Random Jottings

Yomping off

Tomorrow I am off to Somerset for another week at Fitness Farms aka Dothboys Hall.  I will be Nordic walking, hiking, yomping and suffering and I think I am mad to do it again, but somehow I felt such a great sense of achievement at the end of the week last year I wanted to test myself once mmore.  I am taking my laptop with me as I am now assured the venue has Wi-fi so will be dropping in occasionally even if it only to tell you how many blisters I have got.

Mad rush today as I have discovered that my MOT expired two days ago and I have to renew my tax tomorrow so booked the car in for this afternoon and will collect first thing in the morning and then set off. Having done the drive once, I now know the route and though it will be pretty boring, M25, M4, M5 anybody?? it gets me there.

Think of me on Saturday morning at 6.30 am - I shall be starting the pre-breakfast workout.

So I leave you with this delightful image to ponder on....



Cricket Lovely Cricket

All Random Readers know that I adore cricket.  It was not always so. I used to find it dreary and boring and tedious, but that was before I saw the light and now I shriek in horror if anybody uses those words to describe this wonderful game. 

I used to work at Camden Libraries many moons ago and we had a chap there who was a cricket fanatic. He was also bone idle and used to drive me mad particularly when the Test Matches were on as he would sit in his office pretending to be busy when, in reality, he was listening to Test Match Special. As we worked for local government hardly anybody got sacked for not doing their job properly, if you wanted to get rid of somebody they were usually promoted elsewhere. I am pretty sure nothing has changed.  We just had to grin and bear it and then one day I was working with him and found that I was tuning in subliminally to his radio and I began to ask him what was so special about the game.  Well, his eyes lit up and his bored demeanour changed immediately as he started to explain to me why he loved it so.

That was the beginning really and a few months later I was staying with friends in Nottingham and was taken to a one day match by my host who was a member of Nottingham CC.  Enormous fun and then later on in the summer he and I were pinned indoors by appalling hay fever and a Test Match was on and Bill explained in minute detail the field settings, the different kind of bowling, the tactics etc and over a period of three days I fell in love with cricket and my love has deepened over the years.

Cricket at the Crossroads by Guy Fraser-Sampson covers ten years in the game when three major crises occurred.  The Close Affair in 1967 when Brian Close was relieved of hte England captaincy in controversial circumstances, the D'Olivera affair saw his place in a touring team to South Africa cause a major incident and the birth of the World Series when Kerry Packer arrived and changed the face of cricket for ever.

I followed all these incidents in the papers though this was prior to my conversion and so I must have been more interested than I realised at the time. What I had not realised until reading htis book was just how much the Gentlemen and Amateur status of players entrenched even in the 1960s, I somehow  had the feeling that this had disappeared years before.   Somebody like Brian Close, a blunt Yorkshireman, who became England captain was regarded as 'not one of us', he was from the North, he was working class.  

"it is difficult for a modern reader to appreciate just how tangible and significant was the distinction between the amateur and professional cricketer, or as it was often expressed, gentleman and players. On many county grounds the professionals were not allowed to share the same dressing room (or even pavilion) with the amateurs.  They were all expected to call the amateurs 'sir' and refer to them as 'mister'...........the difference had been even more pronounced on tour when the amateurs had travelled in separate cars and stayed in swanky hotels, dressing for dinner, while the professionals had to put up in boarding houses"

Almost impossible to believe now but that was the way it was.

I found this book totally fascinating.   My vague knowledge of the three incidents mentioned above has now been expanded by the meticulous narrative and outlines filled in so now I understand what happened.  The D'Olivera affair was particularly distressing and, in the end, led to South Africa being banned from participating in International Cricket for years.

One thing that struck me when reading this excellent book was the dithering and faffing about of the selectors.  Why is it that this always seems to be a feature of those in charge of selecting the team? Some of them come across as weak, spineless and self-interested and so lacking in authority and interest in the game that you wonder how they got the job.  The answer is, of course, that most of them were 'Gentlemen'.

This is not a dry, dusty read. We are given the social and political landscape prevailing at the time and then we are given detailed breakdowns of England's tours in the West Indies, the Ashes, Pakistan and India.  Many of the names in these teams are familiar to me though I never saw them play at that time as my interest in cricket was very much in its infancy, but it is fascinating to read with hindsight and my current knowledge of the game and even non-cricket lovers or those not totally involved in the game, would enjoy Cricket at the Crossroads. 

