. How appropriate for this 70^th anniversary.

Tea party in the rain

2010-08-30T14:14:00.000-07:00

In the news, at the moment, the miners, trapped underground in Chile. I think they coped admirably until they were found, and I hope that they can continue the level of co-operation that already existed. When I heard they had been living on one or two teaspoonfuls of tuna per day in order to survive, I was extremely impressed. How easy it would have been for one person to help himself and deprive the rest. It would be good if their restraint then, and their patience now ensure their physical and mental well-being and ultimate survival. There was an interesting article on the New Scientist website about how they can be helped to cope psychologically.

A fairly quiet week for us, after the two treks out to the family. Yesterday, we went to Polesden Lacey, again – with the intention of visiting the rose garden. I had some invoices to do in the morning, so we drove off in the afternoon, but not until I had changed and applied my usual camouflage. The OM complained that by the time we got there, the weather would have changed – and predictably, it did. From passable sunshine, it suddenly poured down, just as we arrived at the entrance. Still, all was not lost, for we made for the shelter of the tea tent, and, rather like last week’s barbecue, sat, as rain poured down around us, with our tea and lemon drizzle cake. We managed to find a place, which although on the edge had two places away from the August wind and rain. In a short time, a couple rushed to join us, then another one, and we all squashed on to three sides of the table. It was very jolly. Then the sun came out again, and we were transported by the buggy (designated for the less able, although we were perfectly capable) to the house and garden.

First we visited the house briefly, (see photo of magnificent chandalier) as we saw it a few weeks ago.

Then the garden - see other photos. Probably June would have been a better time to see the roses, but to compensate, there were dahlias and other things to see.

At the beginning of summer, I always look forward to it stretching forward, visions of me sitting in the garden in the sunshine, but August is often disappointing.

Friends are away, the children have seen enough of us and the sun’s not shining. In many ways, September will be welcome. The Writing Circle will be back in action – actually we have a meeting in someone’s house, tomorrow, and soon after that, Goldenford will be hosting some events.

In the meantime, my Virtual Tales (www.virtualtales.com) royalty statement arrived today, showing my three monthly sales of Have Wine will Travel. Don’t forget whether you are in the UK or the US, or anywhere else for that matter, you can download a copy of Have Wine … for a very moderate cost. For some reason, if you are looking on Amazon, you have to find the author page, before accessing the Kindle edition. Copies of Tainted Tree, in the mean time, are out on loan from Surrey libraries and available from some Surrey bookshops – and Amazon, of course. All looking up. I have an extract from my current book, ready to read, at Guildford Writers. Must keep at it, before inspiration fades away.

Cows in the field, punts on the Cam

2010-08-24T14:22:00.000-07:00

In terms of mileage, it's been a busy couple of weeks. Possibly, I've already said that we went to visit the ProdigalD at Herefordshire. Once upon a time, when I first came to live in Surrey from my London home in a busy main road, I thought I was coming to live in the country. When I visit my daughter, I realise that is real country. The neighbours are bullocks and sheep, and when we drive the last ten or fifteen miles to her home, we see nothing but undulating hills and valleys with fields on either side of the road. My home, by contrast, is a mere half a dozen miles to the civilisation of the Guildford, the town centre and Surrey University too. We have a station only two miles away, taking us to London in 40 minutes. Thank goodness.

By contrast, the Son&H lives in a town house not far from the centre of Cambridge, and that's where we were this weekend. We went on Saturday and returned on Sunday afternoon. In the morning we walked to the river, and there was the usual hubbub. Young men trying to tempt passers by, or should I say prospective punters, to go for a ... well punt. GD3 didn't really want to go for a walk, but she was mollified by being allowed to climb a tree en route. GD1 put her foot down and simply didn't come.

We rushed home to go to join friends for a barbecue on Sunday evening. Having left Cambridge in brilliant sunshine and with a temperature of 27 deg. C. , we came home to drizzle, which, once we were under our friends' gazebo, turned to torrential rain. We sat there the whole evening, eating and talking. I suspect the host had rainwater dribbling down the back of his neck, but the OH and I were OK. It was very British - a barbecue in the rain.

I've been to the orthoptist, the dentist and the optician in the last couple of weeks. The dentist had to repair yet another broken tooth, which fortunately only took about two minutes. The orthoptist discharged me, as my vision seemed fine, and the optician saw me for the first time since my eye operation and was very impressed at the difference between a year ago and now. The operation has transformed my sight in terms of double vision. It's nearly a year ago that I was contemplating both operations with dread, and now they're in the past, and I'm very glad that I had them done.

