This & that from Irene Black

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2011-12-27T09:18:00.000-08:00

Hi folks - for ease of negotiation all my blogs from now on will be on MY WEBSITE BLOG

NOONTIDE OWLS QUIZ

2011-10-17T06:46:00.000-07:00

Try my Noontide Owls quiz. Just match 12 of the illustrations from the book to the 12 extracts below!

1. He unrolled the parchment and after an instant’s scarcely perceptible hesitation, he passed it to Selme, who took it with trembling hands, sensing the honour that was being bestowed upon her by the simple gesture of being allowed to handle the precious document.She passed her hand over the smooth, but somehow delicate, material. It was thin like cloth and yet stiff like leather.

Aban smiled. ‘Paper. We make it from rags and water.'

‘Can you wear it?’

‘Oh no. It would tear in no time and fall to pieces in the rain. We use it to write on. Look. That is writing.’

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2. In unison, they stood to welcome the sunrise. As the first rays cast a golden halo around distant hills, they began to play. Undiminished by the rough, grey robes that covered them, Arolan and Elin stood tall and radiant against the milk-white morning sky. Watched only by a black owl perched on a pile of rocks, their trumpets rang out a song of freedom and the passing of the Dark Age. The sun burst forth to warm the freezing land.

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3. ‘Did I dream it?’ Maara turned from the window as she addressed her uncle. But he slept on, unaware that she had returned. Unaware, probably, that she had even been away.

Then she decided to do what she always did, when she felt alone and confused.

She slipped back out of the cottage and made her way to the quay. There she wandered along the deserted jetties to a small sailboat hidden amongst the Mariners’ fishing boats, away from the eyes of the Conquerors. Her uncle had made it for her when times were less harsh and there was wood to spare.

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4. By the first evening of freedom the fleet was ready to sail. Heeding the words of Elin, they loaded only the small nets, discarding the larger ones, to allow the stocks to replenish.

Sing your ancestral chants so that the Sea Spirit will know that you are free, Elin had told them, and their hearts had been lifted by his words. Now men and women gathered on the shore, and stood with heads bowed, lapis eyes closed and hair luminous in the cold evening light, like threads of silver gossamer. The words of their sacred incantations had been lost in the annals of time, but they could still pray. Together they prayed that Vasa, the Spirit of the Sea, grant them full nets and a safe return.

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5. ‘Bring the Wise One to me.’

Curkas glanced around. ‘But where is she?’ For the first time, he noticed that of the forty who had set out with him from the Silent Sea only thirty-nine stood before him on the sand. The Wise One was not among them.

Panic seized him. ‘She is missing,’ he cried. ‘She is still in the sand. Dig! Dig! We must rescue the Wise One.’

Melan laid a hand on Curkas’s shoulder. ‘There is nothing left to dig, my friend. Besides, the Wise One is not missing.’ He looked up to the sky where the wood-owl hovered, trembling and shimmering in the sunlight.

‘You mean…?’ Curkas followed Melan’s gaze.

The bird gave another cackle, so loud that it echoed around the heavens. Then she swooped down low over the cowering watchers and with a flick of her wings she was gone.

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6. ‘Psst!’ Maara saw Aome jolt with astonishment and wheel around, looking for the source of the sound.

‘Psst! Aome! In here!’ Cautiously, and with a look of absolute terror on her face, Aome peered into the cannon.

‘It’s me, Maara. Pretend I’m not here. But I need to talk to you.’

Aome slowly straightened up and leant her back against the cannon with as nonchalant an air as she could muster. ‘Maara, child!’ she said. ‘Go home. This is no place for you to be.’

‘I’ve been cooped up in this thing all afternoon. But I have to find out what’s going on.’

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7. The chasm was a place of even greater terror, the realm of Gorgola, Vasa’s eldest daughter. Kera had told Elin in hushed tones that in ancient times, even Mariners were forbidden to sail into Weeping Wound Chasm. She spoke of a hundred Mariner boats smashed to smithereens, and a thousand lives sucked down to the Kingdom of Mile Deep, there to be married to Gorgola to satisfy her endless lust for mortal souls. Those who displeased her, Kera said, Gorgola turned into barnacles, where they clung screaming to the rocks that lined Weeping Wound Chasm, until at length they were pounded into nothing by the angry sea.

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8. ‘I reached the forest edge and plunged in among the trees before I had a chance to change my mind. Immediately darkness overwhelmed me. I bumped against the prickly tree-trunks as I tried to feel my way along. Gradually my eyes became accustomed to the darkness and I began to make out tall shadows of trees standing shoulder to shoulder like a frozen wooden army waiting for the order to attack. Sentinels for Blor I thought, and shuddered.

‘There was scarcely room to squeeze myself between them. The forest was silent, save for my feet snapping the fallen twigs and cones. Each time a twig broke, the echo seemed to reverberate a hundred times around me, carrying a message to Blor, so that it was certain that the monster was able to follow my progress with ease. I knew he lay waiting in the depths for the moment to pounce.

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9. As he stood watching he thought he saw a movement above him on the cliff face. Impossible, he decided. But he kept looking. Yes, something was up there. And getting bigger, descending the vertical drop by means of invisible footholds. At first Elin focused on the two grey, sturdy legs that brought it miraculously and effortlessly closer. So smooth was its descent that it almost looked as it were being lowered on a rope. Then all at once the whole creature. Could it be? He could hardly believe what he was seeing. A huge grey bird with a long beak, glittering turquoise eyes, purple-grey wings and a strong, wide tail. So that was it. The mystery of the skull was solved.

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10. As she neared the bush, she could see that these rosehips were enormous - much larger than the blossoms seemed to justify. They too were blue, but a translucent aquamarine that seemed to shine and sparkle as she approached.

She reached out her hand to pick one. It was difficult to prise it from the branch, but she finally succeeded. It fitted neatly into the palm of her hand. She found that it was much heavier than its size warranted, indeed she felt that one was all she could carry down the hill and back to the encampment.

Somehow, she sensed that this was a special prize she had wrested from the forest, and returned to the camp half running, half walking, half hoping, half praying, but somehow confident.

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11. From somewhere ahead came moaning. Aome stepped towards it, holding out the candle. Another moan. Then she made out eyes, staring at her from a skeletal face. Next to it, another figure. And a third - three bodies slumped against the rock wall. There was little to distinguish one from another, except that the first was bigger than the other two.

She moved closer, the two men following behind. Gingerly, she crouched down, her face inches away from the biggest of the three spectres. No sound came from it. It did not appear to be breathing. When she held up her candle to the eyes, they did not blink, but, although dulled they were not without colour.

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12. The forest was dark and silent. She shivered, and drew closer to Featherbrow. She stroked the bird’s neck. ‘We have to get to Elin. If only I knew which direction to take.’

The cormora cocked her head, as if she had understood. Then she raised her beak and gave a loud screech.

‘You know the way, don’t you?’ Maara said, her heart beating a little faster.

As if in answer, the cormora lowered her ladder-wing: a clear invitation for Maara to clamber up once more onto her downy back.

With Maara safely aboard Featherbrow began to stride towards the rays of the morning sun glinting through the trees, the chicks hurrying after her

ALL PART OF A DAY'S WORK

2011-09-26T07:23:00.000-07:00

Since I updated my website, I seem to have been neglecting this blog, though my website blog generally only deals with bookish issues.

So - a quick update on what’s been happening, while I wait for the Surrey Times photographer, who’s coming to take a mug-shot of me to go with an article they’re doing on my NoontideOwls promotion day at Waterstones in Guildford on 13^th November.

As usual it’s been a Eurosummer, with visits from the continent at regular intervals. The beginning of September brought Dutch friends. We managed to cram a lot into three days. The Wisley Sculpture Trail is right up their street as they are both avid gardeners and he is a very interesting sculptor in his own right, working with a variety of materials, including wood and bronze. Here’s a small example of his work he brought me on a previous visit.

I enjoyed the sculpture at Wisley – as usual Surrey Sculptors have a high standard. I would love to see these two in my garden, but at £6000 and £3800 each, I’m afraid it will have to remain wishful thinking.

There were other interesting pieces too, some of them very tactile and evocative.

We also paid a visit to Watts Gallery – my first since its expensive makeover thanks to lottery funding. It looks fabulous, though I do have a couple of gripes. Firstly the loos really do not live up to the rest of the updating. The signs to them are lousy and the facilities are minimal. Secondly the pots made or designed by Mary Watts have been scattered throughout the gallery so that they no longer have a single focused space like they used to. This was disappointing.

The new Guildford Institute term has begun and I’m running three weekly sessions on ‘Aspects of India’. Last week I did ‘animals’ domesticated and wild, relating them, where possible, to Indian art and legend.

This Thursday will be ‘Fortresses and Palaces ‘and next week I will do a presentation on ‘Everyday Life in India’. I had a ‘trial run’ of this at Maidenhead Synagogue last week, in front of an, according to their organiser, unusually large audience. I was asked to talk for an hour including questions, but when I stopped after the allotted time, they twice asked me to carry on. So I think I can count that as a resounding success. They bought a number of my books too, the icing on the cake. Here's one of the slides I showed them - a wedding in Udaipur, Rajasthan.

Pause for Surrey Times…

Well, that was fun! Graham from the Surrey times arrived and took at least 20 photos of me: in my study, in the living room, with Noontide Owls held up, pretending to read Noontide Owls, behind Anjali’s flowers, in front of the computer, grinning, serious, looking at him, looking at book, straight on, profile etc etc. Wonder what they’ll end up using… Knowing my luck they’ll probably use one that makes my neck look like a tortoise, or with one eye closed or a synchronised swimmer grin on my face.

Or they’ll scrap the whole article in favour of the traffic jam on the A3 that apparently stretches from the M25 exit right through Guildford. Traffic jams are so much more exciting than books…

Which brings me to the NAWG (National Association of Writers’ Groups) conference in Nottingham, Jennifer and I attended at the beginning of the month. I felt my attendance was long overdue as I’d won their Short Story competition in 2003 and declined the invitation to attend the ceremony at the time – Durham was rather a long way to go, and I only knew I’d been short-listed.

Jennifer had opted to attend some sessions but I decided to stay with our book stall. I made some interesting and useful contacts and did a bit of buying myself, including a CD by NAWG’s LINK magazine editor Steve Bowkett, who is a hypnotherapist as well as a writer. I hoped his ‘Deep Relaxation’ techniques might have the desired effect. In fact I was listening to the CD earlier this morning, so was pleasantly floaty by the time Graham arrived (though he probably thought I was drunk).

Last but certainly not least, was the launch of NoontideOwls followed by its publication on 19^th September. The launch went well, and the weather behaved reasonably so that people could sit out. I’ve posted some pictures on my website blog so will only bore you with one because I think it’s a nice picture of me for a change (a bit beaky but thats me).

Guildfordians –please do watch out for the Guildford Times as the article should (traffic jams permitting) appear in the next week or two.

ON THE WILD SIDE

2011-08-19T05:05:00.000-07:00

It’s all too easy to get so carried away with the exoticism of foreign parts that you forget that England can compete with the best of them and come out tops. When the weather smiles on us.

I’ve just had a 4 night break with two German friends at a B&B near Okehampton on the edge of Dartmoor. We stayed at an Little Widefield Farm, which has only 3 guest rooms, beautifully fitted out with all mod cons and a view to die for. Breakfast included home-made bread, home-made jams and eggs from their own chickens. There was a cosy lounge-cum-breakfast room, and the owners, Danielle and Chris, couldn’t have been more helpful. If you ever feel like getting away from it all, I can’t think of a better place.

But warning – you’ll need a Sat Nav. We got lost even WITH one because we couldn’t believe it really meant the roads it was sending us down. What – this way? But this is a farm track with grass growing down the middle. Surely not? We thought Madam in the TomTom was having a laugh. But, oh no, there were many miles of farm-track lookalikes in this part of the world, several instances of tricky reversing when something came the other way. All part of the fun!

My Continental Companions had taken out a year's membership of the National Trust so they were determined to fit in a year's worth of visits during the 2 weeks they were in England. So we 'did' Castle Drogo, which was built by the architect Edwin Lutyens in the early 20th Century. Lutyens designed a lot of houses in Surrey, especially around Godalming and worked with the garden designer Gertrude Jekyll. He also designed huge swathes of New Delhi so there was a real link - Surrey-India-Devon. The castle was quite formidable really.

Drogo is the Latin for the name of the owner - Drew - apparently, and this chap Drew (who changed the spelling to Drewe so that he could pretend he’d descended from posh people) had made a fortune with the first discount stores in England (Home and Colonial Stores). Talk about an enormous ego! Fancy building yourself a castle!

An odd thing about Castler Drogo was that the bath was almost exactly the same as the ones Jennifer and I had in our en suite bathrooms at the Lalitha Mahal Palace in Mysore last year. Did Lutyens (who designed most of Drogo's fitiings and fixtures as well as the building) get as far as South India?

Castle Drogo Bath

Lalitha Mahal Bath

We also visited Finch Foundry - a working 19th century foundry run by water wheels and we all dressed up in 19th century hats –

The following day we went to Clovelly, which must be the only village in England that you have to PAY to get into. I'd been before and I did warn them it was touristy. Nevertheless it's undeniably pretty even if it entails a knee-jolting climb on fiendish cobbles down to the harbour.

At the bottom you can elect to be driven back up in a 4x4, but we were made of stronger stuff, ha! Especially after the cream tea at the harbour hotel.

Mind you, if I'd suspected that I'd be taken on a three-mile hike along a coastal path once we’d crawled back up to the top, I might have opted for the 4x4...

The coastal path was far too tree-covered for much of a view till we got to the end, but we did encounter a strange bird.

And not content with that coastal walk we then jumped back into the car and headed off to Hartland Point for yet another heart-stopping coastal trudge – this time with plenty of views; vertically down into the sea – to look from on high at the Trinity Lighthouse, balanced precariously on rocks at the foot of the cliffs.

On the third day my Irrepressible Internationals decided we needed to use up some more of their National Trust membership and dragged me off on another three mile hike - this time around Lydford Gorge - extremely picturesque but NOBODY had told us that at least a mile of it was on slippery slate with a drop into the gorge on one side. And most of it was like scaling Everest - up and down at impossible angles. The website includes this ominous Note: strenuous walking, rugged terrain, vertical drops. Unsuitable for visitors with heart complaints or walking difficulties.

No – really? You don’t say!

The 30m waterfall was worth the trek, but the male half of the Feisty Foreigners and I elected not to do the helter-skelter scramble down to the Devils Cauldron - a sort of semi-underground hellhole with the 'path' twisting above it - as there was no fence between the path and oblivion.

His Good Lady scoffed at us and headed off into the Cauldron. He tried telling her she'd lost her marbles but she ignored him, at which he marched off in the other direction muttering that if she was determined to get herself killed that was her problem. Oh, the joys of married life.

She eventually resurfaced triumphantly, bearing photos of what we'd missed (not that I had any regrets!)

Not content with having subjected me to a morning's Extreme Sport, they then decided that we had to do another - yes you guessed it - three-mile hike in the afternoon, this time to Wistman's Wood, a prehistoric oak forest in the middle of Dartmoor, the floor of which was covered with massive, slippery, moss-covered boulders. Oh joy! And once we'd somehow got into it, we had to get back out again. Thankfully the whole walk was amid such glorious scenery that the soaring spirit compensated somewhat for the battered body.

I’ve just checked out Wistman’s Wood on the web. Came up with this:

Legend has it that Wistman's Wood was a sacred grove of the Druids and it was here that they held their pagan rituals.. The wood is also said to be the kennels where the diabolical 'Wisht Hounds' are kept. These are a pack of fearful hell hounds who hunt across the moors at night in search of lost souls and unwary travellers. It is said that they are huge black dogs with blood red eyes, huge yellow fangs and an insatiable hunger for human flesh and souls.

I’m glad I hadn’t read that in advance. It was almost night by the time we made our way back across Dartmoor to the car…

On Dartmoor we encountered darling little Dartmoor ponies with endearing habits like scratching their itchy bottoms on the parked cars of unsuspecting owners who'd gone off hiking on the moor.

Yours Truly communing with a cute pony.

The owners of our B&B also had ponies - well actually two horses and a diminutive Shetland with attitude.

On the last day we drove slowly back to Guildford via Widecombe on the Moor

and Salcombe on the South Devon coast - a pretty fishing port, packed with tourists. I had the best bowl of tomato soup I’ve had for years at the Ferry Inn down by the harbour.

I did a dinner party for seven before my Germanic Guests left. It was a good evening and my chicken au Jamie Oliver was a huge success, as was my apple and blackberry pie, not to mention the rum and raisin icecream (not mine - Sainsburys supermarket).

Now its back to the drudgery of routine - watering my tomatoes, of which I have oodles, and my beans - slightly fewer oodles but still quite a pleasing harvest.

And there’s lots of work to be prepared too. There is a Goldenford Book Event on 28^th, and I have several courses (Indian Art and Writers’ Workshop) to prepare for the autumn term. One of my Indian Art courses is at the Guildford Institute (scroll down to the bottom of this link).

My Writers’ Workshop members have produced a booklet of their prose and poetry, which one of the members has put together and enriched with illustrations, clip art etc. it looks great and at only £1 per copy will be a real treat.

Noontide Owls will be published on 19^th September and launched on 17^th September, so I have the launch to plan as well. The book is up on Amazon already and can be ordered from them in advance. It is already available from Goldenford.

Joe is redesigning my website, as I haven’t been able to access my old one since I changed computers, so it’s provided an incentive to upgrade to something more snazzy. And about time too. Once it’s up and running all my books will be available directly from my site.

And at the beginning of September Jennifer and YT are going to the NAWG Writers’ Conference in Nottingham. When I get back I have two days to before the next Transmanche Travellers arrive. And a wedding to fit in to boot. No time to get bored!

NOTE: Don’t believe that exercise helps you lose weight. Especially not when counterbalanced by cream teas and rum and raisin ice cream. I still can’t fasten my jeans!!!

SWEET AND LOW

2011-07-17T08:50:00.000-07:00

We’re driving along the 'snelweg' in north Holland, skirting the Noordhollandsch Kanaal. I look out at flat farming lands, old thatched windmills dwarfed by rows of soaring white wind turbines and curious farm houses, their red-tiled lower roofs topped by patterned thatch, like old peasant women in straw hats. Moored to the canal, boats and barges from long ago speak of a more leisurely era, evoking nostalgia for a time beyond the memory of most of us. The impression is false, of course. No era is leisurely. Hard graft born of the drive to exist and to prosper defines every era in history.

I begin to ponder on the Dutch. Goodness knows, the UK is small enough, but the population of Holland is a quarter of ours. And the country would fit into a corner of England (33,800 km2 as opposed to England’s 130,427 km2).

If we were to make list of a country's defining features, the Dutch have a surfeit. Think about it. Windmills, tulips, clogs, canals, dykes, cheese… artists. Try defining Belgium in this way. Err…chocolate?