While pondering on the Gentleman and Player attitude I could not help but think of the current Test Match Special team which I listened to day in day out this summer.  On one side we have Henry Blofeld ('Blowers') with an upper class, rich fruity tone of voice and on the other we have Phil Tufnell, Essex boy, both of whom are great commentators and great fun.  Lovely to hear Blowers greet Phil each day with 'Tuffers dear old thing, how are you?' and to hear Phil reply 'I'm ok Blowers old mate, how are you?'  Listening to this double act was sheer delight and the real affection between the two came across to the listener.

Seems the old cricketing barriers are now all gone and about time too.

Season of Mists etc

I love the autumn. I say this every year and will continue to do so ad infinitum I expect.  There is something lifting about the misty mornings which break through into a weak sunlight, though at the moment here in the UK, we are having an Indian Summer (why is it called an Indian Summer incidentally?) and we have clear blue skies and it is balmy and mild.  I am off to Exmoor on Friday for my week of torture and stress (AKA Fitness Farms) and when I went last year we had equally good weather and the view at the top of Exmoor was simply glorious. 

I love it when the leaves turn and this morning I drove through the countryside down winding roads with trees arching overhead, many still green of course, but every now and then a splash of vibrant colour. Have heaps of bulbs to put in the communal gardens, two terracotta pots which are going to have hyacinths planted and loads more daffs to go in. So while I love the autumn the spring will bring forth all these lovely plants I am putting in now - fingers crossed of course, I am not exactly Alan Titchmarch......

Catch up - again

The Ugly Sister - Jane Fallon

All her life Abbi has lived in the shadow of her sister Cleo.  At sixteen Cleo was signed up by a modelling agency and became a famous and wealthy supermodel who moved out of the family's orbit into a life of glamour and excitement.  Despite the fact she was careless in her contact with her parents, leaving all the care in their old age to Abbi, they continued to adore her and take Abbi for granted.  It was ever thus.

Abbi has always yearned to reconnect with Cleo and to establish the old relationship they used to share when they were young and is delighted and surprised when she is invited to come and pay a visit.  It soon transpires that Cleo, now trying to break back into the modelling world after her retirement, is having difficulty in achieving this aim, but while Abbi and Cleo's husband, Jon realise this, Cleo refuses to face up to reality.   She jets off to New York and Abbi realised that far from wanting to become closer once more, Cleo is using her as a nanny to her rather pampered and spoiled children.

Left alone with Jon, Abbi begins to realise she feels more for him that she should and life starts to get very complicated indeed.

On the face of it, this would appear to be a 'chick-lit' type of book, but it is much more than that.  Two sisters both stuck in their familiar roles, Abbi feeling that she has always been overshadowed and has underachieved all her life, Cleo having to realise that she can no longer rely on her beauty to get her through the rest of her life.

Read this in one sitting as the narrative just picks you up and carries you along and I appreciated the not so happy ending of the book.  We look at it all through Abbi's eyes and we hope, like she does, that a rapprochement will take place and that Cleo will realise her true worth. Sadly, it is Cleo's selfishness and self absorption which causes the relationship to falter and Abbi realises she has to finally become her own person.  

That last paragraph sounds like a blurb which you might find on the back of a paperback and sorry about that, but take my word for it, this is a good read and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Headhunters - Jo Nesbo

Not a Harry Hole book which is a bit of a disappointment but still a Jo Nesbo and having discovered and read all of those available earlier in the year, I was delighted when this dropped through my letter box. Not sure when this book was originally published but I have a feeling it may have been one of his earlier ones and is now being released over here on the back of the success of the Hole books, The Snowman, The Leopard etc.

Roger Brown is wealthy and successful, he is the top man in his business which is headhunting. He has a gorgeous wife who he adores and he lives in a magnificent and bautiful house.  However, thrre is a dark side to Roger - he has a criminal double life and steals works of art to fund this lifestyle.

