Live stories, dead kings and old marmalade

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.