Holland’s identity truly outweighs its size. Its history is larger-than-life too, particularly during the 17th century when it dominated world trade, largely through the East India Company, as well as producing a plethora of scientific invention and artists that stand today as among the western world’s finest, including the towering figures of Rembrandt and Vermeer. And then skip a couple of centuries and you have, of course, Van Gogh.

The more often I go to Holland the more I’m warming to it. And the more I find it an enigma. It’s not like Britain. Take the houses for example. I’m staying with Dutch friends in their 1930s town house just outside the centre of Delft. The ground area is relatively small, but the house goes up steeply. So steeply, in fact, that the stairs are practically vertical. They twist around a central axis and only have a banister on one side. Not for the faint-hearted.

Many Dutch people rent a piece of land outside the town. I suppose the nearest comparison to this is an allotment, but it’s much more similar to the German Schrebergarten. It’s more than a vegetable plot. It’s divided up into lawns, flower beds, masses of vegetables, of course, and a greenhouse. Above all there’s a wooden summerhouse, complete with tiny kitchen and a living area with tables, chairs and a sofa. Dutch townies spend their weekends in simple pursuits inviting friends to share meals and companionship in their summerhouse.

That is, when they’re not cycling. Yes, the Dutch cycle a lot. It’s obvious why, really. Firstly it’s so flat that a mole hill is tantamount to an erupting volcano. Secondly, the whole country abounds with dedicated cycle tracks. If I lived in Holland even I might be inspired to dig my old bike out of the garage and start getting some exercise. And the Dutch are a sociable lot with a close sense of community. They DO things together. A group of ladies go on a cycle ride. Another day they plan an excursion – each month to a different town. Or they spend a day learning how to make candles. Their pleasures are simple, their social bonds are strong. We have sacrificed a lot for the sake of so-called sophisticated living.

Amsterdam. Haven’t quite made my mind up about this city. Oh yes, the Rijksmuseum is magnificent and the Van Gogh Museum houses practically every iconic painting of the master that you could wish for (except Van Gogh’s chair – that’s in the UK National Gallery!) But apart from the museums I find A’dam big and brash. The canals don’t have the quaintness of Delft.

And the canal banks are lined with parked cars. Though admittedly, that goes for Delft too. Though you can find quiet corners in Delft where cars cannot penetrate. No doubt the same is true of A’dam but I have yet to find them.

When I suggest to my host that Delft must undoubtedly be the prettiest city in Holland, he laughs in embarrassed denial as if I am referring to him, not the town. But I stand by my pronouncement. Delft is beautiful. Its old houses line canals that are criss-crossed by picturesque bridges, and dominated by two churches, the Oude Kerk and the Nieuwe Kerk, which is also actually old, in the same way that New College in Oxford is old. One simply predates the other. Delft is the birthplace of Vermeer, and if you have watched the film ‘the Girl with the Pearl Earring’ you will know that it takes place in Delft. Ironically and to the townspeople’s enduring chagrin, the city does not possess a single Vermeer painting. Even ‘the girl with the pearl earring’ is housed down the road in The Hague.

The Dutch seem to have an unerring sense of quaintness. So some loser-road-contractor chops down all the trees along the pavement. Out come the local inhabitants and turn the stumps into temporary works of art – temporary because the trees are fighting back and sprouting again from the base.

I awake from my pondering. We have reached the pretty naval base and ferry port of Den Helden and the car is now clattering onto the ferry that will take us on the twenty-minute crossing to the island of Texel accompanied by a seagull flypast.

A glorious day lies ahead of us. The sun is shining. The dunes national park beckons with its flowery coat of many colours. The brackish water created by tidal inlets wait to show off the myriad birds that make it their temporary home: eider ducks, curlews, cormorants, terns, gulls; even dashing snowy spoonbills.

And late in the evening I will sink my bare feet into endless stretches of luxurious white sand, hoping to be spared a close encounter with a beach surfer or the incoming tide.

It’s a change from technicolor India, but I like Holland. Yes, it’s helping to fill with pastel shades the gaps on my mind’s canvas.

HOME SWEET HOME

2011-06-12T14:45:00.000-07:00

Pfew! This is the first ‘window of opportunity’ I have had to sit down and scribble (scribble?) a catch-up blog since I arrived back from Freiburg-plus-Oxford a week ago.

I left home in chaos and arrived back to chaos two weeks later. Reasons for initial chaos:

1. THE BATHROOM SAGA
This has been dragging on since the pricey new bathroom was installed 5 years ago. From the start the hot water in the wash basin was like squeezing juice out of an olive. The plumber blamed it on the ‘Italian fittings’.

Five years and several attempts at having the pipes ‘sucked out’ later I’d had enough. I called a different plumber. He looked at it and said it was probably ‘flattened flexipipes due to bad installation’. He could fix it but he’d have to remove the half pedestal first.

This is when I realised why plumber No. 1 hadn’t owned up to the flattened pipe and fixed it himself. He’d stuck the pedestal on with so much sealant that it would have to be broken to remove it. ‘Hang on.’ I said to plumber No. 2. I’ve got to make sure I can get a replacement first.

Of course the part was now obsolete. Bathstore found me what they thought was the same one buried in one of their storerooms. It certainly looked the same. ‘Is it the same?’ I asked Plumber No. 2? He replied affirmatively. And knocked out the original pedestal.

Give him his due, he fixed the tap. Then he glued on the new pedestal , propped it up with a waste bin and a copy of ‘Jewish Family Life’ that he found in my ‘religious books’ bookcase, and left it to set. I went to Freiburg. Meanwhile he came and removed the supports.

I came back from Freiburg for a day. Just long enough to look UNDER the wash basin and freak out. IT DIDN’T FIT!!!! It was horrible! My lovely bathroom now has a disgusting raggedy non-fitting base with gaping holes and raw edges.

I went up to Oxford to look after Miss T during her half-term holiday. In between riding lessons, swimming, discovering science and exploring the rainforest I put in several calls to Plumber No, 2. Finally he decided to call me back. ‘It doesn’t fit!’ I hissed. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before you stuck it?’ Wrong move. No.2 was instantly defensive. ‘You tell me to fit the part and you blame me when it doesn’t fit?’ he fumed. I hung up in disgust. Ruddy man confirmed it would fit, the idiot. I know why he didn’t tell me – because he broke the old pedestal before he realised he was wrong.

So now I’m stuck with the prodigal pedestal. Bathstore have their ‘obsolete parts detective’ working on this. Failing that my neighbour, who makes ‘bespoke furniture’ has agreed to try and make a cupboard around it – but he’s booked up till NEXT YEAR!!

2. THE COMPUTER SAGA
My PC died a couple of days before I went to Freiburg. ‘We’ve been coaxing this back into life for years,’ said my trusty PC doctor. ‘Time to call it a day and get a new one.’
I had time to pick up the replacement before I left, but not to get it fitted. No problem – I still had my laptop.

Now another unrelated problem reared its ugly snout. No Internet. Or at least, with enough rebooting an occasional fleeting connection. This, according to Joe, whose computer is networked to mine, lasted the whole time I was away. Dr PC came and installed the new PC as soon as I got back.

Now all is well - not. The new PC has no sound. Why? Dr PC is flummoxed. Everything says it’s working, the speakers are fine. He spent an hour trying to solve it on Friday and eventually went home to cogitate over the weekend. Watch this space.

The Internet obliged by returning while Dr PC was setting up the computer. After he’d gone it fizzled out again. Of course. I rang Virgin Media. Got a gentleman in India on a very crackly line. I had a few problems understanding him. In the end I rang off in frustration. He rang back. This time the line was clear. ‘I have fixed it for you,’ he announced. ‘You had no signals. I have sent some down the line.’

Sure enough, I was back on line. Was this too good to be true?

Yes. Next morning – no Internet. I called Virgin Media. This time I got a Geordie woman. I had more than a few problems understanding her. Embarrassing. I had to keep saying ‘pardon?’ She was a bit clueless. I suggested my very old modem might need replacing. She agreed and booked a VM technician for Tuesday. ‘And meanwhile?’ I asked. ‘You’ve got no signal,’ she said. You don’t say. I told her (patiently) that yesterday’s VM man had send some signals down my line. Could she do the same? ‘Oh yes.’ So, after a bit of online fumbling, she did.

This morning the Internet was down again. I said a few choice words and did the rebooting thing. Another temporary reprieve. No doubt tomorrow it will be dead as a dog biscuit again

Okay – enough of chaos. Here are some pictures.

This is the twinning festival in Freiburg. Each of Freiburg’s 10 twin towns was supposed to turn up in national costume. Instead of coming clean and confessing that England has no such thing, some bright spark ordained that Guildford should be represented by bowler hats. When an onstage interview with each town on the subject of their national dress was announced I, as a German speaker, was volunteered to try and explain the bowler hats worn by my three models. It was predictably hilarious.

This is Miss T’s first riding lesson. Looked like she was born to ride. Takes after her grandma.

And the poppies around Oxford were glorious.

And finally… the cover to my new book ‘Noontide Owls’. It’s at the printers. Official publication will be in September but I daresay prepublication copies will be available via Goldenford’s website.

READING MATTERS

2011-05-14T05:41:00.000-07:00

I’ve been pulled up short by a recurrence of my recurrent back problem – I’m not horizontal yet but in order to avoid becoming so, I’ve given up the idea of doing any gardening this morning -- what a pity!

I'm going to London later today, to see a performance of the Walküre at the IMAX theatre. It's a direct transmission from the New York Met. These transmissions are a wonderful innovation, although I wish the New York Met cameramen would stop trying to be clever and let us see the whole stage more than just occasionally, rather than focusing on the sweaty, spitty faces.

I have plenty to do in the remaining three hours before I go, but not much that involves sitting still. So I remembered that I hadn't blogged for a long time. Actually I haven't finished telling you about my trip to India, but I thought I'd take a break from that and catch up with myself.

I could have gone on reading my book. Now that I have a Kindle, I'm never without something to read at my fingertips. I finished The Lacuna, which I could not put down. Barbara Kingsolver is a wonderful writer and I often wish "I could have written that". Moreover the subject matter of the book is of great interest to me. I went to a Frida Kahlo exhibition in Berlin last year and since then have been fascinated by the artist -- i.e. by both her art and her amazing life as the wife of Diego Rivera, as the lover of Trotsky as well as of various well-known females. The Lacuna fictionalises part of her life with Rivera and also the final days of Trotsky in Mexico. I found the "hero" figure extremely sympathetic and the ending was great -- one of those "it's obvious when you look back" resolutions, but it's all very well saying that after the event!

I also read The Help by Kate Stockett. This book is a look at the circumstances of "black maids " in 1960s Mississippi. A highly innovative, very readable novel which I also enjoyed, though it's not as challenging as The Lacuna.

I am now reading Peter Carey's book Theft -- A Love Story. Well! Let's put it this way. It's not the kind of book I would have read out of choice -- which is a silly thing to say, as I am reading it out of choice! It sounded promising -- the art world, an art theft, the story of two brothers, a love story. However, Peter Carey has an idiosyncratic way of writing, liberally sprinkled with expletives in a very Australian way. I've lived in Australia, so I should have been warned. Actually, I can put up with these, but perhaps the book is too clever for me. I'm finding it very difficult to guess what Carey means with his oblique explanations and references. It's not written in a way that grabs me. On the other hand it's not a book that I feel I can't go on reading. Let's say I will certainly be happy to keep reading until the end. One major problem is that I have no sympathy whatsoever for either of the brothers. I find them boorish, vulgar and self-centred.

Well, that's enough about books! I'm off to Freiburg for my usual five-day stint "manning " the Guildford stall at their annual twinning festival (they have 10 Twin towns and some extra "related" towns). I'm taking a few of my books along because they seem to sell well in Germany. I'm also taking some copies of Goldenford's new publication A Brief Description Of The Whole World by Guildford's own Archbishop of Canterbury, George Abbot, who lived in the 16th-17th century. The book consists of short chapters describing different countries and their peoples. Certainly, a lot of it is not PC today but it is an interesting reflection on the world of the 17th century and the views of clerics of the day. It's been edited and adapted by Anthony Richmond, the master of the Abbot’s Hospital, an almshouse in Guildford that was founded by Abbot and still functions today.

And talking of books, which I have been doing, at length, I'm delighted to say that Noontide Owls is now on the home straight. The cover artist, Penelope Cline, is putting the finishing touches to the cover, which looks gorgeous, very mystical, and then it will be off to the printers. The official launch will be later in the summer.

The less I say about gardening the better. My runner beans simply have failed to germinate, and somebody has removed my lettuce seedlings without leaving a trace. By somebody I'm thinking snails or slugs. Certainly the cat wouldn’t be interested. The pigeons would have left a mess. Only one courgette has popped its head above the soil. Why do I bother?

Joe and I made an excursion to Wisley over the bank holiday. That makes me feel even less of a gardener! Here are a few pictures of what I'd like my garden to look like!

TIRTHA

2011-04-04T14:46:00.000-07:00

Tirtha means crossing in Sanskrit, fording a river, and is used in Hinduism to symbolise the crossing from the worldly to the divine. As a postscript to my previous blog I thought you’d like to see this tirtha, which took place in a little town called Orchha, in Madhya Pradesh. Orchha is known for its monumental 17th century fortress-palaces, temple and chhatris – cenotaphs to dead maharajas with big egos. These cenotaphs are built on the edge of the impressive Betwa river. We wandered through them and then walked on the river bank nearby. I was glad to get away from the chhatris. They were massive, cold and echoingly empty. They made me shudder. It was early evening and the sun would soon be setting. I looked across the river to the scrubby dhak forest on the other side. Our local guide pointed to the middle of the wide stretch of water. ‘Crocodiles,’ he said, laughing. I followed his gaze to four little dots, barely visible. Clearly not crocodiles, but what were they? ‘Buffalo?’ I asked. The guide confirmed that, indeed, they were buffalo. Every morning, he explained, they swim across the river, to forage in the forest. And every evening they swim back and return to their homes in Orchha. As they emerged from the water and made their stately way up the bank, the chilling atmosphere created by the ostentatious monuments to the dead was replaced by a flood of warmth, and something almost sacred. Divinity in India does not have to be an image of a Virgin or a four-armed god, or a bearded old man in the sky. Divinity can be in you and me. Or in a group of trusting buffalo, whose beauty and quiet dignity diminish the grotesque statements of self-aggrandisement on the bank into insignificance. A true tirtha for all those of us who were lucky enough to witness it.

FOUR LEGGED FRIENDS AND FIENDS

2011-03-27T12:21:00.001-07:00

To echo the thoughts of Ashok in my novel ‘The Moon’s Complexion’:

‘In the West, nature was an enemy to be tamed and feared. Here, back in India, there was no sharp, dividing line between man and the environment. Here he was part of nature, part of the earth, part of the gnarled old mango tree. He was kin to the butterfly that alighted on the arum lily, the ten-centimetre millipede plodding across the lane, the gecko lying in wait under the eaves.’

This is one of the reasons why I feel so at home in India. But I think I got it wrong, in my novel. For it’s not only in the West, but also in the Far East where there is a ‘sharp, dividing line between man and the environment’. In China I hardly heard a bird sing, except in a cage, and the only wild-life I saw was pickled in a bottle of wine. That was in the 1990s. I would love it if someone told me it was no longer so.

In India people, domestic animals and wild-life mingle so completely that you feel you are merging with the land itself. Of course, life is hard, for animals as well as people, and cruelty, often due to ignorance, does occur. That’s why I’m a member of CUPA, an organisation in Bangalore that looks after the welfare of animals as well as educating their owners and prosecuting acts of cruelty, such as overladen donkeys, and badly treated temple elephants.

Generally speaking everyone gets on tolerably well. The dogs are quiet, except when they have a territorial argument or a bitch is in season. Not so different from humans, then. In Chittorgarh we saw a monkey grooming a pig, just as I saw monkeys grooming dogs in Sri Lanka some years back.

In Orchha this calf was being kept in order by a dog, while its mother went off to graze, confident that no harm would come to it.

It’s quite usual to see macaque monkeys in villages and even in cities like Bangalore and New Delhi. Langur monkeys tend to keep to the jungle more. As we left Mount Abu a langur tried to hitch a lift, jumping onto the car out of the jungly scrub at the side of the road – we had to close the windows fast. They often sit by the roadside watching the traffic like a bunch of old men. The langurs are beautiful creatures – even if they do squabble about who’s holding the baby.

In Rajasthan the camel owners painted patterns on their animals.

We didn’t see any oxen used for ploughing – perhaps it was the wrong time of year. They did use oxen to work their water wheels. Deep wells feed an elongated ‘wheel’ on which there are many cans that scoop up the water. The oxen are attached to a rod above the well. This rotates as the animals walk around it, ‘encouraged’ by the farmer who sits on a little seat behind the animals and taps them with a stick to make them go. We stopped to look at one and before I knew it, the farmer had propelled me onto the seat, pushed the stick into my hand and told me to get on with it. Not much fun for the oxen to walk round and round for hours on end, though I enjoyed my moment of fame. I must say the oxen looked well on it and were very responsive. Presumably they only have to do this in the dry season.

Our guide in Jaisalmer took us to ‘untouristy’ parts of the old town, where we wove through narrow streets, dodging dogs, cows, goats, pigs, bicycles and small children.

Every so often the guide would point to a cow - ‘that is a bad cow, Best avoid.’ Or ‘That one is okay. A good cow.’ He was a native of the old town and seemed to know every person and every cow we encountered.

In Udaipur we stayed at the Shikabadi Hotel, which is the Maharana of Udaipur’s hunting lodge. Next to it was the Imperial Stud Farm and we cheekily asked if we could have a look at it. Within minutes phonecalls had been made. A tour was arranged for the four of us.

We were shown round the stables and the stable yards, meeting and greeting the fabulous horses. Some of them were thoroughbreds, gorgeous looking creatures. But the most interesting of all were the Rajasthani Marwari horses, very tall and fine-boned with exquisite faces and the most delightful ears that narrow to a point like a squirrel’s and meet in the middle. When the Marwaris are crossed with thoroughbreds they make ideal polo ponies. These horses were pampered. As a result they live to a ripe old age. Several we saw were in their late twenties or even early thirties. The stable hands clearly adored them and were very proud of their jobs.

The Maharana also had a small wildlife sanctuary attached to the hotel. Here we got close to chittal deer and an early morning walk on my own was fascinating. I identified at least five totally distinct calls made by the langurs in the trees as they warned each other that a strange foreigner was approaching!

I’ve often been accompanied by bats drinking from the pool as I have swum in India. This time, in Jodhpur it was pigeons. As we swam, we watched their behaviour. If one pigeon was already drinking a group of others flew down to join it landing directly by its side. They never left a lone pigeon on its own to go and drink from another spot. We watched them for ages, quite fascinated. We were equally fascinated by the hotel employee whose sole job seemed to be to stamp his foot occasionally in a half-hearted manner to make the pigeons leave – which they did, also in a half-hearted manner, ready to return as soon as the man turned his back.

At Sanchi, the Buddha would have been pleased to see part of the gardens fenced off and this delightful family adding to the atmosphere of peace and harmony.