Along comes Clas Greve, charismatic and charming not only the perfect candidate for a position with Roger's biggest client, but also the owner of one of the most sought after paintings in the world. OK so Roger decides this is THE heist, the one which will make him rich beyond avarice.   He steals the painting and it is when he is on the premises that he makes a discovery which rocks his world and puts him in danger.  Suddenly Clas is hunting him and Roger is on the run. 

As this is Jo Nesbo you can guarantee lots of excitement and edge of seat moments, twists and turns and an ending which I did not expect. Very readable and filmic and I understand a film is to be made and by the company which produced the Swedish Wallander series which bodes well.

Much though I admired this book, I could not warm to Roger Brown as the hero.  A small man (perhaps they should get Tom Cruise to play him....), he is aware of his lack of height and persona and tends to overcompensate for this by sometimes being just a tad too clever.  In Harry Hole we have a flawed and vulnerable character who the reader can warm to.  In the end, good though Headhunters is, I could not summon up any sympathetic feelings towards Roger at all which means, for me anyway, this book lacked a certain something.

But don't let that put you off - only my personal reaction and it IS good.

All Things Dickens

The Book page in the Guardian has lots of articles today on the Great Man, Charles Dickens. Vote for your favourite - go on. I have

via www.guardian.co.uk

Tired Random

Gosh I am tired at the moment.  The summer seems to have simply flown by and not quite sure where it went to.  Am glad that I managed the domestic targets I set myself, ie painting my bedroom and having the flat re-carpeted but there were plenty of other things I wished to do and did not quite manage to tick them all off my list. Never mind, I will not repine.

I think I mentioned that we have set up a Resident's Association here in Brookside Close and despite my pleadings that somebody else be Chairman, nobody else was willilng. 'Oh, but Elaine you are so bossy good at organising' was the cry and though I genuinely did not want to add anything further to my schedule, it was no use and as somebody has to do it, well it is me.  So I am in the throes of sorting out costs and budgets with the management company and though this will not come up until next spring, I have already identified where costs can be cut and the manager who I deal with is being extremely helpful, so we shall see.  I am also dealing with a tree company as we need to have a silver birch, which has become perilously tall and weedy, cut back as it is a danger in high winds. Also organising cut back of some overhanging trees which have branches hovering over our TV aerial. So that is now in hand and, as we have encroaching woodland at the back of the flats, pushing against the wall in our car park and causing it to tip alarmingly, I asked the young man from the tree company to take a look as they do a lot of work with the Council and the land at the back is council property.  He nearly had a fit when he saw it and told me in accents of doom 'What you have here is Japanese Knotweed'.   'Oh really' says I brightly 'How dreadful' and then 'What IS Japanese Knotweed?' I was then told it is Triffid like stuff that takes you over and that the Olympic site had to be cleared of this at the cost of hundreds of thousands of pounds before they could start to build.

Well, we are certainly not planning on having a Velodrome or Swimming pool at the back of Brookside Close but apparently the same measures have to be taken, ie it is sprayed and then it dies and then it is cut down and burned on site. This will probably have to be done a few times before it is totally eradicated.  I was told in awful terms that 'nobody should attempt to cut it back and take it off site as this was a chargeable offence'.  I hastened to assure him that such a thought had never crossed my mind (I mean do I sound like a woman who is going to take a machete to Japanese Knotweed and cart it up to the tip?  I think not) and I have warned all the Residents just in case they fancied nipping out for a bit of slashing and burning.   I gather another Man will come and Take a Look in a week or two and start the whole process off as I stressed that the wall was assuming the proportions of the Leaning Tower of Pisa and if it fell onto one or two of the cars parked there ructions would occur.

So a fun time ahead.

I was up in London this week taking care of the utterleygorgeousandbeautifulFlorence and to arrive, having Helen say Florence here is Grandma and to have this toddler run towards you with her arms outstretched and a big beam on her face, well, I am as mush in this child's hands.  I took her out for a walk in the park and she decided she wanted to push the buggy. Well, it was crashed into trees, park benches and railings and if I tried to correct it and point it in the right direction I got a shriek of indignation and a glare that reminded me forcibly of my ex.  Daunting I can tell you.  I stayed overnight and also babysat so that daughter and husband could nip out to the posh new cinema at Westfield to see Tinker Taylor Soldier Spy which they both thought was marvellous. I have yet to meet anybody who disagrees with this opinion.  Drove home the next day and was totally knackered when I got back and fell asleep on the sofa for a couple of hours and woke up with a stiff neck and cramp in my toes.

