Random Jottings

The Third Woman - Jonathan Freedland

Jonathan Freedland has been the Guardian correspondent in Washington and a reporter for the Washington Post and for BBC news. Seems this is his first book under his own name having written several bestsellers under the name, Sam Bourne. Always puzzles me when writers suddenly decide drop an alias. If it was not important why do it in the first place?

Never mind, he has written a terrific book which I found a slow burner but persisted with. Lots of characters to introduce and scenes to set and it is important to take your time and get all this in your consciousness in order to then enjoy the cracking story.

The Third Woman is written from the perspective of a journalist, Madison Webb, and you soon forget this is a male writer as he is totally at ease with the female persona he has taken on as author. I suppose being a journalist makes it easy.  Madison is a reporter obsessed with exposing lies and corruption and leads a busy, somewhat narrow focused life when she is shocked out of it by the murder of her own sister, Abigail. She is found dead of an overdose of heroin and, at first, the police decide it was an accident but when Madison discovers at least two other women have died in the same way, she is determined to prove there is a serial killer on the loose.

OK no more. Just to say that there is a conspiracy behind all this, a mayoral election is taking place with all the wheeling and dealing involved, Madison is followed, bugs placed in her home, a friend is knocked down in a hit and run and all sorts of dark shadowy figures are at work. I can already seen the film in my mind's eye.

An excellent read and tightly written and plotted. I loved it.

And, naturally, I am now off to read the books by one Sam Bourne....

Modesty Blaise - Fifty Years On

"Before Buffy, before Charlie's Angels, before Purdy and Emma Peel there was Modesty Blaise".

It is now fifty, yes fifty years since the first Modesty Blaise book was published which is a lowering thought as I remember them when Peter O'Donnell was first published.

I read these as a teenager and, at the time, these were regarded as pretty daring with a heroine who slept quite freely with her current lover, who was skilled in marshal arts, could climb a mountain, pothole, deep sea dive and all this looking immaculate. She had made her money running the Organisation, a syndicate with Robin Hood tendencies (cannot have a heroine being a real villain now could we?) with her partner Wilie Garvin, and had retired on the proceeds. She now lived in a penthouse apartment in London furnished with the finest antiques, where she fenced to keep her figure in trim and, just as a hobby you understand, installed  a workshop where she cut and faceted priceless jewelry.  Modesty spoke several languages, wore designer clothes, attended the opera and was, in short, a paragon.  I always found her extremely annoying.  However, these books portrayed a strong, independent woman who took no prisoners and at this time, despite the fact that women were burning their bras and we were in the Swinging Sixties, characters like this were pretty thin on the ground so, for that reason alone, they were worth reading.

There was also a Modesty Blaise comic strip which appeared in the daily papers and an ill fated film was produced with Terence Stamp, then at the height of his Cockney Chic persona, well cast as Willie.  However, the entire project foundered on the casting of an Italian actress Monica Vitti, in the title role.  To say she was pretty dire is an understatement and the film sank without trace. However, I gather it has now gained iconic status and is to be cherished if you find it.

 

When I worked for Camden libraries so long ago I hesitate to even contemplate it, I had the delight of the pick of the new books as they arrived and  I always looked out for the O'Donnell books another favourite author, Madeleine Brent, whose adventure stories were spiced with a dash of romance and always in an exotic setting.  The heroines in all of these books is feisty and determined and brave and resourceful under pressure.   She usually faces disaster bravely and has to deal with pretty horrid situations, be it kidnapped and kept as a slave in the wilderness of the Hindu Kush; running away from an unhappy home and joining a circus as a trapeze artist; discovering that your father who has just died in an accident was an international and highly successful thief and that somebody thinks you know where his hidden cache is and tries to force you to tell them, or being married off as a young and naive bride and discovering you are married to a brutal husband and you run away to sea to escape after his murder.

Phew....

Madeleine Brent was shortlisted twice for the Romantic Novelist's Association of the Year award and actually won in 1978.   The novels were published in eleven countries and were best sellers.

Now I do not wish to claim hindsight or that I am perceptive or clever or eagle eyed or any of these things, but it is the plain truth that way back then I remember thinking how many qualities both Modesty Blaise and Brent's heroines shared.   Perhaps this is why I enjoyed both of them so much.