FORTIFIED BY BEAUTY

2011-03-18T09:01:00.000-07:00

Part 2 of my India Journal

When you think of Rajasthan, what does it conjure up in your mind? For me it has always painted pictures of fortresses, palaces, and desert, mile after mile of arid sandy landscape and proud, colourful nomads.

To put things into perspective. The total area of the United Kingdom is approximately 243,610 km2, with a population of some 62,000,000. Rajasthan is 342,239 km². it has a population of 56,500,000

I first came to Rajasthan twelve years ago. I didn’t get as far as the true Thar Desert but fell in love with glittering Amber Fort near Jaipur, and with Udaipur, that sublime city on the lakes. I recall being on the road, when, like a biblical dream, hundreds upon hundreds of camels, sheep, goats and donkeys herded along by brightly clad and bejewelled tribal people, fiercely proud and stunningly beautiful, appeared from nowhere and caused our car to draw to a halt while they streamed past us, mile after mile of them. They had with them all their possessions: tents, beds, pots, pans all strapped onto the camels and donkeys. It was magical and unforgettable.

I knew this was a once in a lifetime experience. I had no illusions that it would be repeated this time. But Rajasthan had so much to offer that it drew me to it again. I hope my three companions, who bravely let me create the itinerary, were as enchanted as I was, as we traversed the state by car, train and plane.

Most of the cities we visited had a fort and at least one palace. Udaipur is a city of palaces. It was founded by Maharana Udai Singh II, who retreated there in 1568 after the Mughal emperor Akbar captured his stronghold, the fort of Chittor.

The City Palace in Udaipur is saturated with beauty, including the famous Peacock Court and various rooms shimmering with gold and Belgian glass.

The Lake Palace, a white gem in Lake Pichola, became a universal icon when it was used in the James Bond film, Octopussy. Now it’s a hotel, run by the Taj group. After their hotel was blown up in Mumbai they are understandably jittery, and you are not allowed anywhere near the Lake Palace unless you’d actually booked to stay there. We hadn’t.

We stopped off at Chittor fort (Chittorgarh), the largest in India, on the way to Udaipur. All the palaces within its massive walls, are ruins now, but the 15th century Tower of Victory still stands commemorating one of many battles fought for domination of Chittorgarh. Like almost every other fort in Rajasthan Chittor had its jauhars: acts of self-immolation by thousands of noblewomen and children, who met their terrible fate rather than fall into the hands of Mughal invaders, while their menfolk rode out to die in battle.

The fortress palace in Kota, a former independent state on the Chambal River, is notable for the many miniature paintings that adorn some of its rooms. This was an overnight stop on the way to Udaipur. We knew nothing about it and were amazed by the staggering beauty of these paintings.

Mehrangarh Fort at Jodhpur rears up threateningly over the town. It overwhelms the newly arrived visitor, as it must have done every army that marched against it throughout its turbulent history. Jodhpur is the erstwhile capital of the kingdom of Marwar. The Maharaja’s palace in the fort is a fabulous confection of filigree balconies and stone screen windows, more glittering rooms dripping with gems, gold and – Belgian glass. From there you get a great view of the painted Brahmin houses which give the city its nickname, ‘the Blue City’.

But of all the fortresses in Rajasthan, the one that had most captured my imagination for years was Jaisalmer, remotely located in the Thar Desert in the far west of the state near the Pakistan border. It was a five hour drive through the desert from Jodhpur. But the desert here is vast areas of rocks and sand, punctuated by shrubs and small trees. You’ll also come across cultivated fields where grains and vegetables defy the dry land and create lush oases. If it’s only sand dunes you’re looking for you have to go even beyond Jaisalmer, preferably on a camel.

The fortress of Jaisalmer is a monumental chunky golden necklace garlanding a hilltop in the desert. Part of the old city is within the fort, and part of it clusters around its base like gemstones. Jaisalmer is enchanted and unforgettable, straight out of flying-carpet land, conjuring up a thousand and one nights and full of eastern promise. Oddly, I thought of Oxford as I walked through the streets, for, like Oxford, Jaisalmer’s beauty is a combination of its glorious buildings and the burnished gold of its stone. Almost every house is festooned with fabulous carved balconies – more filigree, shining in the golden light. We strolled through the old town marveling at the ordinary houses as well as the grand havelis, as delicately carved as sandalwood.

From Rajasthan we went to Madhya Pradesh to look at its famous temples. But Madhya Pradesh has many fine fortresses too, and Rajasthan is blessed with some of the most glorious Jain temples in India.

OTHER NEWS

That’s enough about India for today. Now I’m trying to readjust to reality. Tasks and duties are banking up. Already I’ve attended several meetings. Tomorrow I’m introducing Jay Margrave when she presents her ‘Margrave Mystoricals, Madrigals and Music’ event at the Guildhall in Guildford. Some tickets are still available if you’re quick. It promises to be an entertaining evening.

I’m delighted to say that ‘Noontide Owls’ has got through to the second stage of the Amazon/Penguin Young Adult Novel competition. As it’s a world-wide competition I’m quite chuffed.

Meanwhile back to the drawing board – I have to work on the next U3A Newsletter and a booklet to showcase the creative writing of members of my writers’ workshop. And I’m formatting the next Goldenford book – a fascinating – if occasionally insupportable – 17th century view of the world from the pen of Guildford’s noted son - George Abbot. And then there’s my temple book to bash on with…
Plus the next instalment of my India blog…

T17 AND ALL THAT.

2011-03-11T05:54:00.000-08:00

I got back from India on Monday. If I tried to write down a full report of my three weeks there, it would run to several thousand superlatives, which, I’m sure would get yawns all round. It’s no good me saying I’ll pick out the highlights, as every single day was a highlight.

Low point of the trip? The flight coming back to the UK – fine as far as it went, but the recycled air in the cabin, that sucked up everybody’s germs and spewed them out again at everyone else, has resulted in a post-trip chest infection, for which I’m now on antibiotics. After sailing through Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh feeling on top of the world, it’s a real pain to start coughing and sputtering as soon as my feet hit English soil.

Be that as it may. At least I’m confined to the house and can write this blog.

Aside from a day in Delhi at either end, the tour began and ended with T17, which was rather neat.

The first T17 was at Ranthambore National Park: T17 – full name Tiger 17. We were so lucky. We had booked two three hour safaris in an open jeep. On the early morning safari we chased around for three hours without seeing that elusive stripey, BUT we did manage to watch a massive male leopard for around 20 minutes, which, we were told, is a much rarer sighting than even a tiger.

Tracking down the leopard was exciting enough. The guides listened out for alarm calls from the deer and the langur monkeys. Then they homed in on them, which involved complicated jeep manoeuvres over difficult terrain at break-neck speed, until finally the magical sighting was achieved.

The leopard stalked through the scrub, followed at a cautious distance by a jackal, which in turn was followed by a couple of huge grey sambar deer. What was the purpose of this procession? The guide explained that the leopard has a habit of circling round and launching a surprise attack from the rear. By keeping an eye on it, the other animals ensured that this would not happen! I’m afraid my photos are not too clear, given the camouflage of the shrubs and the distance from the jeep, but here goes.

The afternoon safari: the guides explained that tigers can be located either by alarm calls, as in the morning, or sometimes, if you’re lucky, you’ll see one on the jeep track, as they like the surface under their pads. We were lucky. So lucky. We came across T17 (identified by the guide on the basis of territory, and not by her tracking collar, which is for scientific purposes only) strolling along the track in front of the jeep.

We followed with bated breath, watching her eyeing up the surroundings and stopping to drink from a puddle...

...before she suddenly veered to the right, listening to the nervous hoots of a herd of sambar deer, hidden in the undergrowth.

Then for several heart-stopping seconds she crouched in attacking position across the track, before, with one tremendous leap she pounced, crashing through the undergrowth in pursuit of the sambar.

She missed. I don’t suppose we helped, with our cries of ‘Oh my God!’ But then, I’m not sure I’d have liked to have witnessed an actual kill. Sambar are magnificent as well. Fact: according to the guide, the tracking collar makes mating difficult, as the male likes to grab the female by the scruff of the neck. But not impossible, he assured us. T17 has apparently two cubs hidden in the bush somewhere, safely away out of harm’s way.

Fast forward three weeks to the final T17. This, on the surface, is not quite as exciting. Well, it is for me, wearing my Indian art historian hat. T17 in this case is short for Temple 17. It’s a small, uninspiring-looking square stone temple at a place called Sanchi, in Madhya Pradesh. Sanchi is famous for the magnificent gateways to its Buddhist stupas, erected around 3rd-1st centuries BCE.

But there are also temple remains there. These are later, constructed under the Gupta dynasty in 4th-5th centuries CE. Every Asian art historian knows about Temple 17 as it is one of the earliest structural temples and creates the model for all subsequent shrines. No matter how splendidly and elaborately Indian temples evolved over the centuries, they all have at their heart a structure like T17. Seeing it was an ambition fulfilled. So here it is.

And just to assure you that Sanchi has more wow! factor offerings, here are some details from the gateways to the Great Stupa, from 1st century BCE.

This account is far too long, and I’ve only touched on two days out of twenty. I’ll spare you the rest until another time. Keep tuned in for fortresses in Rajasthan, filigree marble Jain temples, dreamlike cities, maharajas’ palaces and the famous erotic temples of Khajuraho.

BEFORE I FLUTTER AWAY…

2011-02-14T01:49:00.000-08:00

By the time I get a chance to blog again, my visits to the butterflies in the glasshouse in Wisley will be history, so I thought I’d better post a few photos of my second visit (with Joanna) on Tuesday. She’d taken the morning off to see them unencumbered by hoards of Sunday visitors. Instead there were hoards of Tuesday visitors, mainly consisting of smart pensioners with smart cameras, and enthusiastic infant school groups with clipboards. A beautiful blue butterfly took a shine to Joanna and travelled around on her coat until I gently evicted it when we had to leave.

Well, I'm off to warmer climes shortly. I'll think of you as I search for tigers, swim beneath the stars and let the spirit of India refresh the parts that other countries cannot come close to reaching...

That is, if I don't get Delhi Belly, malaria, trampled by an elephant or or run over by an auto-rickshaw.

OF FISH AND CHIPS AND EAR-WAX, OF BUTTERFLIES AND KINGS

2011-01-30T03:29:00.000-08:00

Having got over a slipped disc and a subsequent viral infection, the last two weeks have been a case of catch-up. It's been all go, and, since I've agreed to edit the U3A newsletter, it's been a race to get it done before I head off into warmer climes.

At the moment, I'm waiting for the young ones to arrive for the day from Oxford. At least, as it's Sunday, they won't be diverted via the fish and chip shop in Burpham. I know better now than to prepare lunch when they come during Seafare’s opening times, because they are totally addicted to the prize-winning fish and chips that this shop produces and always stop off to stock up on their way here. Today however, we’re going out to an Italian restaurant.

In between doing the newsletter, Goldenford meetings, Freiburg Society meetings and debating about what to do with The Noontide Owls (Goldenford or elsewhere? In the end I think I will probably go with Goldenford as I have so much more control over the book, but I have been persuaded by my two kind reviewers to try somewhere bigger first.)

I have also been trying to get some exercise, i.e. I've been swimming (once, but hope to repeat the ordeal a couple of times before Takeoff India - I say ordeal, because avoiding armies of ferocious elderly gentlemen, who insist on starting at one end of MY lane at the same time as I start off from the other, is not my idea of fun. Whereas a leisurely swim under the blue skies, a hot sun and palm trees, is very much my idea of heaven...can’t wait!

So much for rambling. Yesterday was plant-watering day. I always use water from one of the nine water butts outside to water my conservatory and house plants. This is what confronted me yesterday. Just as we thought things were warming up…

Two weeks ago I fitted in lunch with several friends (a different one each day in fact). With Tuesday's friend I went to Wisley, and we headed off to the glasshouse where there is a "butterfly event" at the moment, the tropical section alive with fluttering beauties from exotic places. It reminded me of when my children were young, and we used to breed beautiful Indian moon moths as big as the palm of your hand.

I went again on Sunday with Joanna, but the queue to get into the glasshouse was endless, and through the windows we could see that the place was a crush of parents and young children, so we decided to forego the pleasure and Joe has taken a morning off so that we can go when it is less crowded. Still, I got some more pictures of the dogwood, this time taken on my good camera, instead of my Blackberry. Though I couldn’t get such a good shot across the lake as the path was fenced off due to flooding.

Oh, did I mention that I spent a cool £300 on my enigmatic feline a couple of weeks ago? I noticed that he was sensitive about his right ear and I wondered if this could account for the fact that he is unbalanced (in every sense) and keeps falling over (has been like this for the last few years). Don't ask what I’ve spent on him during that time! The vet's verdict has always been "well, we don't know what's wrong with him, but he's not all there." The young vet this time agreed with me that the ear might be the problem. As a result he had to be anaesthetised so that she could have a proper look. Verdict: wax in ear. Not responsible for insane behaviour -- that will be £300, thank you very much.

Enjoying my Kindle very much. Have just finished rereading The Moonstone and had forgotten how good it is. Now rereading Gulliver's Travels, which I love. Have realised that the spirit, if not the letter of “Noontide Owls" is a cross between Gulliver, Indian Mythology and the Norse Legends.

Oh – went to see ‘The King’s Speech’ with Jackie and her OM. Do go – it’s a marvellous film, even if the cure of George VI’s stammer was not as miraculous or successful as the film suggested. Apparently, as I learned this week, his BBC speeches had the stammer edited out before they went on air. I’m not a great Royalist, but I always had a soft spot for this king, who took on a horrendous role at a time of unprecedented difficulty and need. I wonder what he would have made of his descendents…

Hallo and Happy New Year everyone!

2011-01-02T09:34:00.000-08:00

It seems ages since I blogged, but I do have a good excuse. Am just coming out of an excruciating few weeks of slipped disc problem leading to pinched sciatic nerve leading to worst leg pain ever (when it was not entirely numb). Still not 100% fit and my specialist has threatened with a steroid epidural if it doesn’t right itself before my trip to India next month. This threat in itself is enough to spur me into speedy recovery!

Low point of my sad month was a 2.30 am trip to Royal Surrey A&E thanks to over-cautious NHS Direct doctor who though I had a blood clot. Joe was away and I had to drive myself there (NB the doctor said I could as long as I felt capable. Not much choice.) Then I had to park and pump a fortune into the hospital car park meter – ‘twas pure chance that I had a load of pound coins and could put in four hours’ worth. Then the insalubrious limp from the car park to A&E down steps in the dark. Not pleasant even if you don’t feel your leg’s about to drop off. Then a SIX HOUR wait (yes, honestly) in a filthy waiting room (rubbish and papers on floor) on a fairly hard chair. Just me and a poor old lady in a wheelchair who kept crying because she didn’t know what was going on. The staff tried to be nice and apologetic, but for heaven’s sake, surely they could have found a doctor for five minutes to tell me I didn’t have a blood clot and send me home? One kind male nurse did sort out my parking worries for me and another brought me painkillers and a cup of tea after about four hours. But what a shambles. It was 8.30 before I was seen by a doctor, who couldn’t apologise enough and lambasted the A&E, gave me his name and told me to ask for him directly if I had to come back (Not likely, mate!) It took me several days to recover from the experience.

Highlights : and yes, there were several. Dragging myself up to Oxford to hear Miss T play piano in her end of term concert on her 6th birthday. Worth drugging myself up for. Mind you, I was too ill to drag back down to Guildford next day so son and family had to put up with me for an extra night. They were so sweet about it – although I must have been a real drag myself.

Another highlight was actually managing to get up to the Royal Opera with daughter to see Tannhäuser: Act 1 spectacular but by the end I was in considerable discomfort so swallowed fiendish strong painkillers the doctor gave me. In consequence Act 2 was like a dream scene with me not quite knowing where I was and drifting in and out of reality. By Act 3 the tablets had settled, the pain had gone and the whole act was simply divine. The ending was unforgettable and two weeks on, the music is still in my head.

Then there was Christmas, with the Oxford young ‘uns joining Joe and me in Guildford. I actually managed to cook a Christmas meal and the crackers were a great success too. I had some amazing presents including a rather dashing Indian laptop cover from Joe and – wait for it – a Kindle from the Oxford Gang. It’s brilliant and will be great on holiday. First thing I downloaded was the latest Lonely Planet Guide of India – imagine, no more carrying the heavy book around. I’m still learning though – today I bought a book by mistake and didn’t realise I could cancel until it was too late. Ah well ‘Eat Pray Love’ may yet prove suitable light aeroplane reading! I’ve learnt my lesson though – always switch off the wi-fi when not needed!

Due to my current inability to sleep in one bed for long I brought a duvet downstairs in case I need to stretch out on the settee at night. Unfortunately someone else got there first… I only dropped it for a moment on the landing while I closed a door…

And when I hung it over the settee…

Yesterday Joe and I decided to go for a walk in Wisley – in the rain. But it’s still beautiful, especially the dogwood.

Delighted to say Noontide Owls is finished and has been edited for errors – thanks Jackie and Anjali for doing a splendid job and being so nice about the book - so it’s all go now. Watch this space. Problem is – I now have to start on a new project. This time it will be non-fiction. High time I got my thesis written up - ‘Understanding South Indian Temples’ – though I’ll try and think of a jauntier name before it’s published!

WINTER DRAWERS ON

2010-11-30T09:49:00.000-08:00

You’ve all done it, so I’m not going to get away without doing it too – ie posting the first pictures of Guildford in the snow, so here are mine. The first is a pretty appalling picture I took this evening but I rather like the ghostly snow dog that's appeared lying next to my car!

I’m not going to harangue you with too much today as I should be cooking. Thank goodness today was the first day for yonks that I haven’t had to go out. We did have a Goldenford meeting rescheduled for tonight, but we’ve rescheduled it, no point in risking crashed cars and broken legs.

Thank goodness it wasn’t like this at the weekend. We, the Golden Girls and Anjali were out both days selling books at school fairs. George Abbot on Sunday was particularly fruitful and friendly, and what a lovely lot of table space we were given!

My lovely computer doctor came over on Thursday and fixed both my computers and got them to sync with my Blackberry – so clever – he set up my googlemail account so that my calendar syncs automatically with Outlook on both machines – I don’t even have to plug it in. AND he sorted out my wi-fi. Virgin Media Blackberry experts had not been as expert as they made out when I’d phoned them for help – they’d given me totally the wrong information.
I’d never have taken on a Blackberry, had I not been offered a fantastic deal from Virgin. Now I’ve got the thing I’m really appreciating it. It’s a great toy at bus-stops when you’ve just missed the Park and Ride and have to wait for ten minutes for the next one. And as for checking emails on the hoof, well, I never thought it would be so useful.

My niece is flying in from New York on Thursday morning. I’m just keeping fingers crossed that they won’t be diverted to the nearest snow-free airport – which at the moment is probably somewhere in Africa.

