A shot rang out

Actually, it didn’t, and that was what Philip someone was complaining about on A Good Read, on Radio Four on Friday. He rejected two short story collections because not enough happened to them, and said that he longed for someone to say, ‘A shot rang out.’ I could sympathise with this. All through the courses I did on Virginia Woolf, I complained that there was no plot. Yes, her writing was brilliant, and her non-fiction was extremely intelligent, but a good read? No. If Tainted Tree is published, it will not be regarded as literary fiction. Not chick-lit either, intelligent, I hope, but above all, a good read.

Summer came at the weekend, and probably just for the weekend. I sat all Saturday afternoon in the garden, reading the Reading Circle choice, Old Filth by Jane Gardam. Quite enjoyable, but I wouldn’t rave about it, despite it being the Orange Prize winner of three or four years ago.

Foot and mouth has also arrived – in this area – as everyone is aware. M & I took a walk to the Animal Virus Institute to see what was going on there. Nothing was happening, but the road was lined with cars and a bus with BBC written on it, while ITN had a van with a great tower rising from it. In the last epidemic I was at a farm on the Welsh border for a writing weekend with others from Guildford Writers. Let’s hope there’s not a repeat of that.