This weekend I am off with a neighbour to buy rose bushes to plant in the gardens, plant them and also put in the rest of the bulbs I have bought. 150 in so far and intend to double that.  Then next week I have a book launch to go to and Bloomsbury's 25th birthday party and then I am driving off to Exmoor for a week yomping across the moors and exercising my butt off as I did last year.  This time I will be more prepared, mentally if not physically, and feel I will get more out of it.  I went into town this morning and bought two pairs of proper walking socks, last year I just used cheapie cotton ones which did not protect my feet very much with the resultant blisters and toe nails dropping off. They have only finished growing back so am damned if I am going to lose them again.

And finally, to end this Random Ramble, you may remember that I got stuck in the Congestion Zone back in July because of traffic diversions and I was fined for non-payment of my Congestion charge despite the fact I had not intended to venture that far into the city.  My appeal was turned down in terms which intimated I was trying it on and the £60 was doubled even though it was under appeal. Well, all Random Readers will know that I was not going to put up with that so I shot off a letter to Transport for London and also wrote to Boris, the Mayor.   As Boris Johnson is an eccentric to put it mildly, I tried to make the letter amusing and witty to appeal to his sense of humour.   The other day I received a reply and lo and behold, a full apology and a refund of my fine. So that cheered me up no end.

Mark you, I still have the Inland Revenue to deal with.  The tax I queried is payable and I now understand why, but as they have taken over two years to deal with my query and only after endless letters, abortive phone calls and the intervention of my MP, I have told them that though I will pay the tax (bang goes my trip to New Hampshire next year), I am buggered if I am going to pay them interest which they have had the cheek to levy.  It also transpires that I might have an underpayment this year as well and I have to fill in a Return so have asked them to let me know what sort of sum because I am going to have to try and save that up.  I will not bore you with the ins and outs of it all but the letter stated that the system had worked properly but 'it was unfortunate that it had left Miss Simpson-Long with unpaid tax'.  I leave you to imagine what my response was to that...

I am trying to catch up with the backlog of reviews I have to write but with all that is going on feeling I cannot concentrate on anything so am doing what I always do when I am mentally and physically tired. I turn to Georgette Heyer.... 

End of story for the Blue Peter Annual - Telegraph

The most recent edition, with a tragic inevitability, had the dread word “Celebs!” stamped on its cover, as if a few snaps of an X-Factor finalist is enough to compensate for the lack of a decent guide on how to make Tracy Island from egg boxes or in-depth interview with a fireman.”

via www.telegraph.co.uk

I find this so sad. My children never missed an episode and Helen is the proud owner of a Blue Peter badge safely stowed away.

Simple pleasures which most children are denied these days.

P G Wodehouse - A biography by Frances Donaldson

I discovered the works of PG Wodehouse or Plum as he is always called, about five years or so ago.  Not sure why he had passed me by for so long, but I read one of the Jeeves books and found myself weeping with laughter while reading it.   I was delighted of course to find out that there were about 90 more to come and they are keeping me going nicely.

I picked up this biography in Hay on Wye earlier this year and it has been waiting for my attention for a few months and, as ever, a book awaits its time and last week I read it.   I am rather wishing now that I had not.  Should the fact that you find you are not so fond of a writer/composer/artist as you thought cast a shadow over one's enjoyment of the person's output?   It is a difficult question and, as a fan of Wagner who is surely one of the most repulsive people who ever lived, I should be able to divorce character from matter and take no notice.

And yet, after reading Frances Donaldson's excellent book I find that I am feeling slightly uncomfortable about Plum.   There was correspondence in one of the papers recently about his controversial war time broadcasts to the US from Germany during the Second World War, and opinion was divided between those who thought he was a traitor and those who thought he was a bumbling, amiable buffoon who did not know what he was doing.   Both these viewpoints were most strongly argued and that is why I decided to read this biography and see what I thought.