Jackie and Anjali are currently editing/reviewing ‘Noontide Owls’. Meanwhile I’m trying to produce some pen and ink drawings for the book. I’ve never worked in pen and ink before and I’m really loving it. ‘Noontide Owls’ is aimed at ages 12 to adult. It’s a fantasy but you won’t find any orks, elves, gnomes, goblins or dragons in it. Nor are there any prolonged gory battle scenes. Or wizards, muggles or magic spells. Or sci-fi. If all goes well it should be published early next year.

Things of Beauty

2010-11-17T13:48:00.000-08:00

I had a hair-cut today and when I made another appointment for five weeks hence I was shocked to find that that’s 3 days before Christmas. Where has the year gone?

I’ve been horribly busy. Two trips to the opera a couple of weeks ago were a thrilling experience. I haven’t seen the Glyndebourne Touring Company before but I’ll make sure I book each year from now on. Don Giovanni was deep, dark and horrifying and gave me nightmares. My only criticism was that they should have used the version that ends with Don G being dragged down to hell by the dead Commendatore instead of carrying on after that by bringing back the wronged characters to morally pontificate about reaping what you sow – or words to that effect. Mozart’s fault – he should have known where to end it. The staging was interesting, the singing excellent – particularly Natasha Jouhl (Donna Anna) – a force to be reckoned with in the future I feel.

La Cenerentola, on the following night, was a joy – frilly, frothy and light-hearted with a touch of poignancy – beautifully staged – a real feel-good factor.

Also at the beginning of the month I attended a superb two-day conference on Buddhist art at the V&A. A very intense two days, I might add, with hardly time to gulp down an overpriced and underspiced V&A sandwich in the lunchtime before we were off again. Day 1 – seven forty-five minute presentations centred around the Indian subcontinent (Sri Lanka conspicuous by its absence). Day 2 – eight 45-minutes on Java, Cambodia, China and Japan. Plenty of stimulating material on both days and now I’m wondering how soon I can plan a trip to Tibet or Borobudur!

In the coming couple of weeks we of Goldenford are appearing with our books at various local Xmas fairs:
Sunday 21st November: St Teresa’s School, Effingham, 11 am
Saturday 27th November: ST Thomas’s Primary School, Merrow 2 pm
Sunday 28th November: George Abbot Scholl, Burpham 10 am

Besides selling Goldenford books we are delighted to be sharing our stand with Anjali Mittal, who is fast becoming a well-known children’s author.

So if you’d like to meet some local authors and have a peek at our books do come and visit us at one of these fairs.

I’m doubly delighted that Darshan has been taken on by a book club in Guildford and I’ve been invited to go and speak to them in January. Moreover Darshan is currently on display and for sale at the Bangalore Book Festival in India. Last year The Moon’s Complexion was there, this year it’s Darshan’s turn. I wish I could be there too.

My latest copy of Saudi Aramco World arrived today – it’s free from the oil corporation 4 times annually if you sign up for it and has some wonderful articles about the arts of the Islamic world. This issue concentrates on Russia. Inside was a pull-out calendar - one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. It shows six photographs of Arab horses. Here’s the cover. I challenge you not to melt!

You can download this wonderful calendar if you go into the Saudi Aramco World website.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

2010-10-31T15:08:00.000-07:00

No escaping it, is there? Here’s what happened to me an hour ago.
It’s pitch dark (the hour having gone back today) when the doorbell rings. Through the porch glass I see a bunch of ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties and quite a few things that go bump in the night.

Common sense should have told me not to open the door – they are all rather large for trick—or-treaters. But what to do? They’ve seen me and it would look ridiculous to run and hide, especially when they’re all calling for ‘sweeties’ and waving Sainsburys bags. I find a few sweets left over from ages ago and grab my camera. If they’re getting sweets off me I am going to get something in return.

This is what I got.

Earlier today Jackie, her OM and I headed up to the George Inn in Southwark for the launch of Jay Margrave’s novel The Nine Lives of Kit Marlowe, the third in her Priedeux trilogy. A lovely occasion in a lovely old tavern. Marlowe would have approved.
It’s been quite a bookish week. On Wednesday we, the Goldenford Girls gave an ‘entertainment’ at Guildford Institute with readings from our novels and recordings of some of the music that inspired or occurs in them. I think everyone enjoyed it – we certainly did.

Oh, and I heard this week that parts of Darshan are being used in a German Grammar school in their English course. Beat that one!

Noontide Owls is nearly finished. Just about half a chapter to go then the great revision begins! I’m quite pleased as it’s beginning to come together and make sense. Watch this space for a spring launch.

Last Sunday the sky was still blue and the weather beautiful, so Joe and I decided to pay a visit to Wisley. There was an autumn festival taking place and we bought apples and a butternut squash (which weighed a ton – poor Joe!). The colours were magnificent, so were the pumpkins and so was the heron.

Goldenford Events

2010-10-22T02:54:00.001-07:00

A reminder of two Goldenford events at the Guildford Institute. We'd love to see you there. To book ring the Institute on 01483-562142

27 October, 2.30 – 3.45pm: Irene Black, Jacquelynn Luben and Jay Margrave, Music and the Muse A cornucopia of entertainment will be provided by three Guildford writers from Goldenford Publishers. Their selection of music evoked by their novels, takes the audience to exotic places, such as India and Sri Lanka, to Medieval times and Henry VIII’s Court, as well as War-time Britain, the sixties and eighties. References to classical and Indian music permeate Irene Black’s novels, The Moon’s Complexion and Darshan. Jackie Luben’s selections come from her 20th century novels, A Bottle of Plonk and Tainted Tree set in Guildford, while Jay Margrave’s choices invoke her historical mysteries, The Gawain Quest and hercurrent novel, The Nine lives of Kit Marlowe. This event will be held in the Assembly Room in restaurant style, the ticket price includes a pot of tea or coffee and a slice of cake. Cost: members £2.50, non-members £5.

Mapping Your Story (A Writer’s Workshop) Saturday 30 October 10am – 2pm

Three Guildford authors from Goldenford Publishers take you on a journey through the craft of writing your story, making use of memories and other triggers, for short or long fiction. Through practical exercises you’ll learn how to develop ideas, create characters, plot your story and bring your journey to a pleasing conclusion. Cost: £10 or £8 for members

I’VE BEEN KISSED…

2010-10-13T03:57:00.000-07:00

...by an alpaca!

This is me with gorgeous Ebony, whom I would happily have smuggled into my car, had she been just a tinzy-winzy bit less llama- and more sheep-sized. Alas I had to leave her in her field with her 8 or so lady companions

who seem to spend a lot of their time staring longingly across the paddock at Elvis...

and his gang of likely lads.

The alpacas are in a field belonging to an old school friend in Staffordshire. I’ve just come back from two fun-filled days visiting her.

We revisited places from our childhood:

Cannock Chase, which I knew even before I moved to Chase Terrace aged 13. When we lived in Walsall, our weekend family excursion would be to take the bus to Cannock Chase and spend the day en famille walking, picnicking, deer-watching, collecting fungi and bilberries for the pot.

Times have changed. These days youngsters are more likely to spend the day glued to the telly or the computer screen, or engaged in social activities that exclude the older generation, while their parents frantically try to catch up with the gardening and housework. Have things improved? Well there may be more money and more material luxury at home, but does this make for a better quality of life? I wouldn’t swap my childhood family memories for the latest laptop.

We walked around Chasewater (which proved a lot further than we’d anticipated) , where we used to swim our ponies – it’s an old gravel pit – we must have been mad! At the moment it’s half empty as they’ve refurbished it and are turning it into a pleasant recreational area. But the sailing club’s still there, where our old doctor used to sail his GP 14. We bought it off him eventually and sailed in Surrey and off the Welsh coast for a few years.

We also went to Lichfield to look at the gorgeous three-spired cathedral.

It was our school church, but in spite of that I hold no grudges against it. I remembered some lines from our old school song which went something like

We see the spires that Hackett knew

They bid us keep his promise true

Halleluja!

Then we wondered who the heck Hackett was and debated on whether it should be Beckett, which sounded more churchy. But I was convinced it was Hackett and had my Eureka moment when I found him – or rather his tomb – in the cathedral. He was apparently a bishop, who oversaw a lot of the cathedral’s rebuilding in the 17^th (or was it 18^th?) century.

So now you know.

We even managed to get into our old school – The Friary, a snobby girls’ grammar school, which we both hated. It’s turned into the town’s library as the school – still called the Friary but now a mixed (throw up your arms in horror!) comprehensive that’s moved out of the town centre into purpose-built buildings.

All in all, a fun-filled couple of days and I’d forgotten how beautiful Staffordshire is.

Bookwise, we The Goldenford covern (as my children call us) ran a writers’ workshop in Leatherhead as part of the Mole Valley Arts Festival on Saturday. Great fun and wonderful feedback from the participants so we came away feeling happy. It will be repeated at the Guildford Institute on Saturday 30^th October – details here (Scroll down to special events). And while you’re at it, check out our ‘entertainment’ ‘Music and the Muse’ (Scroll down to special events) on 27^th October (also at Guildford Institute) when we’ll be presenting music that inspired and/or features in our novels. The music includes Gregorian chants, West End musicals, Indian raga, Beethoven to name but a few. Don’t miss it!

Oh, go on, I can't resist one more...

A WONDERFUL TOWN

2010-09-09T14:46:00.000-07:00

I got back from New York on Monday and have just about emerged from jetlag and general fatigue after a non-stop summer.

It seems really tame here after last week. New York is still totally irresistible, in spite of various niggles. Let’s deal with those first:
1. The weather. Most days up to 35 degrees with 64% humidity. That’s not what the book said: the average for September is meant to be 26 degrees. Never trust your memory. Never believe guidebooks. Nor the Internet for that matter. Still in mid-20s at night. Murder, in spite of A/C (which I normally avoid like the plague).

2. Tipping. I know we have it in UK too, but it’s a way of life in NY and an embarrassment - I usually end up giving far too much because I’m scared of causing a ‘situation’. This happened to a friend years ago, whose NY restaurant exit was blocked by a large waiter, dissatisfied with his tip, who announced in a voice that echoed through the whole restaurant ‘Was something wrong with your meal, sir?’ Why can’t people be paid properly rather that putting tipper and tippee into this humiliating situation?

3. Portions…are far too big, but we all know that. Tip: order one meal and two plates.

4. Prices. Never seen bank notes slip through my fingers so quickly. Everything costs. Here are some of the main money hoovers.

Empire State Building – Adult $18.45 to the 86th floor. But they don’t make it clear till you’re up there that it’s another $15 to get right up to the 102nd floor. Touts outside try and con you into paying massively more to ‘bypass the queue’ (tip: at 9 am there was no queue, though they tried to tell us it was 40 minutes outside and then more inside). They also tried to con us into buying an exorbitantly priced ticket for the ‘New York Skyride’ a ‘must see’ taking you on a ‘virtual skyride of NYC’. Is this for real? Yes, I’m afraid it is. There really are people (hoards of them) who go all the way up the ESB just to go into a windowless cell and watch a virtual projection, presumably of what they can see with their own eyes if they walk round the 86th floor observation area and look out.

The Circle Line: at a whopping $35 no bargain – but very informative (tip: if you look through some of the freebie NYC info leaflets from the Times Square Information Center, you will probably find discount coupons. We discovered this – afterwards…)

The United Nations: $16 for a tour. Don’t miss this one, it’s superb. We had an excellent Columbian guide. It was quite humbling to hear about some of the projects but also an eye-opener to learn about the limitations of UN power.

The American Museum of Natural History: $16 suggested adult entry. Ha! Ha! Can you imagine suggesting less? I wouldn’t have the nerve. Would you? Of course we Brits are used to museums being free – long may it continue but I fear Mr Cameron may have other ideas. Anyway, it’s a superb museum. I didn’t have time to go round it all. The anthropology sections interested me more than the stuffed wildlife, which always leaves me uncomfortable. There’s an impressive astronomy section but I didn’t have time to go round it.

The Metropolitan Museum: as above $16 suggested adult entry. This includes same day entry to the Cloisters, the medieval section, way uptown. The idea is ludicrous. No-one could possible do justice to both museums in one day. I arrived at 11.00 and by 5.30 had only ‘done’ the Indian section and whizzed through the Egyptians and a few more bits. And I was exhausted. It would take a week to get anywhere near having seen enough to justify heading uptown.

Best bargains in town:

1. The 7-day Metro Card: this costs $27 and is valid for all subways and buses. Don’t try and exist here for a week without it. The buses are easy and a great way to get around if you have time. For quicker journeys take the subway. Buy the card at a subway station.

2. Central Park. It’s free, shady and beautiful - and you may be as lucky as we were: a happy hour spent watching a brilliant trad jazz band busking. We bought both their CDs, they were so good.

3. The Lego store at the Rockefeller Center – a great way to entertain a fractious and fed-up five year old for half an hour or so. We loved the dragon that wound its way through the whole store.

4. The Staten Island ferry. Don’t miss it. Stand at the back in the open area as you leave Manhattan and it will take your breath away. Oh yes, did I say? It’s free.

Other Highlights:

The restaurants: thanks to my niece, who lives in NY and has gourmet tastes, I was introduced (and sometimes treated) to several of the best restaurants in NY. Among them was the Gramercy Tavern, VERY upmarket, and the Artisanal, where were had brunch on our last morning. One joy of these places was that the portions were not outrageous, whereas at the Café Fiorello at the Lincoln Center two pizzas and one salad more than fed four of us.

I took the ‘kids’ to see the block on West 106th and Riverside, where we lived in the 60s. Nothing has changed. It’s still a lovely corner of the island. They were suitably impressed. I managed to locate the Municipal Building right downtown, where, according to the document, we signed the civil part of our marriage certificate. I didn’t recognise it. Gosh, was it really so grand?

You can’t get away from it. However much you dislike consumerism and decadence New York is gripping, mesmerising and there’s no other city like it in the world. The skyscrapers are awe-inspiring, the ethos is uplifting. Most people we met couldn’t do enough for us, like the owner of our rented apartment in Harlem, who was extremely helpful both in person and in the written information about the area that came with the keys, and the beautifully-groomed lady who ‘adopted’ us when we were tired and hungry on 5th Avenue and personally conducted us to her favourite coffee bar. She was a true New Yorker, she explained, born and bred, and if anyone knew where to find a good eatery, she did. She recommended the famous turkey sandwiches, adding that she personally couldn’t eat then, as she was kosher. Now where else, outside Israel, would anyone be prepared to say that to a bunch of foreigners on the street? That sums up why I love New York.

Now it's back to work, and with various Goldenford events scheduled for the autumn, I'm going to have a busy time. I also have a book to complete - The Noontide Owls is scheduled for publication in the spring, so I'd better get on with it.

SUMMER VISITORS

2010-08-22T15:03:00.000-07:00

Gosh, is it really SO long since I blogged? Not that I haven’t wanted to, just that I haven’t had time.
After the Germans came the Dutch – friends from India days – we tend to nip over to see each other about once a year. I’d been over to them in Delft in freezing February.
We had decided to go away for a few days and I’d suggested North Wales. We headed off in my car. I’d forgotten how long it takes. By the time we’d wound our way through mid-Wales to Llanberis and taken several breaks (my SatNav kept on at me until I did!) over 6 hours had passed. I was ready for bed at the Galt-y-Glyn hotel. I’d stayed there before in 2003 with the Thai inlaws. Now it’s under new management and has the best restaurant in Llanberis –closed Sundays and Mondays which is why I can compare it with others in the town.
Unlike my previous visit, the weather did not smile on us. The top third of Snowdon had disappeared under cloud when we chugged up on the Snowdon cog railway. The lower slopes were fully on view though and as dramatic as ever.
My trip to Llanberis was a trip into my novel Darshan, as part of the ‘action’ takes place in Snowdonia, indeed, in Llanberis itself. You can see I love this part of Wales. I remember our annual holidays to the North Welsh coast when I was a child, making the journey in a great steam train from New Street Station in Birmingham. Like all childhood treasures, such memories get into your soul.
An old school friend came to visit for a couple of days. I hope (and think) she enjoyed her visit as much as I did. We managed to fit in a matinee performance of West Side Story at the Yvonne Arnaud Theatre in Guildford and very good it was too. Also, of course, Wisley. I seem to have been there a lot this summer.
Following the Dutch visit came the next German visit – my former German assistant on his annual pilgrimage to visit Joe and me. She took care of him for most of the time but I did drive up to Oxford with him one day, stopping en route to visit Sil and Bil and admire the five new grandchildren.

In Oxford we watched an interesting performance of the Tempest in Wadham College grounds. They doubled up roles, so Ferdinand (Miranda's love interest) and his antithesis Caliban were played by the same actor. The jester Trinculo and the drunkard Stephano also played Alonso the king of Naples and Prospero's wicked brother Antonio. Antonio's counselor Gonzalo (a goodie in a baddie camp) doubled as Ariel. Fascinating.

The Thai inlaws plus Miss T came down to Guildford for a night. On the way from Oxford we went via Stonehenge, where Miss T had fun photographing us. We stopped at a gorgeous pub – the White Hart – in Over Wallop – for lunch. What could be more English?

Did I mention that Joe and I went to a spectacular Prom on 18th July – concert performance of Die Meistersinger? The last act was Something Else. As a lady in the loo queue afterwards said to me – how do you climb down from THAT?
Well, the answer is, you don’t, that is, until the next time, which as it happened was last night. I shouldn’t really have gone as I’d just shared the driving down from Scotland the previous day, was totally exhausted and had developed a nice bout of sinusitis to boot. But it was the one Prom I’d singled out from the start and I wasn’t going to miss out. A programme to die for: Wagner’s Tannhaüser overture, Mahler’s Rückert Lieder (sung by base-baritone Simon Keenlyside) and Beethoven’s Eroica symphony. Well worth the effort of rousing myself to get there. And I have a whole week to recover before the next adventure.
Scotland: a week in St Andrews with son, daughter-in-law, 5-year-old Miss T, and the inlaws from Thailand – Ma. Pa and Auntie (Ma’s sister).
We had hired a 7-seater Ford Zetec – great to drive and quite comfortable, though, being the co-driver, I had the privilege of sitting at the front most of the time. It was a long drive, making the trip to Wales seem like a short hop. I recommend the train. Or even Easyjet.
We explored St Andrews, the beauty of which surprised me. I’d previously dismissed it as a glorified Golf course with a good university. But there’s much more to it than that. There’s a haunting cathedral ruin, an old castle, ancient streets of pretty grey stone houses, old walls and arches and a church yard decked in flowers.

The nearby fishing villages of Crail and Anstruther are picturesque.

Unlike Snowdonia, Scotland’s central Highlands put on their best show weatherwise during our visit to Ben Lawers, Loch Tay and Glen Lyons. Blue skies, perfect clouds and warmth. Breathtaking scenery.

Stirling Castle and, of course, Edinburgh were both on the agenda. I escaped from the rest of the party in Edinburgh and spent a peaceful hour in St Giles cathedral, admiring the Burne-Jones Window. It shows the crossing of the Jordan in the upper section, and portrays the figures of three great heroines of the Old Testament: Ruth, Miriam and Jephthah's Daughter in the lower lights.
Stirling Castle was also impressive. Dark and quite formidable. I loved the Great Kitchens with their ghostly crew.