Years passed and it was not until the 1990's that I discovered by sheer chance that Madeleine Brent and Peter O'Donnell were one and the same person and suddenly it all became crystal clear. THAT was why I had spotted the similarity between these spunky heroines. And then Modesty Blaise and Madeleine Brent - same initials.  Missed that totally.

Doh...

If you have not discovered Modesty, either because she passed you by or, let's face it, because you were too young, then do get hold of these and help celebrate her half century.

Happy Birthday Modesty.

Random at Queen's Tennis

Well, it was wonderful. Simply wonderful. I had forgotten just how great it is to see 'live' tennis, to hear the thwack of the racquet hitting the ball, how graceful it can be, how ferocious, how fast. I had also forgotten what fun it is to be sitting with spectators oohing and aahing and then the spontaneous cry of YAY and clapping when a particularly stunning shot is played.

Queen's is an odd club in that it is slap bang in the middle of a residential area just a couple of hundred yards away from Barons Court tube station.  Incredibly well organised, stewards on duty the moment you emerged from the Tube, shepherding you up the road (Members go on the right hand side, the hoi polloi go on the left....), all helpful, charming and polite. Inside all impeccably laid out and arranged with smiling stewards everywhere.  Decided visit to Ladies vital before going on court and as I closed the door behind me and turned round was met with a photograph of Feliciano Lopz on the wall looking down at me. Slightly off putting. Could have been worse, could have been Nadal....or Federer.

First up was Dimitrov, last year's champion. Now I know he is supposed to be a sex god and all that and the pinup of the ball girls but really, he is frightfully weedy. And I was keen to check his legs out as they always look incredibly skinny to me on the telly. They are. And he has knobbly knees. And I hate to say this, but he looks a bit bandy to me. So that has killed him off in the Gorgeous stakes as far as I am concerned. He also played pitifully and slumped out of the tournament.

So on comes Andy and a huge roar of support and great to see him play live. All went well, leading against Verdasco until he then lost his serve and he started chuntering, Andy that is not Verdasco and I could hear a few four letter words floating on the air. I reckon Verdasco gifted Andy at least two games with double faults and netting easy volleys but glad to see AM get through.   One thing I have noticed about the Spaniard over the years is his hair. It is luxuriant and gorgeous and It. Never. Moves.   I watched carefully to check that I was not imagining things and I wasn't.

Next up Feliciano Lopez.. Judy Murray calls him Deliciano and I am in total agreement with her there. Really gorgeous, pert bum, lovely legs, handsome, bronzed.....oh dear it is ALL too Much to Bear.

This visit was a belated birthday present to me by Grandma No. 2 and we were in the front row of the South Stand and had an incredible view and I simply cannot put into words what a simply smashing day we had. Sitting next to Felicity was a real gent, such fun, who had been a tennis umpire and was full of tales and chat and was so interesting. The entire day was magical and we have already decided to see if we can go again next year.

Just watched the final today and Andy won with such authority that I am looking forward to Wimbledon to see how he gets on. I am also going into my usual purdah for two weeks. I will be stocking up the fridge and freezer, getting in the strawberries and cream, answerphone on, curtains drawn and off we go.

Can't wait.

Random Pimms

I am driving up to London, again, my bum is getting quite flattened with the amount I am in the car at mo, and will be channelling my inner Pippa Middleton and attending the tennis at Queens. I have never been there, seen it often enough on TV, and am really excited about it. This is a very generous belated birthday present and so looking a bit less scruffy than I normally do and a bit of slap on would be a good idea.

I had decided on an outfit in fetching grey and white but when I got the blouse out of my wardrobe this morning was horrified to see it was quite grubby and had sploshes of wine all over it. Oh the shame to put something away in that state. I remembered that the last time I wore it was at Helen's book launch so that explains the wine but why it was never hurled in the wash, I know not.

So a quick rummage through rest of inadequate wardrobe (I don't really do posh outings any more) and I shall be wearing my trusty navy blue trousers and red and white blouse.

Only problem with watching tennis 'live' as opposed to my living room is that I shall have to be very careful not to leap to my feet shouting YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES or cursing profusely which is my normal watching mode. I must remember where I am and clap languidly and gently call Oh Good Shot now and then.

I am sure to fail in this intention.

Au reservoir.

Holiday crimfest

When I was young and pretentious I used to sometimes walk around with a book prominently displayed to show my erudition and when I went on holiday would take some great tome with me thinking this would be the ideal time to read War and Peace or Proust or something that would mark me out as a member of the intelligentsia.