The author's father knew Plum pretty well and she had also met him so was biased in his favour - no harm in that, all biographers take a stance but she did not allow her fondness for him to stand in the way of facts, though when it came to these broadcasts she defended him stoutly.   It is rather tragic that these have cast such a dark light over his reputation and in a recent television programme he was defended by the likes of Stephen Fry and Terry Wogan who adopted his most vague, Irish whimsical attitude to try to persuade us of Plum's utter naivety when he made these broadcasts.

We are told over and over again how unworldly Plum was, how he lived in a world of his own, how his wife and stepdaughter looked after him, organised everything and shielded him from life's realities.   He comes across as vague, kindly and bumbling but this does not really sit well with his intellect and wit - after all he did a huge amount of work in the US, collaborating with Kern and other luminaries and you don't survive that unless you have a bit of common sense.

At the start of WWII Plum and his wife were living in France and when the Germans invaded were interned.   He wrote a Camp Diary which was quoted extensively and he made it sound like a Jolly Lark with lots of schoolboy fun. I don't suppose it was for a minute, but he continued to write all the time he was there with a typewriter he hired, so not too many restrictions were placed upon him it seemed.  He was released just before his 60th birthday as internees of that age were not allowed and shortly after this he was asked if he would broadcast to the US about his experiences etc.   He was delighted to do so and agreed - unfortunately, it appeared to the UK and the US that he had had been given his freedom in order to broadcast propaganda for the Germans.  

I won't go into detail about all this because the book sets the facts out and all the pros and cons, but the fall out of this rather idiotic behaviour remained with Plum for the rest of his life and he never returned to the UK.   He said that he had never dreamed that these talks would cause such a furore and, indeed, if you read the transciprits they are funny and witty and say nothing of any great political moment at all.  When reading Plum's letters and comments and interviews about htis affair, and it dragged on for some considerable time, I began to get rather irritated at this plea of But I didn't mean any of This I thought it would be Amusing and this brought to mind a Dickens  character, who I also used to find irritating, Harold Skimpole from Bleak House.  He is a friend of Mr Jarndyce, doesn't work, lives off his friends, and often refers to himself as "a child" and claims not to understand the complexities of human relationships and society - but understands them all too well. Adopting this persona relieves him of all responsibility.  I found he kept popping into my mind while reading this biography and he would not go away.

One forgives favourite authors/artistes/composers a lot because of our love for their work. I have mentioned Wagner and he really is a prime case; in a review of Michael Slater's biography of Charles Dickens last year, I mentioned how badly Dickens had behaved to his wife and yet we found it hard to remain angry with the creator of David Copperfield, Scrooge, Miss Havisham et al because we know and love so many of his characters (Little Nell being an exception IMHO).   This does not make his behaviour acceptable at all but, as I have forgiven Dickens and still love him, I am trying to adopt the same attitude towards P G Wodehouse.   Finding it a little bit difficult at the moment but am currently reading one of his Blandings books and falling about laughing, so I am sure it will come in time.

His writing is just so superlative, the flow, the wit, the felicity of every single phrase and sentence is a joy so I am determined not to let my slight uneasiness get in the way of my enjoyment of Jeeves, Wooster, the Aunts, PSmith and all his other wonderful characters. Rather difficult to remain cross with someone who writes like this:

"He looked haggard and careworn, like a Borgia who has suddenly remembered that he has forgotten to shove cyanide in the consomme, and the dinner gong due any moment"         Carry on Jeeves (1925)

"We stayed at Cannes for about two months, and except for the fact that Aunt Dahlia lost her shirt at baccarat and Angela nearly got inhaled by a shark while aquaplaning, a pleasant time was had by all" Right Ho Jeeves (1934)

"I'm not absolutely certain of my facts, but I rather fancy it's Shakespeare, or if not, it's some equally brainy bird - who says that it's always when a fellow is feeling particularly braced with things in general that Fate sneaks up behind him with the bit of lead piping"                Carry on Jeeves (1925)

See what I mean? 

But I rather wish I had not read this book.....

A Woman of Substance aka Barbara Taylor Bradford

On Friday I had lunch at the Dorchester with Barbara Taylor Bradford.

That is a sentence I am highly unlikely ever to write again on Random so I am going to repeat it:

On Friday I had lunch at the Dorchester with Barbara Taylor Bradford.