Now I’ve a week to process the garden produce. Not that there’s a great deal. Victoria plums are good, so are the grapes. Courgettes and tomatoes are bearing up and squash is in the ascendency. Apples are so-so. But beans are disappointing. Is it worth all the effort, I ask myself? Should I abandon my kitchen-gardening efforts and stick to the corner greengrocer? Who knows? Ask me in the spring.

WUNDERBAR!

2010-07-09T09:51:00.000-07:00

(With apologies to all my lovely German friends! I hope you know me better than to take offence!)

The three days I recently spent with very dear friends in the Rhineland were punctuated by the World Cup matches. At first it really wasn't a problem, as I was exhausted, just having come back from Germany (yes, honestly, I'd been back from Freiburg two days when I flew out to Cologne). So flopping in front of their massive flat screen television was no effort to me and, I thought, would prevent them carrying out their other threat, which was to take me on a 50 km bicycle ride.

Several pointed comments were made about the fact that I obviously did not want to go on a 50 km cycle ride, and, football over one day, they suggested a walk (Spaziergang).

In German there is a difference between a walk (Spaziergang) and a hike (Wanderung). Donning my sandals I anticipated, when the front door closed behind me, that we'd be setting off on a nice little walk by the stream that runs along the front of their lovely house into the little town where they live. Oh no, we hopped into the car and headed off into the countryside. We stopped in the middle of nowhere where there was very little other than an enormous hill in front of us. Here they assured me was a footpath. After several minutes search for the footpath they decided that it had disappeared so we would therefore have to tackle the hill without one. This involved clambering through the brambles and gorse and grasping onto the miniature trees to stop us tumbling down backwards.

We scrambled vertically upwards about a quarter of a mile until, thank goodness, we reached the top. Here we encountered a barley field. The barley was higher than we were.

Undaunted, my two intrepid friends plunged into the barley announcing that it was the farmer's fault if it got trampled as he should not have planted it over the footpath. Halfway across the field we glanced up, peeping over the top of the barley only to find a large tractor encroaching on us. This caused panic. Quite how we managed to extract ourselves from the barley field and hide behind the trees at the edge I don't know, but we did it somehow and the tractor failed to find us. We continued on another hour or so and then staggered back down another hill to the waiting car.

This idea of a short walk was repeated endlessly on our holiday together a few days later. We drove to Weimar; famous for the Weimar Republic as well is being the birthplace of the poets Goethe and Schiller.

They'd booked a small hotel in Weimar: correction - I should say some 20 minutes walk from the centre of Weimar. So we parked the car at the hotel after a four-hour drive to get there from their home and walked into the town centre. Rapidly. In order to take part in a guided walk around the town which lasted 1 1/2 hours. We then walked rapidly back to the hotel in order to get changed for the opera. Then walked back into town to attend the opera (Eugene Onegin – modern setting, but glorious).And at the end of the evening we walked back to the hotel. But this time I was somewhat the worse for wear.

My friends have a penchant for breweries. In Berlin these have often been converted into very nice eateries where you'll get all the usual wonderful German fare -sausages, legs of pork, potato salad and so on. Wonderful for folks like me, a vegetarian trying to lose weight into the bargain. But I was saved by the Pfifferlinge (chanterelles) which appeared on nearly every menu. Though you had to insist that they leave out the bacon bits! I would have put on more than the five pounds I did put on during my holiday if the breweries had been more accessible but, yes you guessed it again, some were a good half-hour's to walk away from the nearest underground station.

By the time we were in Berlin, World Cup fever was at a high pitch and everybody was blowing their red, gold and black vuvuzelas and waving their red, gold and black striped flags. The first match we watched on a big screen was Spain versus somebody, I've forgotten who. That was fun because it didn't involve England or Germany and it wasn't at all embarrassing. We watched it, yes; you guessed it once again, at a brewery.

The next match we watched was the England versus I've-forgotten-who match. We watched it in the middle of Berlin at a Möwenpick cafe in the Europa Centre, which used to be a famous landmark in West Berlin but is now rather jaded, since the Brandenburg Gate area has resurfaced. We had to sit from 4 pm through the England match (very few people came to watch that one) and, in order to retain our seats, stay seated until the Germany match, which kicked off at 8 pm. By this time the cafe was packed. Well, we all managed to hold our heads high, because both England and Germany won. I had no inkling of the humiliation to follow.

By the time we emerged at around 10 pm the center of Berlin had erupted in a sea of red, gold and black and the sound of a trillion honking horns and vuvuzelas. All very gemütlich, excited and good-tempered.

The day before the England-Germany match my friend (the male half) actually travelled across Berlin to make sure we could book a table at a pub near the "Waldbühne" where we had booked tickets for later in the evening to watch the Berlin Philharmonic perform with the gorgeous Rene Fleming singing. He came back and announced that he’d managed to procure the seats but that we had to be there by three o'clock.

Anticipating the worst, I said I didn't really want to be there at all. But my objections were overruled. So, next day off we set across town on the Underground, arriving at the pub well in time. It quickly filled up with German football fans. Great. Well, I won't go into the rest, you know what happened. Just let's say it's an event I'd rather forget. I tried to take my daughter's advice, handed to me in response to my various text messages –‘Help!’ ‘Get me out of here!’ etc - and pretend I was German, but when the England goal that wasn't a goal was scored and I didn't realise that it wasn’t a goal I inadvertently let out a loud "Yes!" jumping up in excitement. Whoops!

Talking (as I was) of the Waldbühne – the concert was gorgeous, the Waldbühne is a lovely venue – seats 20,000. Apparently erected along with the Olymic Stadium in the 1930s but we won’t hold it against it. Pity some people just HAD to smoke during the performance…

Oh, and getting into the venue was a nightmare. No queues, just 20,000 people descending on the gate from all directions. It took over an hour to get in, thanks to the handbag searchers making sure we weren’t smuggling in that dangerous fluid – water, thus endangering the sales of beer and wine from the numerous stalls inside.

All it needed was a few queue demarcations, like at airports, instead of one mad scramble and we’d have been inside in half the time. And going home was a nightmare. The crush and rush for the U-Bahn was downright dangerous. These were classical concert goers? More like football hooligans!

Oh yes. In Berlin they have human sausage-grills. Some poor bloke is strapped into a gas cylinder (on his back) connected to a tray bearing a grill and sausages) on his stomach. A great way to earn a living, eh?

At the Dahlem underground station in Berlin the seats were rather novel (meant toreflex the African section of a nearby museum, I suppose). Note the partition of the double center seat…

Oh – and the horses in Weimar have attached toilets. So cute… (Joe tells me they have them in Prague too…)

Two different German friends came to stay with me in Guildford this week. Totally lovable but quite bonkers. Everywhere we went SHE had to take a photo of HIM (he wasn't at all concerned about taking photos of HER) so - HIM in front of Chichester Cathedral, HIM in front of Tower Bridge, HIM in front of Wisley Gardens, HIM in front of the Hogs Back Brewery, HIM on the Meridian line.

The visit to Hog's Back Brewery proved an enormous success and after he'd drunk his Traditional English Ale and his Gardener’s Tipple he spent the rest of the evening trying to soak off the labels to take back with him. His suitcase was full of tickets, brochures, price lists and other things that he picked up during the three days we toured Chichester, London and Wisley. And talking of Chichester, as we neared the city, the Red Arrows appeared overhead. All the cars screeched to a halt including us and we spent a good half hour watching their fantastic aerial acrobatics. I felt vindicated. We British may not be able to play tennis, or football, but by golly we can tell the world a thing or two about flying.

Elephants and Regiments on Parade

2010-05-30T08:11:00.000-07:00

What a busy couple of weeks it has been!

I don't seem to have stopped for ten days. Two Fridays ago I attended the first day of a two-day conference on Indian portraiture. It was held jointly by the National Portrait Gallery and the School of Oriental and African Studies in London. Not a subject I knew much about and the conference was very high-powered. It was a valuable learning curve to attend something outside my field of Indian studies. I recognized many eminent art-historical faces among the delegates. Daunting!

I had to be in London at 10.45 on the first day, which meant leaving Guildford disgracefully early. The conference finished at around five, with a reception afterwards that went on, I believe, until seven. But I had to leave at around six because I had another engagement that evening.

Fortunately the National Portrait Gallery is a stone's throw away from the Royal Opera House where I met up with Joe. The opera that we were seeing that night was the La Traviata, one of both our favourites. To make things even better, Dmitri Hvorostovsky was playing Giorgio Germont. It was truly stunning with wonderful, classical staging and beautiful people with angelic voices playing the major roles. If only the ROH would realise that it's this sort of production that people want, not experimental stuff that thinks it's oh so clever with its in-yer-face "psychological undertones", which of course anyone who understands opera does not need, because we know what it's about and we don't need the director's interpretation. So, David McVicar, stick that in your pipe and smoke it and stop messing around with Aida.

We got home at midnight and the following day I had to be up in London again for 9.45, this time at SOAS and not the Portrait Gallery, which takes even longer. So I really was up at the crack of dawn. But it was another interesting day and it was nice to be back at SOAS where I did so much of my studying for my MA a few years ago.

On Tuesday I had the delight of the piano tuner, who bought his girlfriend with him, which had the bonus of her buying a copy of The Moon's Complexion off me (she had started reading my own copy as she sat in the garden in the sunshine while her boyfriend did things to my piano). She said she was enjoying it so much that she wanted to buy a copy. Method in my madness! She’s also said she wants to buy Darshan when she’s finished ‘Moon’.

Yesterday, that is Saturday, I was back in London again. First of all I wanted to see The Islamic science exhibition (1001 Inventions) at the Science Museum before it finishes at the end of June. I got there by about 3.30 and spent an hour and a half fighting the crowds to take it all in. It was well worthwhile, even if I couldn't get near some of the "hands-on" exhibits as everybody was trying to do the same. Very informative though, and a must for people who do not know about the impact of Islamic science on the world throughout the centuries.

A word of warning though - the toilets at the Science Museum a disaster. First of all there are not enough of them. Secondly those that are there are hidden (I could find the men’s but not the women’s). Thirdly, the most popular ones, which appear to be the ones on the lower ground floor, have mile long queues.

After a frustrated attempt when I arrived, I decided to wait until I was ready to leave. I made my way back down to the lower ground floor to find one person only in the queue. It transpired that this was because the cleaner was mopping out the toilets and would not let anyone in. We waited. And waited. Meanwhile the queue got longer and longer. A very spirited Spanish girl further back decided she would go in and tackle the toilet-person head on. She was quickly removed accompanied by string of abuse. No, totally impossible for anyone to come in while the toilets are being cleaned. Go upstairs! Never mind that this was a Saturday afternoon, arguably the busiest time of the whole week. We waited. And waited. You have to understand that the Science Museum is rather out on a limb and there are no public toilets that I know of around there. It's a long walk back down to South Kensington tube station and from there it is another long trip back in to a more civilized area of London where such conveniences might be found.

After some 25 minutes the Spanish girl rebelled again and shouted. "Let's all storm in together!"
‘Right-on!’ we all shouted and without further ado a dozen irate women and several children removed the barriers and barged into the toilets. The poor cleaner didn’t stand a chance. That's what I call womanpower!

On the way back to meet Joe at Covent Garden I added another elephant to add to my elephant collection. If you don't know about the elephants on parade in London you're missing a treat. 250 Indian elephants all colours and patterns, are adorning the streets of the capital at the moment in aid of Indian elephant conservation. You can find out more about them here.

They are delightful and I wish they would stay forever. But it is good that they are being auctioned in aid of elephant conservation at Sothebys at the beginning of July. I wish I could afford one! This one on the Strand is studded with Swarovski jewels.

After I met up with Joe, we also popped down to Trafalgar Square to look at the fourth plinth, where there is currently a ship in a bottle by leading Anglo-Nigerian artist Yinka Shonibare. It is a scale model of Nelson's flagship with African textile designs on the sails, representing Britain's multicultural identity. It really lovely and well worth a visit.

In fact, at the moment London is buzzing with life and colour. If you can, go and see it all before the elephants depart. The ship will be there for about 18 months.

But the highlight of our day in London was another visit to the opera, the final visit of our current package. This is something I had been waiting for with great anticipation. This production of La Fille du Regiment by Donizetti was hailed as one of the highlights of all the Royal Opera House's productions. A stellar cast led by the glorious Natalie Dessay and the delicious Juan Diego Florez. Not to mention the hilarious Dawn French! The staging was just wonderful. The singing was angelic. The acting fantastic. The whole thing had us in tears of laughter and amazement from start to finish and I would go again tomorrow if I could!

I will have to make do with the DVD which I have promptly ordered from Amazon, it has the same cast and it's the same production, with almost totally the same cast. If you think you don't like opera, I would urge you to watch this. Same production has been on television, which is where I first saw it a couple of years ago and decided that if it ever came back I would have to go and see it. And I did! At the end you come out purring, stuffed full of feel-good factor. AND we got free champagne and a free programme as part of our package. (The ROH programme usually sells for £7 and the champers at £10 a glass!!!)

I always write too much when I use Dragon dictate! So I'll stop here. Many congratulations if you managed to get through all this without yawning.

ISLAMIC INSPIRATION, GLORIOUS GARDENS AND WORTHY WORKSHOPS

2010-05-18T01:33:00.000-07:00

Just been reading Jackie’s blog and feeling suitably contrite at her mention of my photos of Jennifer’s guided tour to Wisley, to which both Jackie and I lent our support – not that she needed it, as she was well able to compete with the driving rain and howling gale.

The audience was most attentive and we learnt some interesting facts about the RHS garden, including the whereabouts of several hitherto undiscovered toilets, which will be useful for further visits! I’m a member so I pop in when I can, but I’ve never done a tour before. Jennifer had everyone enthralled, particular the gate-crasher in this picture – there’s always one in every tour, isn’t there, who unobtrusively joins the group. Sadly for this infiltrator, he stood out a little…

Wednesday saw us (the Goldenford Matrons) holding another half-day workshop on the five senses. This time it was at the Brighton Festival Fringe. Our venue was lovely (the Friends Meeting House) and so was Brighton, in the rare bright sunshine. The workshop was good fun – several participants came up to me afterwards and said they had been ‘inspired’ and please could we email them with future events.

On the subject of creative writing I have to report that I am working steadily on ‘Noontide Owls’ now as I have a deadline hanging over me – I’ve been told by Jennifer (Gol denford MD) that we have to get it out by the end of the year. Amazing what a deadline will do.

Yesterday was my creative writing group meeting – another inspirational afternoon. They are coming along so well. Everyone had done their ‘homework’ – I’d given them this postcard to write about.

It’s actually a 1990s handbag on show at the V&A. The resulting themes ranged from genealogy to funerals to family problems in Mauritius, with a couple of haikus and poems thrown in for good measure. We sat in my conservatory and it was so warm that we had to open the doors wide.

The new tax year has started well for Darshan with pleasing sales this month. Long may it continue.(Oh, for the book to be earning enough to actually have to pay tax on it! Dream on...)

A couple of weeks ago I was asked to give a talk to a group of women at an Islamic Centre interfaith conference on peace and harmony. Although I was initially doubtful about my qualifications for holding forth on this topic, I ended up agreeing to do it. I’m so glad I did. The ladies were delightful and the speakers were interesting (Buddhist and Hindu speakers got us all to meditate, which was fine by me. Rather more terrifying was a lady vicar who made us all… sing!!!!) Most of the Muslim ladies were of Indian sub-continent origin with the result that the food at the conference was very me. The onion bajees were yummy and the samosas were melt in the mouth delicious. But most important of all was the promotion of peace, understanding and mutual respect that was conveyed by all participants – Christian, Buddhist, Hindu, Jewish and Muslim. I met so many interesting women there and came away afterwards feeling quite uplifted.

Hang out the flags, the BA strike is off – hope I haven’t spoken too soon. Now I only have the volcanic ash hanging over me for my trip to Freiburg in June. I have a slightly strange situation in that I return from Freiburg for three days and then I’m off again to Cologne. Reason for this being that I’d booked the Cologne/Berlin holiday with friends before I was asked to go and help represent Guildford at the annual Freiburg twinning fair. So now I’m wondering what would happen if I get to Freiburg but my return BA flight is scuppered by ash. Naturally I’d have to stay there and catch a train from Freiburg to Cologne. No problem. But would Easyjet refund my flight from Gatwick to Cologne on the basis that I couldn’t take it because I was stuck in Germany due to ash? Hm.

On that note I shall beat a hasty retreat. Oh, I almost forgot. This is the view through my kitchen window at the moment. The yellow rose trespassed into my garden from next door years ago, and put down roots. The clematis is an even older resident – in fact it was in the garden when we bought the house over 30 years ago. Thought you’d like to know that...

MAY DAY, MAY DAY...

2010-05-02T05:00:00.000-07:00

It's always a pleasure to find your work being quoted in unexpected places, and I recently found my poem 'Images and Gods' on the Blogsite 'A Glimpse of Victory'. It's the poem that appears as a 'prologue' in my novel 'Darshan'. The book's had some pleasing sales on Amazon.co.uk recently with a massive rise in its ratings. It's sad that they start to fall again as soon as there's a lull in sales. The best way to get hold of any of my books through Amazon is to buy them through the Goldenfordieb seller - which is the publisher Goldenford. You'll get the book within a couple of days of ordering.

I thought you might like to see a picture of my front garden. The bulbs are past their best but the alyssum is glorious, and I planted it myself, from seed. So perhaps my fingers are a little bit green after all.

Delighted to say my stranded family arrived back safely from Bangkok this week, so contingency plans to enlist kind friends in Spain to rescue them should they get stuck in the ‘hub’ were not needed. Spare a thought though, for hundreds of others who are still apparently bedded down at Bangkok airport. When their flight was cancelled on 16th my two were canny enough to say ‘yes’ when they were offered the last two seats for 27th – unlike some ahead of them in the queue who turned them down because they wanted to get home earlier! They’re still there…

I've had my roof repaired, looks good now, which is more than I can say of the view through my study window while it was going on. They were very conscientious, I have to say. Made me climb the ladder several times to admire their handiwork. Note: these are the roofer's legs, NOT mine.

I’ve bought a shed. Only a little shed, more like a wardrobe really, but it will get the gardening tools out of the garage. Just one problem – I’ve got to put it up.

Well, it was a lovely week, so it’s only fair that the gardens get some rain now. A Bank Holiday weekend, and wouldn’t you know it, the weather’s getting colder. AND it’s tipping it down. I rushed out and mowed the lawn on Friday.

Yesterday (May 1st) Joe and I and friend E made a trip to the Italian Renaissance Drawings Exhibition at the British Museum. Interesting and well explained. Has whetted my appetite for more information about silverpoint, leadpoint, various natural chalks and medieval paper-making. Lunch at the Malabar Junction was, as usual scrumptious – there’s something about Keralan food that you don’t find anywhere else in India, a melange of wonderful spices coupled with coconut. Irresistible. Though could have been hotter (heatwise, but I’m not complaining). Sadly the £2 masala tea that followed really let them down – tasted like tea with a heaped spoonful of ground pepper in it. Unsubtle and overpowering.