Those days are long past and it always amuses me to read sections in the newspapers on what the glitterati are taking to read with them while they jet off to Mauritius or the Seychelles or go pony trekking in the Andes etc etc. We all know full well that when you get away and are lolling on a beach and drinking a Campari and Soda and nodding off that you simply cannot be arsed with Rushdie or Amis and are more likely to turn to Rankin or Agatha and to hell with the little grey cells.

So over the last two weeks I have been reading crime novels and have abandoned all ideas of reading anything that requires careful analysis or criticism and I have had a great time.

This year I am rereading a lot of Agatha Christie and came across a pile of tattered paperbacks by this author, going dead cheap, in a second hand bookshop in Robin Hoods Bay. Read my way through them all and thought I would give you my thoughts on them.

Crooked House - this is one of Agatha's stand alone books, no Miss Marple or Tommy or Tuppence or Poirot in sight. The Leonides family all live together in the Crooked House of the title. The patriarch of the family dies and it is discovered that he has been poisoned. The sons and daughters in law are all hoping that it is his second wife, a vapid blonde years younger than him who they think is having an affair with the tutor working in the house, and in due course evidence is found against her and she is arrested.  Josephine, a clever twelve year old and granddaughter of the house, is nosy and knowing and is keeping information to herself regarding the murderer. An attempt is made on her life and then another murder. The twist at the end is terrific. This is one of my favourite by Dame Agatha and in a foreword to the book she says the same.  I can really recommend this as one of her very best.

Two days later: I am back to try and finish this post. When cutting onions the other night I managed to dig the knife into a finger and take a chunk out of it. Blood everywhere, looked worse than it was but rather diffy to type when middle finger is swathed in bandage etc. So trying again.

Two more Christie and both Poirot.

Cards on the Table. A dinner party where the host, the rather oddly named Mr Shaitana, invites four guests who he says have got away with murder, literally, and four crime experts, Poirot, Mrs Oliver, a police superintendent and Colonel Race, one of these characters who pops up at frequent intervals in Christie. Intriguing idea and while the host sits out and watches his guests playing bridge he falls asleep in his chair. But of course he is not asleep but has been killed with a sharp little dagger from one of his display tables. Now with a limited amount of suspects one might think that the book would not be as interesting as others by Dame A but not so. Just when you think you have the answer, Dame A twists it round again. I remember watching this on TV and being hugely annoyed by the insertion of a lesbian relationship (totally unwarranted and added nothing to the story), but even worse the identity of the murderer was totally changed. I was livid.

Cat among the Pigeons. One of the later Christies and though there was a falling off in her later books this is not one of them. Set in a very posh girls boarding school, very British and very upper crust and then one night the games mistress is shot (I have read several murders set in schools and the poor games mistress seems to be the one destined for death in quite a few of them. I wonder why?).   Then another mistress is coshed over the head and another also done to death. One of the pupils at the school is a princess from a vaguely eastern country which has just had a take over and a hint that the crown jewels have been spirited out pre-revolution, a spy, a glamorous exotic dancer who is in pursuit of the jewels and another classic piece of misdirection. You think you know who did all the murders but when this person is revealed, they have an alibi for one of them so who did that one?   One of her best.

OK I have to stop as I am now bleeding all over my keyboard again. Yuk. But in closing I also read three Anne Cleeves (one Vera Stanhope and two set in the Shetlands) which I enjoyed and caught up on several Inspector Banks. And before I went away I read to simply wonderful books by Alan Melville published by the British Library which were terrific and I shall write about them in more detail.

Right off to get the Elastoplast.

'sigh'....

Home from Yorkshire

I am off to London tomorrow to see my darling girls so will be glad when I finally have time to sit down and review a few books, but that will probably not be until the weekend now. I thought I would bring you up to date re the Yorkshire trip before I hit the duvet tonight.

On Friday we left our little cottage in Robin Hood's Bay and we have already decided to come back again as it is such a gorgeous place.