I had been contacted by Liz Dawson, Head of PR at Harper Collins (the lovely publishers who hosted a bloggers tea party in the summer at the Oxo Tower, see my post here) who I had met while slurping back chocolate cocktails and eating chocolate and strawberries, and she asked if I would like to meet 'the lovely Barbara Taylor Bradford'.  My response to this was a ladylike Blimey and yes please and who else would be coming as I assumed it was a blogger do and not an exclusive.  And then came an email 'er, actually Elaine it IS an exclusive'.  OK so pick myself up off the floor to ask WHY and was told that Liz 'thought Barbara and I would get on well'.   So having quoted the L'Oreal ad a few times ('You're worth it) I said I would love to and Friday found me on the train up to London.   Not wanting to be late I arrived far too early but no matter, I would have some time to put some slap on and brush my hair before lunch and so it turned out with a smooth and elegant young man escorting me to the Ladies Room when I requested directions. For one moment I thought he was going to come in but he smiled, bowed and left me there...phew

We had arranged to meet at the Promenade which faces you as you walk into the Dorchester. Sumptuous is the word as you can see from the picture and then Liz and Barbara arrived and off we went. 

Now I will freely admit that I was nervous.  When I started off Random Jottings you never think you are going to actually get to know authors and people you write about and, let's face it, Barbara Taylor Bradford is a superstar.  I had read A Woman of Substance and the entire Emma Harte series  and remember the huge impact A Woman of Substance made when it was published back in 1979.  BTB has written some 25+ books, all of them best sellers, has world wide sales of over 85 million in 90 countries and in 40 languages.  Ten of her books have been made into a televeision mini-series and television movies, produced  by her husband Robert Bradford.  These books are full of clever, charismatic, beautiful people who jet around the world in designer labels and visit exotic places, and the author is  known world wide.   I am a blogger from Colchester.  I am not given to false modesty so none of this is to make you leap in with cries of Oh but Elaine you are wonderful (though do feel free to do so if you wish), and I was genuinely apprehensive.

Well, I needn't have worried.   Barbara was charming, friendly and delightful and the lunch got off to a really good start when all three of us found out we were all on the Dukan diet and  shrieks of How much Have you Lost certainly broke the ice and made me feel better.   While Liz had a salad Barbara and I had the Club Sandwich and then spent the next half hour shredding the bread and eating the innards with our fingers. Once you have eaten a lump of chicken and mayo with somebody you cannot be shy.

Barbara had been recording interviews in the morning and had more lined up in the afternoon, earlier in the week I had seen her on the One Show, she had been on Woman's Hour and lots of other promotional activities in between.   It is a matter of record that she is now 78 and, quite frankly, I am in awe of somebody who can carry out this staggeringly long list of appointments which would fell a lesser woman, me included.   But as she pointed out 'I'm a pro.  I write a book and it is published and this is part of what I do. You get out there and you promote it and do what you have to do'.  

It was clear to me throughout out conversation  that Barbara is still driven, is still ambitious, loves to write and has no intention of giving it up just yet, if ever.   In an interview which I saw shortly before our meeting she said that she had ideas popping up in her head all the time, even when writing the current book so I asked her about this and she said, yes this happens.  She has a notebook and she jots things down ideas and situations as they come into her head.  Sometimes a character from an earlier book will re-surface as she has an idea for them in another story.

So where do the ideas come from and what starts them off?  Barbara gave me an example of how she came to write Playing the Game.   She had an idea of a story of a woman with a secret, a secret that she had to hide as it was a dangerous one and could ruin her, she could even end up in prison if it came out.  What was her profession that made this so potentially calamitous and why should the secret now be found out?   Barbara was mulling this over in her library and there were some books on art to hand, so she said she thought that an art setting might be good and that her heroine could be an art dealer and that it would involve fakes and Old Masters and so the idea gradually grew exponentially until she had the plot.

Now, I can dash off a review, I can write a post about cleaning out my kitchen and finding spiders and decorating and fallilng off a ladder, no problemo, but my mind is a desert when it comes to ideas and plots.  No way would I make a novelist and though the thought my occasionally cross my mind that I should have a crack at it, I know I lack the application to do so.   So, to sit and listen to someone who has ideas popping up all he time is quite something.  Of course, the idea is just that - then comes the hard work, the research, the background and the writing.  Each book takes about a year, then it is off to the publishers and then Barbara starts to get out and about, as she was when I met her, to let the world know that there is a new Barbara Taylor Bradford for you to buy and read.