Afterwards Joe and I walked to Covent Garden passing this, the rather splendid Art Deco Freemasons’ Hall, duly locked and bolted, to avoid prying eyes watching rolled up trouser legs and aprons, I suppose.

At Covent Garden we treated ourselves to gorgeous cuddly Italian knitted jackets from the craft market. That’s what happens when you have too much time on your hands! (We had a couple of hours to kill before the opera)

The opera (Aida), was fine, though I’ve seen better. Mostly the staging was unobtrusive, modern minimalist. None of the opulence you usually associate with this opera and that makes it such a spectacle. But the costumes were OK if a little historically challenged. Not sure what happened to Egypt. The singers were fine, but I thought their acting was rather wooden, particularly Micaela Carosi, who sang Aida. But none of the main three put much emotion into their parts. I hated the human sacrifice – it has no place in this opera, equally squirm-inducing were the simulated sex orgies put on by the ballet – I do find it tedious that so many 19th century operas felt obliged to include a ballet, and this one was, well, unpleasant, as were the hanging corpses. Gratuitous, unnecessary and out of place. Verdi would NOT have been amused.

We walked back to Waterloo after the opera, over Waterloo Bridge in torrential rain. It was freezing so we were glad of our new jackets, and luckily I had an umbrella. Not that the umbrella helped. Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time – we just happened to be walking past the one place on the bridge where the road had well and truly flooded. And yes, you guessed it – up roars a speeding, siren-blaring police-car. We let out simultaneous screams of horror as a wall of water, as tall as we were headed straight at us. We were soaked from head to foot. Believe me, walking in wind and rain in dripping, flapping linen trousers is no joke. And our poor new jackets – baptism by water, to say the least.

Today I actually braved the rain to head up the garden and water my greenhouse plants, also to add some courgettes and peppers to my growing family of germinating seeds. I seem to have rather a lot now. Not quite sure where I’ll plant them all. I have at least 60 red cabbages, 100 onions, 18 tomatoes, plus beans, peas, squash and various bits of exotica - including 10 okras which are all looking good. The carrots, leeks, lettuce, rocket and spinach are already in the beds. In fact we’re harvesting spinach from last year. Delicious.

Problem is, by the time I’ve bought compost, grow-bags and containers for the overflow I’ll have spent more than I would if I went to Sainsbury’s for my veg.

But, oh, there’s nothing like the produce of your own garden. Caterpillars, slugs and all…

WINDOWS OF OPPORTUNITY…

2010-04-19T14:06:00.000-07:00

Well, there have been very few of these this week, but here are a couple.

The first is this evening’s announcement that some airports in the UK are reopening tomorrow: good news indeed. But I’m not holding my breath that my daughter-in-law and five-year-old Miss T will be able to fly back from Bangkok just yet. They were due back last Friday and we’ve been biting our nails ever since. Even when flights do resume, they will be among countless hundreds trying to get on them. And I’m not banking on my sister making it over to visit me from Nice on Thursday, or my niece from New York on Friday…

So you can see, I’ve been somewhat in limbo since Friday and the end is not yet in sight. Nothing for it but stoically carry on in the knowledge that this will resolve itself sooner or later, though unfortunately unlikely to be in time for my family weekend. However, let’s pray that financial pressures don’t result in airlines and governments taking risks. I’d rather be without my family a bit longer than have them put in jeopardy.

The second window of opportunity came many months ago when Ant and Joe read the Myasthenia Gravis Association was organising a two-day walk around the London Marathon route in aid of research into this horrible disease. Since then, they have been gathering sponsors and have at the moment well over £1000 in sponsorship. The walk was this weekend, and I’m delighted to say that both Joe and Ant completed the walk yesterday in memory of their Dad, and I was there to cheer them on over the finishing line on the Mall. Afterwards there was a buffet reception and they and the other participants received their certificates and awards. I was a very proud mum! For anyone who would like to add to their sponsorship you can still do so here, on Just Giving.

One of the positive effects of the CIA (Cloud of Icelandic Ash) is that it’s driven home the world’s dependence on flight. From simple little things - like wanting to send a get-well card to my cousin in Berlin, only to realise there’s no airmail – to reports from around the world such as farm workers on Kenyan fruit and flower farms being laid off because they can’t pick fresh products for airfreight.

The best thing of all is that the CIA has stolen the headlines from the DEC (Dire Election Campaign). And. hopefully, it will open a few eyes. BOG (Boring Old Gordon) and his Union of Hypocrites may be a complete turn-off, but would you really prefer to see Baby Dave and his awful Etonian-Duck-House-Mucky-Moat Crew at the helm during this crisis? Perish the thought. One thing about BOG is that he stays cool in a crisis.

And what fun Nifty Nick has caused. Just because he managed to be marginally less irritating than BOG and Baby Dave in THE DEBATE Gold has suddenly become Colour of the Month. And Red (or is it Pink?) and Blue are falling over themselves to discredit the upstarts. How does Baby Dave have the effrontery to accuse Nifty Nick and his Gang of not having any experience? Isn’t that the Blue pot calling the Gold kettle Black? The Pinky-Red and Blue panic-driven antics will provide great spectator sport for the next couple of weeks. If they go on like this everyone who’s not turned off them already soon will be. Then they’ll go out and vote Lib-Dem anyway!

As for party policies… Best ignore those. They’re just a lot of hype anyway. None of them will keep those outlandish manifesto promises – they can’t, as they very well know. Who do they think they’re kidding?

CAN'T SEE THE WOOD...

2010-04-04T10:08:00.001-07:00

Well, the weather forecast got it slightly wrong. Again. It’s certainly no gardening weather today, the promised dry day hasn’t materialised – yes, the sun is lovely for the odd half hour or so, but then the rain comes down again, feeling very icy, encouraged by a sharp wind. My usually sieve-like garden (we’re on sandy soil) is like a bog at the moment. I had optimistically charged the electrics on the lawnmower in the hope of getting it done this weekend. Ha ha! It is particularly irritating as the ghastly winter we’ve just endured has resulted in an unusual phenomenon that I want to get rid of asap. The three sycamores in the garden behind have shed their seeds – as they always do. I’m used to having to contend with uprooting numerous baby sycs that suddenly sprout in my garden. It’s normally manageable – just about. But this year – well, this is what’s happened. This picture shows a close-up of one patch of what has happened right across the garden.

This picture shows the extent of my miniature forest – basically, everywhere.

I’m totally at a loss. I can’t even mow down the ones on the lawn, because the lawnmower would drown in the bog. I can only pray for dry weather in the next week. As for the seedlings that aren’t on the lawn – I can’t even mow those, so someone’s going to have to do some serious weeding….

But the spring flowers are fighting the forest and the daffodils are gorgeous. So is this amaryllis that L and N brought me last year.

Yesterday Joe and I went to see the second opera of our Spring Royal Opera package of five. It was another ‘unknown’ – Il Turko in Italia by Rossini. I’d read the synopsis and decided it was going to be rather an endurance test. Silly to jump to conclusions, especially as I’ve enjoyed The Barber countless times and also The Royal Opera’s stupendous production of Cenerentola some years ago. But I’d convinced myself that the Turk would be mediocre. Turned out to be one of the most uplifting and hilarious productions I’ve ever seen. I often curse at the audience for clapping before the last note has faded. This time none of us heard the last notes. Not because we were clapping. Because we were falling about laughing so much that the orchestra didn’t stand a chance. There was even a black and white cat in it. It appeared in every scene – almost as persistent as this nuisance that seems to think it owns me and is jealous of the laptop.

It’s been known to jump onto me, pushing the laptop out of the way.
As I was saying…

Joe’s first words after the opera: ‘When’s it on again?’ Well, there are a few more performances but they’re pretty much sold out, I’m afraid.
My photos of the Eye at night were a disaster but these taken on the train from Waterloo East to Charing Cross are not too bad.

As I walked along the Strand to Covent Garden I saw this protest against the regime in Zimbabwe. You can’t tell, but the people were singing, with that singular beat that defines African music. It was really rather inspiring.

On the writing front, I’m bashing on with Noontide Owls –up to around 60,000 words now. I don’t want to make it too long as it’s Young Adult fantasy. Putting it together is a nightmare. I’ll finish it and then no doubt spend the next year deconstructing and reconstructing it. Will it ever see the light of day?

I set my creative writing group an interesting task on Monday (at least I thought so, hope they did!). I got them to put this narrative passage by Sebastian Faulks into dialogue. Amazing how many different perspectives resulted. And I think they were all better than the original. Why don’t you try it?

‘They walked past the cathedral, which was sandbagged to the level of the lower windows. The stone was intact, though some of the glass was missing. Stephen noticed how many of the women in Amiens seemed to be in the black clothes of mourning.
They stopped in a bar called Aux Huitres, though there were no oysters for sale inside. It was full of soldiers of all nationalities: English, French, Belgian, Portuguese. Stephen bought champagne and filled Ellis's glass. He raised his own and they drank each other's health.’

Last Friday I drove up to Oxford. Apart from a lovely weekend with the family, it was also a chance to reacquaint myself with an old school chum. We met again through Friends Reunited some years ago and had been talking about meeting ‘in the flesh’ for a while. As Oxford is around half way for both of us, it was an ideal opportunity. P and I went to a snooty girls’ grammar school together, and since neither she or I were snooty, we had a lot in common. We went riding and eventually both acquired ponies, which we rode all over the gorgeous Cannock Chase. We ‘did’ the gymkhana circuit and I even won some rosettes. We swam our ponies in Chasewater – a glorified gravel pit – gives me goose pimples to think of it now. We were so much freer in those days. My friendship with P certainly saved my sanity during my horrible school years, which were not the happiest time of my life.

Delighted to say that we hit it off straight away when we met again in Oxford. She hasn’t changed a bit – still as full of spunk and as much fun as she was then. I think I’ve changed though – I know I have. I was a strange little retiring oddball then. Now I’m still strange, not at all little (sadly), retired rather than retiring. Still an oddball though.

The Joys of Spring

2010-03-25T15:48:00.000-07:00

I seem to have been extraordinarily busy but I can't for the life of me remember what with...

Oh yes, I have been doing some gardening, which is a labour of necessity, not love. Don't get me wrong - I love the garden, but I'm not, shall we say, a born gardener. The idea of spending half a day grubbing about in soil, having close encounters with slugs and worms, does NOT turn me on. Neither does doing a Brer Rabbit in the brambles. Though once I get out there, time seems to pass quite quickly and pleasantly - for about half an hour till my back tells me that's enough! Today I found a newt sitting on the drive. First one this year, I'm glad our newt colony seems to have survived the horrible winter. Newts are protected here and I have to be very careful where I weed so as not to disturb them. I rushed in and got my camera before I returned it to the flower bed, from where, presumably it had somehow strayed.

My gardening foray yesterday confirmed my reluctance to expose myself to long-leggedy beasties. Something nasty bit my ankle. Twenty-four hours later it’s painful, hot, red and swollen. I’m slapping on the Savlon and gulping down the Piriton, so hopefully I’ll it will have deflated by the time I drive up to Oxford tomorrow morning. I don’t fancy the A & E at the JR – or anywhere else for that matter.

Last Friday Joe and I went up to the Royal Opera in London to see Janacek's 'Cunning Little Vixen'. Modernish Czech music doesn’t fill me with enthusiasm, but this was delightful - all woodland and cute animals. Mind you, the poor little vixen did get shot, but not before she'd disposed of a whole coop of chickens, a rooster and a rabbit, PLUS she turfed the poor old badger out of his home and moved in herself. So I suppose she got her just deserts. It was all very charming and the music was lovely.

On Monday we went to the local flea-pit to see a transmission from The Royal Opera of La Boheme. This was a case of 'get your hankey out'. It's always a tear-jerker. The cast were all beautiful people Actually the Guildford Odeon’s not a flea-pit at all, it’s a very smart multi-screen cinema complex, with comfortable seats and lovely staff. Although there’s nothing like a live performance, it is nice to have a Grand Circle view occasionally and oh, the luxury of all that legroom! The camera work was spot on, unlike the dodging and darting of the camera crew that does some of the New York Met transmissions. And the sound was also perfect – just right, unlike the eardrum piercing decibels you tend to get at a musical (live or otherwise).

Today we, the Goldenford Gang of Four met over a pub lunch to finalise our programme for the Brighton Fringe Festival in May – we’re doing an afternoon workshop on the five senses – similar ones at the Guildford and Mole Valley book/arts festivals in 2009 were a huge success. The Brighton event will be on Wednesday 12 May 2010 from 1.45pm to 5pm at the Friends' Meeting House, Ship Street Brighton BN1 1AF
If you want to find out more or book your place, visit http://www.brightonfestivalfringe.org.uk/
or The Dome Ticket Office - Tel: 01273 709 709

We also took the opportunity to finalise the times for our forthcoming ‘Music and the Muse’ event at the Guildford Institute, which will now take place on Thursday 15th April from 2 pm to 4 pm. We’ll be talking about the music that influenced our writing, giving readings from our novels and playing CDs of some of our musical muses – in my case four pieces ranging from Rachmaninov to Ragas. For more information Email: frances@goldenford.co.uk or phone 01372 456778

Oh, and it’s not too late to sponsor my wonderful kids, who are walking the London marathon route on the weekend of 17th April in aid of the Myasthenia Gravis Society and in memory of their dad. So far they’ve raised around £800 and would love to make it £1000. You can donate through http://www.justgiving.com/Joanna-Black and we’re so very grateful to all of you who have already done so.

STING IN THE TAIL

2010-03-12T14:17:00.000-08:00

Hallo, I’ve come to have a moan. Well, not really, just a bit of a grumble. If you can get hold of a copy of this week’s Surrey Ad you’ll see a big page 12 spread about Goldenford’s forthcoming Music and the Muse event at the Guildford Institute at 7.30 on 25th March. There’s even a mugshot (in full colour, warts and all) of Jackie, Jennifer and Yours Truly. A long article explains about the event – the three of us are giving readings from our books accompanied by appropriate music. I’ve always thought of Darshan as a musical book. Beethoven weaves his way through it, setting off all sorts of trains of thought in my protagonist, Sara, and even getting her into trouble. Purcell, Schumann and various other classical composers make cameo appearances. Indian music is another major player in the novel. One of the main later characters is a veena player and a veena itself plays an important part towards the end of the novel.

But here’s my grumble. What did they do in the article? They got the name of the book wrong! It’s DARSHAN, do you hear? DARSHAN, subtitled A JOURNEY. DARSHAN! Got that?

On a more cheerful note, I'm very pleased that Amazon has had Darshan in stock again. Of course there was never a time when any of my books were not available over Amazon, as they can be bought direct from the publisher via Amazon too. But I'm glad that Amazon itself saw fit to restock Darshan. Having said that, it is once more out of stock, which means they sold their last copy. This is reflected in the ratings, which, as I write, have shot up to an all-time high. Hopefully this will encourage Amazon to restock again.

Talking of the Guildford Institute, I gave the first of my two talks on the hidden Far East there on Thursday. It seemed to go well - my slides of beautiful and sometimes bizarre Thailand and my snippets of interesting facts were well received? Examples are:

Beautiful - this mountain area in Northern Thailand

Bizarre - this is a toilet. It represents the 'worldly'

As opposed to this temple, which represents the 'transcendental'

Next Thursday (18th) it’s Cambodia – I’ll be talking about an overland journey I made from Bangkok to Siem Riep. The main actors will include Angkor Wat, Angkor Thom and some ancient shrines in the Mountains of the Lychee Trees. I’ll also be looking at more recent history, the awful legacy of Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge. There are still a few places if you hurry. The time is 2-3.30 pm.

Did I tell you about my cat’s visit to the neurologist? No? It was the vet’s idea. Another new vet. Every time we go to the surgery we see someone else. All very sweet. All fall slap bang for the charm of my feline conman. All declare that they can’t pinpoint what’s wrong with him but ‘he’s not all there.’ That’s fairly obvious as he wobbles around the surgery like an old wino. Anyway this delightful vet suggested that he should go to the cat neurologist… And guess which mug agreed? Yes, you got it.

So last Tuesday cat was ‘persuaded’ back into cat box and off we trotted (ie drove) to Woking. An hour later and £200 poorer we emerged. Cat had been thoroughly pummelled, poked and put through paces. Verdict: the neurologist couldn’t pinpoint what’s wrong with him but ‘he’s not all there.’ Now there’s a surprise. She did suggest he might have a neck problem as he never lifts his head. She’s sent for the Very Expensive X-rays he had done a couple of years ago (those were another £500 of diagnostic dead end) in case they missed anything on them the first time round. So far she hasn’t got back to me, so I guess it isn’t the neck after all. So he marches on, head down, legs akimbo but ‘neurologically perfect’.

Thank Heavens for small mercies – at least I’m not flying BA in the next few weeks. Though I feel for those who are. Long live Easyjet!

ALL WILL BE REVEALED (NOT)…

2010-02-25T09:35:00.000-08:00

People – that is to say friends on the continent - keep reminding me about my blog. I simply haven’t had time for the last few weeks. It seems almost criminal to be sitting here spewing out this self-indulgence when I should be doing much more virtuous things like getting on with writing ‘The Noontide Owls’ (have undertaken to finish it this year !!!), or preparing my talk for tomorrow (along with Jackie Luben and Jay Margrave of Goldenford) at another Bramley Readers Group. Or I could be finalising my Power Point presentations on Hidden Thailand and Hidden Cambodia at the Guildford Institute on 11th and 18th March. Or I could be timing my music extracts for our Goldenford contribution to the Guildford Music Festival on 25th March when we are presenting a programme of book readings and associated music at the Guildford Institute.

Or I could be tidying my office – it would be so nice to see my desk again, currently buried beneath mounds of papers. Or…

Ah well, it seems I’m not doing any of these things and I’m stuck with blogging.
Okay then. Let me tell you about my mini-break in the Netherlands last weekend. Thanks, N and L for your wonderful hospitality in your home in glorious Delft (it really is glorious, even if the weather wasn’t!).

We spent Saturday in Amsterdam where I was very impressed with the Rijksmuseum, and very unimpressed with the weather (rain, sleet, snow, wind… and we’d forgotten umbrellas, you could have wrung us out by the time we found refuge in an Indian restaurant).

But the canals were pretty. So was this Beguine quarter, home to centuries-worth of lay-sisters.

The Rijksmuseum is in the process of restoration but was still well worth a visit – we spent three hours inside taking in Holland’s maritime Golden Age, and also the golden age of Dutch painting, including Vermeer, Rembrandt, Jan Steen and so on. The labelling on the paintings was particularly good – not only the name, date, painter and so on, but also a brief explanation of any interesting painting techniques used. So in Rembrandt’s ‘The Jewish Bride’ for instance, we were told that the thick paint on the man’s arms served to reflect the light and make the cloth look more opulent (or words to that effect). Sometimes distant or dark scenes were done in thin paint, light or near scenes in thicker paint. Or the paint strokes themselves were used to sculptural effect. These comments were fascinating.