We were planning on staying in York for a couple of nights and I had worked out a route which would take us across the moors so off we went and the countryside was so lush and green and beautiful. Road I took was clear most of the way and all went well until we hit York and the city and the inner ring road. Hopelessly lost I popped into a Kwik Fit showroom and asked for help. There then ensued the kind of conversation which makes you want to scream

First fitter: Oh she wants to go down Gillygate and past the hospital

Second fitter: not she doesn't, she needs to go down the A19, turn right and then left

Third fitter: no you are wrong she needs to drive back to Scarborough, circle Leeds and then come back on the A64...OK I made that last bit up but you get the drift

So off we went again and got lost again. Quelle surprise. Ended up pulling in to the York General Hospital and entered the reception area for the department for Nervous Diseases which I thought was singularly appropriate as I was beginning to feel a tad stressed. Not helped by the fact that the mortuary was next door....

Lovely people, minute and expert instructions (from a woman naturallement) and in ten minutes found ourselves at our destination a Bed and B I had booked through a website. Pulled in to the kerb where a group of people were discussing an abandoned motorbike which had fallen against a Merc and causing damage to the number plate. Not a good start I felt. So rang the door bell of our destination, noting the dying flowers in the hanging baskets and the unkempt exterior, the door was opened by a seedy Jeremy Clarkson look alike who wanted to know what I wanted. When I pointed out to him that I had booked a room he gave me a card to fill in, asked for a fiver deposit for the car parking permit, told me we were in Room 9, thrust a key into my hand and then vanished into the back of the house.

After staggering up two flights of stairs, with no help at all from Mine Host, we came to door of Room No 9. I opened it and find another fight of stairs leading to a room which was obviously the attic. By the time we had staggered up these my friend, who has a bad leg, was looking exhausted and I was feeling pretty tight chested (it was hay fever time) and breathing with difficulty. It was a hot day and the room was like an oven. Five seconds was enough to know there was no way we could stay. So I went back downstairs and searched for Mr Charm who I found sitting in the KITCHEN where the food is prepared, with a fag stuck in his mouth and dripping ash everywhere. There are notices all over the house and on the website that this is a Non Smoking House. I told him that there was no way we could stay as the room was impossible to sleep in and the stairs were too difficult to negotiate. I found myself slipping into Lady of the Manor mode and he made no argument, refunded my five pound and when I spoke to him about the cancellation fee, which he could have enforced, he looked at me, read my mind and told me that 'under the circumstances he would waive it'. So ten minutes after we arrived, we were back in the car and decided to head for home.

The place was dirty and disgusting and I have reported him to the booking site. When I got home I read the reviews on Trip Advisor and was delighted to find that somebody else thought the owner looked like a poor version of Clarkson, nearly everyone said the place was disgusting and all of them said what a miserable sod the owner was. I should have read these before booking...

So off we set and after a traffic hold up on the A64, an accident hold up and delays and road works on the A1, we arrived back in Colchester at 8pm.  I had driven for six hours and the two in the morning meant I was on the road for longer than I would have wished. Spent most of the weekend in a coma.

I have been watching England v New Zealand cricket in the first one day international in a series of five and England played with flair, elan and enjoyment. And they won. I now need another reason to have an early night tonight, I need to get over the shock.

I will be back and writing at the weekend. Have had a crime fest the last ten days and really enjoyed my reading, including two wonderful reprints from the British Library.

Au reservoir.

Riveaulx

Must be over forty years since I visited this place, rather a scary thought, and I had forgotten how beautiful it was and the walk through the wood to the terraces green and lovely.  According to my map etc getting to Helmsley, where the abbey is situated, should be an hour's drive. And so it would be except for the fact we ended up in a queue of cars stuck behind an old Nissan which was driving along at no more than 30 mph and sometimes 25 mph. Every time an oncoming vehicle approached, no matter how big or small, this driver braked and slowed down causing mayhem behind.   The road was narrow and when we finally got to a stretch when we could see ahead, everyone roared past him. As I overtook I glanced sideways and saw the Ancient of Days and wife were in the car, eyes glued to the road and hands clutching the wheel.  I felt they would be safer off the road.  

So the journey took an extra forty minutes because of this but worth it when we got there.  Here are some pics:

 
And coming back the journey took one hour....

Off to York tomorrow.

 

Whitby Abbey

So cold and windy, hard to believe it is June. We visited Whitby yesterday and had a great fish and chip lunch but decided to come back today to visit the Abbey as getting up to it from the town entails climbing 199 steps and neither of us felt we would make it.

Of course Whitby Abbey is linked with Dracula as he landed here on his vampire activities and there is a lot of tat in the town and skulls and bats abound but the abbey itself is magnificent and broods over the town and can be seen from miles away. On a dark night with scudding clouds and a moon not sure I would like to be wandering around the ruins.