Tonight, I've been to a Goldenford meeting, where we discussed activities for the autumn, and ideas to get our books to the public. Once again, we're doing about four presentations in this area and I hope some other ideas will come up. And, on the subject, while arranging to have a new lens in my glasses to accommodate my improved vision, I asked the optician if she'd read the copy of Tainted Tree, which the shop had bought from me. 'We've all read it,' she said. 'We all loved it.' Can't get much better than that.

Eating peanuts at the lap dance club

2010-08-16T15:00:00.000-07:00

Things wind down during August, and if the weather starts getting cool, it feels as if summer is over, but the interesting events of early autumn haven’t begun. We three Goldenford girls met last week, but it was supposed to be a Guildford Writers meeting. No-one else came, though. They must all be on their hols, so we didn’t discuss writing at all, but just chatted about all the things we don’t normally have time to do. I had taken my latest bit of Innocent Bystanders where my hero goes investigating in a lap dance club. Perhaps I should call the book Eating peanuts at the lap dance club. At any rate, I’ll be saving it for our next meeting.

On Thursday, I had my hair trimmed and booked an appointment with the optician, too. The receptionist has read Tainted Tree and asked how I was getting on with the next book. At least I could say that I was making progress. She mentioned that she’s part of a reading circle and I said I’d be happy to give a talk or similar. I hope something will come of it. In the meantime, I’ve been reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society – which has to be one of the longest and most gimmicky titles in publication at the moment. Did they think of the title first, I wonder. It seems to me that sometimes it’s the quirky title that sells the book – Salmon Fishing … and Tractors in Ukrainian .. or whatever. On Thursday night was my reading circle night, where we discussed Guernsey, etc..

Like one of the reviewers, at the beginning of this book I was immediately reminded of 84, Charing Cross Road, particularly, when Juliet requests a particular book for Dawsey Adams and says – ‘a good plain copy’. That’s the sort of thing Helene Hanff used to say all the time to Mr Frank Doel of Charing X Road.

But this is fiction, so it doesn’t have to be authentic. Some of the long letters from these previously not very literate people seemed to be a bit unlikely. Nevertheless, it was a clever way to tell the story of the tribulations of the Channel Islanders during the war, with a love story at the same time.

People have described this as a gentle book – which it is. I felt it was a little too cute sometimes – particularly at the beginning when many of the characters seem to start with the letter ‘S’ – Sidney and Sophie Stark of Stevens & Stark, and Susan Scott, and then Gilly Gilbert, also. It was as if they were caricatures, rather than characters. In some of the letters too, they were very determinedly eccentric.

I also felt that the letter format detached me from any real drama. I wasn’t really carried away by the plight of Elizabeth, though I know I should have been. I never really felt I got to know her, in spite of descriptions showing her to be brave and altruistic.

I was a little concerned about the child, Kit. Did this child ever speak? (Was she traumatised? Perhaps I missed this.) All she seemed to do was pat people on the face. At four years old, my children never stopped talking.

However, despite this, I found it very readable – and easy to pick up and resume. Perhaps that was part of the problem. I did pick it up and then leave it several times.

I saw the orthoptist on Friday, and also the eye surgeon who carried out my operation earlier in the year. Both were very happy with the result of the op, as I am too.

Over the weekend, we went to Herefordshire to see the ProdigalD, spouse and two of my granddaughters – GD2 and GD4. We took GD4 a caterpillar which plays music when its nose is pressed. It drove us up the wall very quickly, particularly when GD2, who should know better at 9 years old, insisted on starting it up, when the baby wasn’t actually interested. GD4 is approaching her first birthday, and is very cute and cuddly.

Chartwell

2010-08-12T07:43:00.000-07:00

As promised - a few photos taken at Chartwell, Winston Churchill's home looking out over The Weald, Kent.

The sting in the tale

2010-08-05T04:28:00.000-07:00

Despite threatening clouds, Irene and I had a very pleasant afternoon selling our Goldenford books at the Pirbright Flower Show. Only problem was that we were under a tree, which would have been good if it had been hotter, but was rather windy. When we first arrived the plant tent adjacent to us was being held to the ground with sandbags and seemed in danger of taking off. But somehow or other, the Flower Show manages to achieve good weather, even in the bad summers of the last couple of years, and the wind settled and it remained dry.

I left our pitch a couple of times, once to look at the paintings from the local Art club, which are hung on the railings for display and sale, a la Green Park in London. (Do they still do that, I wonder? I haven’t been there at the weekend for years.) On the other occasion, I went into the show itself, to admire displays such as ‘four vegetables on a trug’ or the best coffee walnut cake. Despite the popularity of the presentations, we had lots of visitors to our table, sold some books and chatted with lots of people. I was delighted that one lady who had read Tainted Tree last year enjoyed it so much that she wanted another book of mine, and took a copy of A Bottle of Plonk.