On Monday we visited Rotterdam (guess what? It rained!) L and N treated me to a 1 ½ hour tour of the port in a Spido ship (I have to call it a ship, not a boat as it was so big and modern). This isn't our ship - this is the Holland-America Line cruise ship Rotterdam, now a hotel.

I was bowled over by the size of the port – the third biggest in the world after Singapore and Shanghai. I’ve never seen so many cranes and containers. All I can say is – wow! It all made UK ports seem very small and insignificant.

We also found these very strange modern flats in Rotterdam.

One was open to the public for viewing. We did. I think I’d go gaga if I had to live in one. Particularly nausea-inducing (in my opinion) was the sloping radiator in the bedroom. Imagine waking up to that every morning. Yuck! Unfortunately it doesn’t look very sloping on this photo. Just try and visualise that the radiator is sloping with the ceiling, which is sloping over the bed. Crazy!

All in all the flats (which are very expensive) struck me as a short-term indulgence for people with more money than sense, who want to be trendy. They’ll wake up one day and discover they have finally matured. Then they’ll make a quick getaway.

It is amazing how, in spite of the fact that we in the EU are all Europeans, how very different our homes and way of life seem to be. Holland strikes me as much more leisurely and companionable than the UK. N is always visiting friends and relatives and planning day trips with them, bike rides, hikes and trips to Amsterdam and so on. And that on top of the day job. We don’t seem to have much time for such things, we are all too busy getting stressed out, running to stand still, rushing to Sainsburys (or putting in an online order) instead of strolling to the market and stopping for a coffee en route. There is much more of a feeling of community and social cohesiveness than here. Everyone is so friendly. Even N and L’s adult sons and partner found time to come and greet me over coffee and cake on Saturday evening. And very charming they all are too.

Houses are really different. For me the most astonishing thing about a Dutch house is the staircase, which can be so steep that it’s almost like a loft ladder! It was a shock the first time I went to Holland but this time I was scrambling up two flights of them like a spring lamb. They are so steep that you can actually use your hands on the steps to help you up! I thought all the ones I encountered (like in N and L's house and this one in Rotterdam) were steep but I was told some are much steeper!

Oh yes, excitement, excitement! When I flew back to Heathrow from Schiphol Airport I had the hilarious experience of going through one of those new ‘reveal all’ scanners. I laughed so much I nearly fell over. You have to stand on two footprints in a glass booth and keep still – like an X-ray. Then they let you out, and amid great hilarity show you the scan. Since it was so new, the security guards were as excited as I was and we all had a good giggle. My scan looked like a pale, thin ghost. The thin bit was great. The ghost bit was fine also. I don’t know what all the fuss is about – it certainly doesn’t show all your bits (the bits that are embarrassing, that is). It really only shows a rough outline of your body. Personally, if it makes flying safer I’m all for it. Those idiots who are moaning about ‘infringement of human rights’ should go and give it a try before they put us all in jeopardy by trying to get the thing banned on legal grounds. They’d soon see how little it reveals.

THE RETURN OF THE SOLAR POWERED NOVELISTS

2010-01-30T13:21:00.000-08:00

Hallo, yes, we’re back. Two intrepid adventurers - two thirds of the Goldenford Triumvirate, the other third meanwhile keeping the Goldenford flag flying at home. In fact we came back on Monday but haven’t felt up to much for the past few days – you know, the usual jetlag, but this time compounded by a dose of Tipu Sultan’s Revenge, which got us both on the last day. It made for an interesting flight back.

However, glad to say the effects of the mysterious blight have now worn off and I’m feeling relatively normal, (whatever that is) although I’m still propping my eyes open. Actually exhaustion isn’t too surprising. This was indeed a holiday that requires another holiday to recover from it. Quite apart from the non-stop schedule that I’d somehow dreamt up, I had forgotten how ‘in your face’ India is – starting with the traffic noise - remind me to take earplugs next time. Jennifer reckons she’s cracked Indian car Horn Speak. She’s written a whole treatise on The Meaning of the Hoots.

The solar eclipse added a certain piquancy to the experience. We were taxi-ing up the runway at Chennai airport at the time and apart from the fact that the world was suddenly plunged into gloom, the event proper passed us by. The aftermath, however, caught us fair and square. Don't ever try to get into a temple for at least three hours after an eclipse. It's no go. The gods have to be propitiated. Devotees and tourists alike jolly well have to wait. Of course, when the gates finally do open there's a stampede. With Yours Truly in the middle, Jennifer having beaten a hasty retreat to wait for the storm to subside.

Then of course there was Pongal. Never let it be said that the Indians don’t put their hearts and souls into celebrating their festivals. Pongal is a harvest festival, a national holiday, an excuse for serious eating and serious playing. Above all it involves visiting the gods, and wherever we went the temples were bulging with the life and colour of devoted, exuberant humanity. Everyone dressed in heir holiday clothes, including the cattle

The grounds of India’s greatest temples played host to family picnics, games of Blindman’s Bluff, kite flying contests: homemade kites made of old polythene bags. School groups poured incessantly through the gates- boys and girls in crisp uniforms, starched white shirts, gymslips and perfectly creased trousers.

And in the midst of all this - two crazy English women. Well, forget the games, the puja, the darshan with the gods. As soon as the crowds spotted us – ever wondered how the Queen feels having to shake hundreds of hands? Only the Queen has a platoon of bodyguards so she is never in danger of disappearing under a sea of unleashed excitement, bombarding us with demands. There were times when we wondered whether we’d ever get out alive. Luckily our captors always only had five demands to accompany the non-stop hand-shaking; ‘You are coming from?’ ‘Your country coin…’ ‘English pen…’ ‘What is your name…’ ‘Photo please!’ I couldn’t begin to count the photos of us that must be circulating South India.

Well, like true royalty of course, we had to stay in a palace at least once. In our case, the Lalitha Mahal Palace Hotel, built by the Maharaja of Mysore to accommodate the Viceroy of India, no less. Our regal bearing was clearly impressive – checking in to the humble servants’ quarters that I’d booked, I mentioned that I’d stayed there in 2006. We were immediately upgraded to grand old rooms with lovely views and the quaintest bathrooms, obviously unchanged since the Viceroy’s day. Returning from dinner in the lavish banqueting hall, I found a bowl of fruit and a plate of cakes waiting on my coffee table.

And let it not be said that we spent all the time looking at temples. We did manage a break or two in Bangalore. Partly visiting friends, but we also managed an excursion to Lal Bagh, the famous park founded by that scourge of British Indian interests, Hyder Ali, in the eighteenth century. Oddly, it contains a replica of the Crystal Palace (the one that burned down, not the one that’s just gone into administration). As luck would have it, the Bangalore Flower Show had just begun.

Oh yes, my Indian printer, Pothi.com successfully delivered the updated Indian imprint of The Moon’s Complexion to my hotel in Bangalore. It looks great and only costs Rs 281 plus postage if you buy direct from Pothi.

I’d also ordered the first part (2006-7) of my blog from them – it’s a great idea – you can get it printed and bound by them – it takes a few moments to enter into the template online and then you have a hard copy in perpetuity. It was also duly delivered to my hotel – I’m really delighted with it and will order the other three years.

So now I have Sunday to prepare my Creative Writing class for Monday, a talk on my novels for a Bramley reading group for a Goldenford event on Thursday, and brave the Guildford roadworks for the dentist on Tuesday. Plus I’d better get my hair cut before it drowns me.

ROLL ON SUNSHINE!

2010-01-04T12:43:00.000-08:00

It’s nearly three weeks since I last reported in. I’d love to say I’ve simply been too busy to blog, but that wouldn’t be quite true. Obviously I’ve been busy – haven’t we all, over the ‘festive season’? But really, to be honest, I’ve simply been too cold and full of winter gloom and doom. Once it gets down to minus figures outside, I just want to curl up under a warm duvet and turn into a dormouse. Give me a good book, or something worthwhile on telly and I’d be happy to re-emerge when the earth warms and the leaves are back on the trees. It’s a creeping inertia that I find hard to shake off. Thank goodness I have obligations that occasionally force me out of my stupor. And joy, oh joy, I’ll be zipping eastward through the sky in a week or two, heading for sunshine and inspiration (I hope) in India.

Since my last blog we’ve had snow, yes, even down here in our sheltered little patch of England ...

...and I’ve been to a panto. This is probably more amazing than you realise. I’ve spent my life avoiding this particular type of entertainment. I’ve always loathed audience participation events and in anycase, my sense of humour is decidedly not UK. When my kids were young, I studiously steered very clear of the pantomime scene. But it’s finally caught up with me. Having been called up to Oxford to granddaughter-sit for a couple of days before Christmas, I found myself somehow giving in to emotional blackmail and booking a matinee performance of ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’ at the Oxford Playhouse. Well. My opinion hasn’t changed. It was loud, very silly with jokes that I didn’t think were funny and my five-year-old charge couldn’t possibly have understood.

(photo from Oxford Playhouse website)

BUT… it was such FUN! We had ice-creams in the interval and even my little Miss Shy (when not at home…) was caught up in it, shouting ‘he’s behind you!’ when some of the goodies were threatened by nasty cyber-wolves. And her first words when it finished were ‘Can we see Jack and the Beanstalk again?’ That made it all worthwhile. That and having a quiet giggle at all the other grandparents who had obviously been dragooned into attending while Mum and Dad were at work.

Today was my Creative Writing class and we held it at my house because the usual hostess was on holiday. I must say I was grateful not to have to go out in this weather. But in honour of the occasion I baked almond biscuits, which went down well, even if they couldn’t compare with the ones my aunt used to bake. But then, they weren’t to know that… I must say, their writing is coming along a treat. They managed to wheedle all sorts of interesting plots and themes out of the homework I’d set (junk mail), including poetry and some thought-provoking short stories. I’ll never quite look at junk mail in the same light again.

Enough rambling. This has not been my most inspired effort but at least I’ve tried!! It’ll be another three weeks at least before you hear from me again. Think of Jennifer and Yours Truly somewhere in the heart of Tamil Nadu burning our feet on hot temple stones, burning our stomachs on hot chillies and burning our eyes with the hot colours of India.

Happy New Year everyone!

FOOD FOR BODY AND SOUL

2009-12-16T14:19:00.000-08:00

I actually hand-wrote this on Monday, which is quite good for atrophied finger muscles. Someone commented to me the other day that they were finding hand-writing a strenuous effort: that’s what too much word-processing does for you. Anyway the reason for my strenuous effort was that I was seated in the Guildford Institute Beano Café selling Goldenford books (and eating). We had four sessions altogether and sales were pleasing.

Last week whizzed past and seems a bit of a blur now (showing my age…) It seems ages since my Saturday visit to Oxford to see Ant and family. We lunched at the Star Inn in Stanford St John and my tagliatelli with chestnuts and wild mushrooms was totally divine. I thoroughly recommend this eatery.

On the way home I called in on SIL and BIL who insisted I stayed for fish nad chips. Definitely a case of rolling back the driving seat a notch or two to accommodate my increased girth for the rest of the journey.
Monday was the monthly meeting of my creative writing group We have decided that two hours is not enough so I’m extending it to two-and-a-half in January. They are very keen and I’ve got them entering competitions now.

In the afternoon Jackie and I scooted up to London, collected Jennifer’s and my passports from the Indian Visa Office – now we have our lovely visas! Hurray! A step nearer! (BA permitting…)

We met up with Jennifer at PJ’s Bar and Grill opposite the Royal Opera House. My second good meal of the week. And so friendly too.
Fortified by good nosh and vino we staggered across the road to the Royal Opera House and squeezed into our seats on the piste for the night’s performance of ‘Rosenkavalier’. This picture is from the ROH website - I do hope they don't mind!

This opera is one of my favourites. It contains some of the most beautiful music ever written for the female voice. It’s poignant, sad, funny and enchanting. Moreover it is an opera that (thankfully) doesn’t lend itself to directors’ ‘interpretations’ – ie it’s very hard to ruin it scenically. The sumptuous Viennese eighteenth century set in writ in stone. Hope I haven’t tempted fate – I’m seeing it again in January – a live transmission from the New York Met at the IMAX.

Jumping forward to this last weekend – spent much of Saturday selling German artefacts at the Guildford-Freiburg Christmas Market in Guildford’s magnificent Guildhall. The Glühwein was pretty magnificent too, and scented the whole room.

Sunday was something of a marathon with two parties to attend. And a good time was had by all... except for the singalongs... my idea of torture!

And finally to Tuesday. After the last selling session at the Guildford Institute Jackie, Anjali and I packed all our books, props and decorations into Anjali’s car and headed off to the Farnham Maltings for the Christmas Fair. Our stall looked very pretty, if I say so myself. It’s always a fun event. We hadn’t been there five minutes when a lady came up, pointed to my name on a book cover and announced ‘Irene Black – I’ve heard of her!’ Hey! Fame at last! I’m pleased to say she bought a copy of The Moon’s Complexion.

Jackie and Anjali looking decorative!

As there were now four of us manning the stall (Jennifer (Jay) arrived as well) we could take it in turns to tour the rest of the market. There was a huge selection of interesting crafts and, needless to say, some of them ended up coming home with me…

Now I’ve got a few days to get some cooking done (though after this evening’s Sainsbury’s delivery I’m not quite sure where I’m going to put the resulting items of haute cuisine – the freezer’s choc-a-bloc. I ordered far too much. In fact I ordered so much that I forgot what I’d ordered and nipped into Sainsbury’s today to stock up on items that I was sure weren’t on the order – only to find, when the order came, that they were. Now I have enough cat litter for a whole cattery, enough butter to ensure we get really fat over Christmas and enough fromage frais to feed a school full of little girls instead of just one.

Next week – off to Oxford to granddaughter-sit. And hey, folks, I’m taking her to a panto. That’s a first. I managed to avoid this experience when my kids were young. However, the old arm has been twisted so Jack and the Beanstalk, here we come.

What with snow today and the Park and Ride bus in celebratory mood, it's beginning to look like the Season of Goodwill.

PRIMITIVE RITES AND EXHIBITIONISM

2009-11-29T08:43:00.000-08:00

I’m feeling thoroughly miserable just by looking out onto the garden. The sky is like mud and the windows are plastered with icy raindrops. I can hear the rain thundering down on the conservatory roof and I reckon it wouldn’t take much of a drop in temperature to turn it into sleet. Oh, how this time of year gets under my skin and makes me want to pick up my suitcases and run away. No wonder SIS has escaped to the Mediterranean.

And what in the name of all that’s sane is this Azalea doing bursting into bloom on my patio? I guess it was lulled into a sense of false security. Well, it must be pretty fed-up now.

Let’s be fair, not all’s gloom and doom. Jackie and I had a very successful book signing session at Waterstones in Dorking last week – delightful staff and friendly customers, including a number of regulars who come in once a month to stock up on new books. Very pleased to say some of them stocked up on ours. This store is very proactive and deserves to succeed.

I note, on the other hand that Borders are in serious trouble and, failing a saviour, are about to close. I always thought highly of Borders until last year when I responded to their online invitation to submit books to their buying department for consideration. I sent them a copy of Darshan, only to receive a snooty note some time later saying they weren’t considering new books at the moment due to some feeble excuse – stock-taking, I think it was - and if I wanted my book back I’d have to send them postage. All I can say is that if a major company like that can’t even keep its website up to date, no wonder it can’t run its company successfully.

And while I’m having a moan, although I’m pleased that my Amazon rating for both The Moon’s Complexion and Darshan shot up last week and they appear to have sold out of both novels. Why, oh why, can’t they stock up again a bit more quickly? Not sure if this is their fault or the suppliers, but so shortly before Christmas is not the time when I want to see ‘temporarily out of stock’ on my book pages. At least they’re both available to online buyers from Waterstones and - yes- Borders online stores as well as a dozen others.

Books aside, I seem to be back and forth to the Great Metropolis a lot lately. On Monday Jennifer and I headed up to Victoria to hand in our passports to the Indian Visa Office.

Afterwards I went on to the Anish Kapoor exhibition at the Royal Academy. I am not a great follower of modern art – especially by people who have won the Turner Prize – as soon as I hear that warning bells start dinging. But I’ve enjoyed some Kapoor that I’ve seen previously – his mirror work in particular – here’s the one in front of the Monte Carlo casino.

And these are of the one in the courtyard of the RA (Burlington House).

I’m thankful that as a Friend of the RA I didn’t have to pay the wopping £12 entry fee. But I DID have to pay £2.50 for a flimsy 4-paged leaflet without which I would have been somewhat at a loss as there were no explanations anywhere. A rip-off if ever there was one.

The exhibition confirmed my opinion that Kapoor has a good sense of humour. I loved the bulges in the walls, and the ‘self-manifested’ objects bursting from floors and walls (a very Indian concept). The mirrors were fun – art? Who knows? I suppose as much as funny fairground mirrors are art.

The computer-generated worm-casts (which is what Joe and I decided they were) were also fun, especially the one that looked like a curled up hedgehog. Art? Maybe. But not in my backyard peleeeeease!

What can I say about the red wax extravaganzas? Words fail me. The doorway-sized block of wax travelling on rails between 4 of the RA galleries was entitled Svayambh, Sanskrit for ‘self-generated’. Mm. I think it should have been called ‘Giant red loaf of bread.’

As for the cannon that shoots blobs of wax through (a different) doorway at the RA walls every 20 minutes, with a great rushing swoosh and ear-shattering explosion - well… it’s a crowd pleaser and we all left chuckling, giggling or laughing hysterically.

BUT IS IT ART????????????????? I know what I think.

This is turning into a very long blog. I suppose it makes up for the fact that my contributions are so sporadic.

Yesterday Joe and I spent another day in London. First we headed off to the Maharaja exhibition at the V & A. This is also expensive - £11 full price, £9 seniors. But at least the accompanying leaflet is free.

I enjoyed the tour through the maharajas’ kingdoms, especially the full-sized model elephant and horse! But it wasn’t anything like as stunning and informative as this summer’s British Museum's Garden and Cosmos exhibition. Moreover I felt there were a lot of omissions. Chief among these was almost no mention of the Nizams of Hyderabad who surely (and I think William Dalrymple would back me on this) constituted one of the the most important Islamic dynasties of India. The Maharaja of Thanjavur was also given short shrift, as was the controversial Maharaja of Kashmir. One of the current Thanjavur Maharaja’s brothers actually runs the little shop on the site of the old ruined palace – sic transit Gloria.

After another quick look into the Anish Kapoor exhibition we had a late lunch/early dinner at Woodlands, pigging out on delicious South Indian fare that got me counting the days until coming trip to Bangalore.

Then off to the English National Opera for a double bill of Bartok’s opera -Duke Bluebeard’s Castle, and Stravinsky’s ballet -The Rite of Spring.