Her latest book is called Letter from a Stranger. What would you do and how would you feel if you received a letter in which you discovered that the beloved grandmother who you thought had been killed many years ago was, in fact, alive?   And how would you feel when you realise that your mother has lied to you about this and betrayed her two children?  

Justine Nolan, an award winning film maker returns to her childhood home and discovers an envelope addressed to her mother who is absent as she so often is.  She opens it and makes the discovery that will shake her world and that of her brother Richard.    The letter comes from Istanbul but has no address so Justine determines to go there and to hunt down her grandmother and to find out what dreadful mystery is behind this lie.

Now, I was enjoying the book but enjoyed it even more when we arrived in Istanbul as I visited this fascinating city with my daughter Kathryn a few years ago.  I always find a knowledge of place adds to the enjoyment of a narrative and each time Justine takes a boat down the Bosporus, I remember the day we sailed down it; when she sees and marvels at the tiles in the Blue Mosque I remember how I loved them too; the description of the Topkapi Palace, the fabrics, the patterns, the pottery and embroidery all added to the richness of the setting and there were times when I could say of the heroine 'Oh I know exactly where you are'.

Well, I am not giving anything away when I tell you that Justine finds her beloved grandmother, but that is not the end of the story, oh no.  The book then takes an unexpected twist which I am not going to tell you about and we learn more of her grandmother's background and begin to realise what her secret was that had brought about the rift. 

I discussed the reasons for this betrayal with Barbara as originally we are told it is about money, but I was pretty sure that would not be enough and she told me that she had realised this when writing it and that it needed something more.  And so she came up with something more.   Easy. Well, to her yes.

As I said, I had been a tad nervous.  This is a lady who through determination and hard work has achieved wealth and fame, who lives in Manhattan in a superb apartment on Park Avenue (I have seen it featured in magazines so I know it is superb), has a fabulous life style and a very happy marriage and yet does not take it for granted and still gets up in the morning to do a full day's work at her beloved typewriter.  Oh, yes not a laptop but a typewriter - she says she sticks with it because it suits her and if 'it isn't broken then don't fix it'

A superstar yes, but charming, friendly and enormous fun and I had a great time and left feeling as if I had met an old friend for lunch as we laughed and gossiped and put the world to rights.   In the afternoon, I nipped off to the cinema to see Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy of which more later, but Barbara was back up to her suite to do more interviews.

A Woman of Substance indeed.

Catch up

Am getting behind with reviews as I have been so busy and my conscience is pricking me so before feet up for evening and Spiral on BBC4, here goes:

The Drowning Pool - Syd Moore

Widowed teacher Sarah Grey is trying to rebuild her life. She and her son Alfie have moved to a coastal town (Leigh on Sea which makes it local for me and adds interest) and she is slowly moving on when, after a drunken night out with friends, they get chatting about local history and legends and ghosts and, unwittingly, create a seance.  Creepy things then start to happen as she is subjected to a scary series of hauntings and Sarah becomes convinced that the ghost is that of her namesake, a Witch shoe headless body was found in a bleak spot known locally as the Drowning Pool.

"At 3.30 am a huge clap of thunder crashed, I awoke once more with a start.....the air was filled with tension.  A purple fork of lightning darted across the sky, the storm was getting closer.  Lightning flashed once more, illuminating the bedroom....the figure of a woman stood by the door. It was her.

Frozen in light, I made out smooth alabaster skin, a bonnet keeping back unruly dark hair, young piercing green eyes, the line of the white dress that disappeared into nothing beyond the knee.

Her outstretched arm pointed at me"

Sarah feels the ghost is trying to tell her something and she starts to research the legend to find out its origins and then discovers that the headmaster at the school where she teaches, is also doing the same and has his own reasons for so doing.   They join forces but then Sarah begins to wonder why Andrew is so interested....

Snappy, pacy, good clean narrative and humorous exchanges married up with a good story line and lots of spookiness.  An excellent debut novel and a second one already on its way. I look forward to it.

Publication date 29 September - Amazon details here.

Ok one down, six to go......