The only fly in the ointment was - well to be precise, not a fly but a wasp, which decided to alight on my finger and sting me. There were loads of wasps hovering in our tree, and after this attack, I spent more time standing up away from them.

On Sunday, Irene came with the OM and me to Polesden Lacey, a stately home where the former King and Queen (George VI and Elizabeth, the late Queen Mother) spent their honeymoon. The owner of that time seemed to have climbed the greasy pole from being a porter’s daughter, albeit the illegitimate child of a brewery millionaire, to marrying the eldest son of a baronet. Since they had no children, she owned seventeen dogs, whose graves we saw in the gardens. Fascinating insight into the aristocracy – she ended up leaving her diamonds to the Queen Mother and thousands of pounds to Princess Margaret. ‘New money,’ the guides told us several times.

Since Monday, when I met up with the reading group, one of whose ex-members has just returned from Holland for a brief trip, I have been dealing with various forms of drudgery – invoices, quotations and washing. I’m bored with it. Next job is the Goldenford accounts and also the OM’s, and if I can polish them off, I’ll be able to do more fun things. So back to the treadmill …

The Darling Buds

2010-07-30T06:57:00.000-07:00

Having skimmed what I wrote last time, I wonder if I am anti-child. This also reminds me of yesterday’s Woman’s Hour, which was about women who have chosen not to have children. Some of them said, ‘I never liked children,’ or ‘I never looked in prams to see other people’s babies.’ I have to make a confession here, and repeat what I said at some stage in The Fruit of the Tree, my autobiographical book. I didn’t have maternal instincts before I had children; I also didn’t like children particularly, and certainly didn’t do much drooling over babies. I wish I could reassure people who don’t have babies for those reasons, that they grow up. I particularly valued my children when they turned into human beings that I could talk to, and I enjoy that aspect of them still.

I haven’t forgotten about my Chartwell photos, but they’re still in the camera, at the moment. Instead, I have a deer. This little creature got into my garden a few weeks ago, and then didn’t know how to get out. I captured him/her on camera, while he was dithering. Strangely enough, this year, for the first time for many years, we have been able to enjoy our roses. We only have three rose bushes left now, because they have died as a result of having their top growth eaten away, or because we have given them away. But these three produced buds and flowered. We cannot fathom if the deer have abandoned us because they have found somewhere that is cooler and damper, where there’s more vegetation, or possibly because a neighbour has removed an electric fence (due to having small children) and the deer are now in their garden. If the latter is the case, I’m pleased to say they have a new baby, so long may their non-electrification continue.

I’m also pleased to see that my hibiscus has a number of buds, too, so perhaps there will be a colourful display there too. Last year, the flowers seemed to drop off – or were they bitten off by the deer. It will be interesting to see. We also bought a blue hydrangea last week, and will try to take care of its watering needs, as we have the pink one we’ve been nursing for two years. (Required because I nearly killed it when it arrived as a present in a tub – much safer in the garden.)

I shall be selling books at Pirbright Flower Show tomorrow, with Irene, which reminds me - I went into Guildford yesterday, and noted that at Waterstone’s North Street, all paperbacks are being sold on a three for the price of two, basis. So rush in now and buy a copy of Tainted Tree, along with two other books you like

The sublime and the ridiculous

2010-07-22T06:55:00.000-07:00

A busy week, so far, including a trip at the weekend to see Chartwell, the home of Winston Churchill. Apparently, friends of the Churchill family bought the property from them and presented it to the National Trust, when the family could no longer afford to run it. Before WW2, Churchill had made his money from writing. But saving Britain from defeat, when Prime Minister in the war years, did not bring in the same income. I am glad he was able to stay in his home, because it is on a beautiful site, part of The Weald, in Kent, which he chose himself, before carrying out work to the house, and it must have been a place of refuge during difficult times. I'll post photos some time soon.

We had a very interesting day there, and sat out for lunch and tea, as the weather was good. The nice thing about Chartwell, as opposed to the local houses we have recently visited, was seeing the family’s own furnishings, and of course, Winston Churchill’s own paintings. I didn’t care for all the paintings; there was a great deal of dark green in them; perhaps they represented his ‘black dog’ moods, or perhaps he painted to get out of those moods.

On Monday a friend visited, and Irene came over on Tuesday. We were able to sit in the garden on both days. After she left, I progressed about 600 words on the novel, in a sudden burst of enthusiasm, ahead of the Guildford Writers’ meeting in the evening, though, in the end, I read out my first story, written in my twenties. Interestingly, viewpoint was all over the place. Whether I could do anything about it, and whether it’s worth the effort, I’m not sure.

Yesterday, on the train to London, to meet friend, Pam, I added a bit more to the novel and have just copied it to the computer. When I say ‘wrote’ I really do mean ‘wrote’, and I’m beginning to think that I get on better when I hand-write than when I start off on the computer. It’s so easy to get side-tracked and play another game of Freecell or Mah-Jong, or browse through messages from friends.

It was difficult to concentrate on the novel, because I was in the thick of a noisy group of school kids, on their way to the London Eye. The two girls closest to me seemed to the be worst and I felt like telling them to be quiet. They so obviously thought they were funny and clever and had to repeat their jokes three times over. ‘I’m not a lesbian,’ shouted one. My, how sophisticated. ‘He’s got a nice arse.’ Really? I just don’t want to know.

My friend and I spent the day at the National Portrait Gallery; we went specially to see the BP portrait exhibition which is always interesting. Brian Sewell is probably right to say there were too many photographic works, but still some paintings that we both enjoyed seeing. We also viewed the exhibit on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square – Ship in a bottle before making our way home – I can't seem to get the URL doing what it should do, but look it up:

http://www.london.gov.uk/fourthplinth/plinth/shonibare.jsp

Thank goodness there were no school parties then – just civilised rush hour travellers.

40 days of mixed weather - it's England

2010-07-16T09:17:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, I told the OH that the blazingly hot weather was set for the rest of the summer. It’s St Swithin’s Day on 15^th July, I said, and that means the weather pattern’s established by then, and will stay roughly the same. (The actual superstition is that if it rains on St Swithin’s Day, it will rain for forty days.) By this time, we had used all the water in our rain water tubs, which collect water accumulated on the flat roofs of the house. We had been having to hose the 8 new privet bushes which we bought in the spring, and the rather magnificent new rhododendron, as well as other less expensive additions to the garden. And the Busy Lizzies, too, of course. The OM went out and bought an additional rainwater tub, and, wouldn’t you know it, since then, it’s been cloudy, dull, raining – and I’ve had to put my winter jumpers back on. It did rain on St Swithin’s.

And talking of rhododendrons, these are photos I took, just before I went into hospital. Same bed, but taken from all different angles.

This week, has been a milestone. It was six weeks since my op, and I revisited the surgeon. She did the necessary and said it was all fine. But of course, I still have to be careful – in the short term – the next six weeks or so, and some things in the long term, otherwise, I will be back under the knife, again. For the moment it’s a case of adopting strategies. When I was ready to leave, I gave her a copy of my autobiographical book, The Fruit of the Tree. Because it deals with the births of my children, the death of my baby daughter, Amanda, and two miscarriages, I thought it might be of interest to her, and I told her that. At some point in my book, I was really angry with the two doctors I saw, in particular, the surgeon who operated on me after the second miscarriage. He didn’t talk to me; he talked to the nurses and called me ‘she’. It was really good to have a woman surgeon, and one who explained everything to me, and treated me as a human being. When I gave her the book, she kissed me on the cheek and seemed really pleased.

I went to Sainsbury’s yesterday, and picked up some fruit. I bought less than half my usual shop, and will do the rest on line. I made sure the shopping was spread out into three not too weighty bags. Today, I’m doing proper cooking, and last night, we had the neighbours’ parents (who are visiting from Norfolk and whom we have known for many years) over for drinks and nibbles. Normality is returning.

Powering ahead

2010-07-09T14:46:00.001-07:00

I have started my power walks – and jolly difficult it is too, in temperatures of 30°C. My last walk today was at 9.45 p.m. for 15 minutes, just before it got dark, but at least it was cooler. I was tired today, having gone to bed late yesterday. Not a good idea.

Yesterday, itself was a full day – a trip to London, to discuss participating in a ‘Meet the Author’ session at the Jewish Book Week next year. Followed by a walk around the Jewish Museum, near Camden Town.

By the time we got home, I felt disinclined to go out again to the reading circle meeting. We were to discuss White Ghost Girls, a first novel by Alice Greenway. My own feeling was that this was an insubstantial book, with too much emphasis on atmosphere, as I think I’ve said earlier. On Tuesday, I was at Guildford Writers, where I read out an extract of an amended version of a previous passage, describing my hero’s visit to a casino. I believe I am more than half way through the current novel, Innocent Bystanders.

On Wednesday, I went to the physio, and was instructed in what I should and should not do, in the short and longer term. No more turning mattresses, apparently. Look for able bodied men and get them to do it. No lifting of the vacuum cleaner, but I can use it. And I can carry half a dozen copies of Tainted Tree without causing any damage. I drove to the hospital; it’s good to be at that level of independence again.