WELL… once more words fail me. I thought the Royal Opera was more experimental that the ENO. Wrong. Bluebeard – you know the story. He brings his bride Judith to his dark, damp castle and she gets him to open seven locked doors, each revealing something disturbing until finally the last door reveals his 3 previous wives in a state of living death, to be joined by Judith. It’s a psychodrama in extremis. The doors are usually understood to be doors to secret parts of Bluebeard's soul, which Judith coerces him to reveal, resulting in his ultimate absolute loneliness. I’ve seen several thought-provoking productions. The ENO production was – different.

Of course, not (to put it mildly) being a fan of ‘The Sound of Music’ the interpretation was lost on me until I read this review on the intermezzo.typepad.com blogsite today.

‘Daniel Kramer’s very graphic Bluebeard won’t please purists, but it’s riveting theatre. The reason for (Bluebeard’s) quaint Austrian hunting jacket soon becomes obvious – Bluebeard is a Fritzl-like figure with a Sound of Music fixation and a secret family in the basement. His ultimate kick is to dress up as Captain von Trapp while doing something extremely nasty with a sword to his spreadeagled Julie Andrews, Judith. The grubby slasher movie set is atmospheric if not quite the castle of the soul Bartok had in mind, and its boxy shape helps the voices project over the enlarged orchestra. The dramatic pacing is fantastic – Kramer lets little clues slip here and there, but the ending is still a colossal, queasy shock.’

You can say that again. If you’re in the mood for a ‘colossal, queasy shock’, I thoroughly recommend this. Personally it left me feeling uneasy. As a woman I don’t appreciate women being displayed in this way for theatrical purposes. Conclusion: musically stunning but I know what men do to women without having to see it spreadeagled on stage for the gratuitous purpose of theatre. This indignity could only have been staged by a man.

As for the Rite of Spring: a primitive myth, involving the selection of a virgin , who dances herself to death. At least that is what Stravinsky intended when he wrote the ballet. This, roughly speaking, is what we got yesterday (from the same reviewer):

‘A pity Fabulous Beast’s dance element was so risible. If a weary parade of bog-trotter clichés didn’t diminish the timeless power of Stravinsky’s score enough, there were twenty todgers jiggling in the breeze to contend with as the male dancers disrobed en masse. To give the much-derided Calixto Bieito his due, he understands the effect of mass male nudity on stage is purely and always comedic. And I was left baffled by the ending, where the Chosen One (female) is surrounded by men in frocks. Men should take women's place? A nice bit of misogyny to go home with.’

Hm… yes. Twenty todgers jiggling in the breeze. Actually there were 17. I counted them. Totally mind-boggling but oh, what fun! The ending? Strange comment from the reviewer. What she didn’t explain was that, instead of dying, the ‘Chosen One’ a lithesome female dancer is left standing and in full command of the situation, and with one imperious gesture topples all 17 guys in frocks (which they donned at some stage to cover their nudity). I interpreted the whole thing as scenes from the primitive nature of 21st century society – the ‘bog-trotter cliches’ leading up to this ending had included gang-rape, mugging, bullying etc. I thought the director was trying in the end to say that Woman has now emasculated Man and gained complete power over him. I wish! Obviously the director is a woman-hater.

But the music… ah, the music!

A TASTE OF THE HIGH LIFE

2009-11-20T11:04:00.000-08:00

Hallo, it’s me again. Just touching base after returning from a few days in Monte Carlo visiting sister (SIS) and husband of sister (HOS). They live in a block by the sea. It used to be practically on the beach till someone decided to build an auditorium between it and the sea. It was work, I hasten to explain, that brought SIS and HOS to Monaco many years ago and they’ve stayed. (It's very embarrassing to admit I have a sister in MC!!)

This is the view in the other direction.

By and large (VERY large) though, Monaco = Money. We went to SIS’s international book group, which is held in members’ homes. They’re very sweet ladies, and they fascinate me. How does one get to live in Monaco? They must all have an interesting story to tell. This time it was held in the round block on the photo below – 20th-something floor apartment, overlooking the sea. And – get this – there was a MAID in a white frilly apron to take our jackets. (Not that we really needed jackets, it was very warm. Jackets were cosmetic, I saw several people swimming in the sea).

I’d made a rapid attempt to read the month’s book so that I didn’t appear too dumb. Maybe you’ve heard of it – The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls. Ms Walls is a 40ish New York gossip columnist who was ‘persuaded’ to write a book revealing her unusual past. She was born in the 60s to eccentric hippy-type parents who were clearly caught up in the 60s anti-establishment/flower-power/traveller movement (though she never actually says so). Their idea of child rearing was to let the kids (4 of them) do whatever they liked, often with grave risks to their lives. They threw off the wife’s well-to-do origins and slummed around America living in appalling circumstances. The characters are intriguing and the father had more than a touch of genius despite being a drunkard with tendencies to cruelty. The book’s worth reading, even if it doesn’t to me seem quite as unusual (for the times) as the writer seems to imply. Though they certainly took things to extremes.

Delighted to say the book group were very interested in Darshan and one lady ordered it immediately.

Thursday was Monaco’s National Holiday. The place was bedecked with flags – here’s the casino on Wednesday night. Shops were adorned with even more photos of Prince Albert than usual. I left before the fun began.

Sqeezyjet was OK more or less except for the officious stewardess who gave me a lecture when I asked her to help me lift my hand luggage onto the rack (ever since I broke my arm I can’t push upwards with any strength). I explained to the woman that I had an injury and got a tirade about how you weren’t supposed to bring more than you could lift into the racks. Then she said that my 4-days worth of knickers and tee-shirts were heavy. At this point I snapped ‘don’t be ridiculous!’ and she shut up. But honestly – her silly comment implies that old people and women have to take less than big hefty men – because they haven’t got as much strength to lift things up! I should have declared myself incapacitated and ordered a wheelchair – they’d be falling over themselves to help me then.

Anyway – the view over the Alps on the way back was something else!

If you’re in Dorking on Sunday (22nd) do come to Waterstones to visit me and Jackie who will be doing book-signings there between 12 and 3 pm. I’m hoping the forecast wind and rain will go somewhere else.

UP THE LADDER AND DOWN THE WALL

2009-11-09T05:51:00.000-08:00

How depressing – winter appears to have arrived. Suddenly England is cold, windy and wet. Can’t wait to escape – as I will be doing shortly, if only for a few days. I wrapped the tree fern up for winter today – not a very pretty sight, clad in bubble wrap and a dustbin liner, but I don’t want to lose it.

Meanwhile plenty to keep me spinning round in ever-increasing circles. Last week saw a fair number of them. Monday was the first session of the creative writing class I’ve taken over. Surprisingly good fun – the group of ten or so very mature students as sharp as chillies and raring to go. I enjoyed their efforts and I think we had a good exchange of comments and opinions. They seemed to enjoy themselves too – at least I hope so.

Tuesday – a talk on India at a not very local House of the Lord. Part of my talk drew out some similarities (and some differences) between the Eastern religions (Hinduism, Buddhism etc) and the Judaic-Christian-Islamic tradition. A lot of people came up afterwards to say how much they’d enjoyed the talk. The discussion and questions went on for a long time and the tea and apple cake were delicious.

Wednesday meant attendance at a Freiburg Society committee meeting. I seem to have been co-opted onto this and am expected to produce something useful! My imaginative powers are somewhat defunct at the moment. Let’s hope the cold weather jolts me back into inspired thinking (some hope…)

Thursday and Friday were Getting Frustrated Dealing with Tour Booking days – don’t ask. It’s the same every time. Things go fine until I have to pay online to India. Then the whole system goes pear-shaped. Fortunately it seems to be solved now.

Sunday morning a large door fell off an upper kitchen unit and hit me on the head. But I count myself lucky – not only was my head hard enough to survive unscathed, but SIL and BIL were due to come for lunch – BIL is a fantastic amateur carpenter – usually up to his neck in restoring a 16th century bed or a 15th century cupboard or a fantastic 500 year-old oriental carving. Well, luckily I managed to catch them before they left home, so BIL turned up with the tools of the trade and did as great a job on my Magnet door as he normally does on some priceless antique. Poor man – he was then propelled to Joe’s flat to do some bits of woodwork in her kitchen. All done now and the flat is ready to let. It looks gorgeous.

And now – a piece of good news – my first novel The Moon’s Complexion is currently featuring on the Pothi.com stall at the Bangalore Book Festival. Pothi is the company printing it for the Indian market. It’s for sale at a discount during the festival.
They took this picture of the stall when they were setting up.

‘Moon’ is on the extreme left. I just received an email from them saying I’ve had my first sale on the stall! Nice to have some cheery news on a gloomy Monday.

Pause while the cavalry arrives - alias The Golden Guys alias Mr Jackie and Mr Jennifer (Jay). Having heard that I was worried about my roof they took a break from their other assignment (doing something for Jennifer) and came to inspect my problem armed with a ladder. Before I could say 'watch it, lads, no acrobatics please' they were up the ladder and on the roof. And sods's law -two cameras had no battery left at all and one had enough for one not very good pic before it too, ran our of steam. Here it is, for what it's worth.

Last but not least - today is the anniversary of the reunifiacation of Germany so here to celebrate is a picture of me hacking my own piece out of the Berlin Wall a afew months after the fall of the GDR.

ALL IN A WEEK'S WORK...

2009-10-30T13:39:00.000-07:00

Hallo again, I just got back from a few hours with SIL and BIL at Tring auction – I didn’t leave any bids, nothing of the remotest interest. Nothing that is, that would fit into my house. There was a nice painted Indian chest – but totally unplaceable as far as my house is concerned. I’m trying to cut down on junk, not accumulate more. Anyway the whole purpose of my one-hour trip oop north was to have a chinwag with SIL (that’s short for Sister-In-Law, by the way). Did I say one hour? Well, that’s how long it’s supposed to take. I hadn’t reckoned with returning half-term holidayers and that, in addition, on a Friday afternoon. So it took more like 1 ½ hours up and the same back. My relationship with the M25 is definitely love-hate. (pause to retrieve cat who’s just fallen off my lap, squealing. I don’t recommend word-processing with cat on lap but since I was out all day he’s feeling precious).

Well, it’s been quite a fruitful week. My withdrawal symptoms at the end of my Indian Art course at Guildford Institute somewhat allayed by email from them saying that due to ‘excellent feedback’ (can you see my head swelling?) they would be happy to include me as a course tutor for future offerings. Which is great news as it’s a step up from my ‘outsider tutor’ type of status for this last course. I’ve agreed to give a one-off lecture on ‘hidden Thailand’ as a next ‘offering’.

Ant came on Monday and Joe took the afternoon off so we have a good session of clearing out Joe’s flat ready for letting. Still some way to go. Best was taking both kids out to lunch and the pizza at Frankie and Benny’s wasn’t bad. Fattening but tasty (we’d tried two Indian restaurants but they’d both taken it into their heads to close on that particular day), so F & B’s was a last resort. But it was great to have my chicks around me (they may be adult chicks, but once a mother-hen, always a mother-hen).

One the book front I’m delighted to say that the Inner Bookshop in Oxford put in an order for more copies of Darshan. This is at least their fourth order, so I LOVE YOU, INNER BOOKSHOP!! And Jackie and I are doing a book signing at Waterstones in Dorking on 22nd November, so hurry along for your signed copies of Darshan, Tainted Tree and our other novels.

On the subject of Jackie, I dragged her and Jennifer (alias Jay Margrave) along to scale the heights of the amphitheatre at the Royal Opera on Wednesday to see a double bill of 2 small one-act operas: L’heure Espanol by Ravel, and Puccini’s wonderful Gianni Schicchi. They are both comedies and very funny apart from the ending of the first, which none of us understood. Anyway, I think this sneaked photo of the safety curtain explains what it was about.

Gianni Schicchi is a black comedy about greedy relatives and a will. Not sure of the significance of the safety curtain here! Except that it took place in Italy (Florence to be precise). The aria ‘Oh my beloved father’ comes from this opera and isn’t at all what it sounds like. The daughter is trying to sweet-talk her papa into helping the unscrupulous relatives inherit, thereby easing her way with her lover (who is one of them).

Right, time to unseat the cat and give dinner a stir. It’s probably burnt by now…

CREATIVITY, IDOLATRY, TRICKERY AND MIND-BOGGLING INEFFICIENCY

2009-10-19T01:48:00.000-07:00

Time for a moan

I shouldn’t really be moaning because it’s been a fun week in many respects, ending with a sublime performance of Tristan and Isolde at the Royal Opera yesterday. Even the horrible staging didn’t annoy me too much – the front half of the stage where the action was, was bare. The rubbish was at the back - a load of dining tables with candelabras and men posing in dinner jackets. Quite how they fitted in to a medieval saga that takes place mainly on a ship and in a castle, beats me. But since this display kept appearing and disappearing behind a curtain at the back, I managed to ignore it most of the time. The applause at the end was tumultuous, but, as I heard one lady remark, ‘if that had been traditionally staged it would have brought the house down.’ Hear, hear!

I started attending art sessions on Wednesday after an absence of a year. Boy, do I need to practice! Mind you, it was a big mistake to try to paint this photo I took of my daughter-in-law by a waterfall in Thailand.Ever tried painting mist? With watercolour? Forget it…

I also enjoyed giving my penultimate Indian Art lecture on Thursday. In fact I loved every minute of it. The topic this week was ‘image worship’, a problematic concept for those raised in the Judaic-Christian-Islamic tradition – thou shalt not bow down before graven images and so on. Well, I hope I managed to make my students think again. It’s all too easy to dismiss an unfamiliar belief-system if you don’t understand it.

Saturday brought the second of Goldenford’s Creative Writing workshops on the five senses. It was part of the Guildford Book Festival. This time I was responsible for touch and sight. I decided to combine the two, getting the students to feel, without seeing, one of two pieces of Indian cloth, a painted cotton wallhanging of Ganesh and a sumptuous piece of woven silk and cotton, shot through with gold thread.

When they had described the feel of the cloth I let them see it, ultimately creating a scene that combined the two senses. Interesting results. I sensed an alienation from the Ganesh portrait, whereas the woven cloth inspired writing full of Eastern promise. I tried to inspire them myself, by reading a bit out of Darshan, to show multiple use of the senses to create atmosphere, carry the plot forward and tell the reader more about the character.

Now for the moan. On Tuesday the tree surgeons, whom I’d engaged at great expense, came to cut my Leylandii hedges and prune my eucalyptus and copper beach trees. At the end of a noisy day’s work (with me acting as tea lady) they skiddadled, leaving me to inspect their handiwork. I found: a bag of cement (used to fix my neighbour’s new fence post) left outside my back door; the old wooden fence post slung across a raised bed; my carefully-anchored bird table ripped from its mooring and moved; the trunk of an old fallen laburnum slung onto the shrubs; my hose attached to the outside tap (for fixing said fence post) and left in situ.

But these were minor irritations compared with my discovery that the crew had given up, a third of the way along the left-hand hedge and simply abandoned it. They had also given the eucalyptus a punk haircut instead of tidying it up. The foreman was called back and he was mortified (clearly helped by the fact that I haven’t paid them yet – they know they’re not getting it until the job’s complete). They are due to return asap – but I won’t be making any more cups of tea for that little gang of ne’er-do-wells.

Guildford Borough Council is so great. I’m so lucky to be living in such an enlightened town (NOT)! The latest meshuggas is the New Recycling System. The decree was delivered some weeks ago. Every household is to be issued with: an outside box for food waste (to be collected weekly); an inside box for food waste; a wheelie bin for waste ‘everything else’ (to be collected fortnightly-I ticked the box for a small one). That on top of the green box (for glass, cans and plastic bottles) and the purple box (for paper) that we already have.

I wrote to the council. ‘Everything else’ I pointed out, actually boils down mainly to food packaging (such as yoghurt pots). If it is acknowledged that food waste needs collecting weekly to stop it getting smelly, how come food remains adhering to packaging, equally smelly, are to be collected fortnightly? The Council replied. Wrap them in a plastic bag.
Excuse me? Aren’t we trying to exterminate plastic bags? Or hasn’t this fact filtered down to Guildford Borough Council yet?

The food caddies arrived this week. I’ve shoved them both outside. No point in falling over them before I have to, when the scheme starts in November. The wheelie bin arrived too. Yes, you guessed it. On my drive I found an ENORMOUS ugly horror designed for a ten-ton family, not for two delicate damsels (Okay,okay, cut the ‘delicate’). I phoned up the Council. Remove this monster, I told them, and bring me the small one I ordered (if you must). It will be done forthwith, they promised. Leave it where it is for collection. Five days and two phone-calls later it is still decorating my drive. The Council girl is getting fed up with me. ‘We can’t say when they will come,’ she finally admitted. ‘It’s a private firm (well, it would be. Wouldn’t it?). They have a long list to get through.’

‘ A long list?’ I snapped back. ‘That means they must have got it wrong lots of times.’ Well, yes, the girl conceded. There were ‘some’ mistakes. I await mistake-rectification. Meanwhile I have to put up with the alien in my front garden. I tried to get Joe to run it over, but she was afraid her car might come off worst in the battle (which is why I haven’t flattened it with mine).

GOING SLOWLY POTTY

2009-10-12T08:30:00.000-07:00

Where’s the time gone, eh? The last few weeks have been so hectic that I simply haven’t had a moment to sit down and record my incredibly interesting thoughts.

So what have I been up to? Well, exercising the little grey cells for a change, and, dragging my teaching skills out of retirement. There’s my Indian Art course, for starters, trotting along nicely on Thursday afternoons at Guildford Institute. It feels so good, sharing my passion with others. And isn’t technology wonderful? Whatever happened to the days of OHPs and whiteboards? I used to wonder how I managed before acetate sheets. Now I can’t imagine life without Power Point. Talking of which…

…next month I’m giving another talk about India (not architecture this time, more general). I popped along to the venue to check on the projector situation. I need to use Power Point, I told the organiser. Do you have the equipment? She looked at me with the bemused look of someone dealing with an imbecile. But of course we have, she replied. It’s over there. She pointed at an electric wall socket…

This week saw the first of the monthly Creative Writing sessions that I’ve been asked to take over. This time I simply sat in on the session and listened. The poor dears have been taking it in turns to chair the meetings since their previous teacher disappeared some time ago, and are crying out for a little TLC in the form of an organised routine. It will be a challenge – for them and for me. But (hopefully) rewarding!

On Tuesday, we, the Golden Girls, were booked to give a talk about Goldenford Publishers in Staines. One of our number was struck down with that nasty virus that’s doing the rounds, so the two of us remaining had to improvise and absorb the missing talk into our own talks. Undaunted we spouted forth, and (though I say so myself) it was jolly good.

Saturday brought the first of our Goldenford Festival workshops, this one in Leatherhead as part of the Mole Valley Arts Festival. The subject was ‘Using the five senses in Creative Writing’. Our long-suffering participants were required to wax lyrical about such items as a pink sock and nail varnish, surrender their ears to the Dance of the Seven Veils, plunge their hands into a black bag containing jelly, sniff at TCP-contaminated perfumes and bravely gulp down a small glass of neat Campari. The last (taste) was one of my two contributions, the Seven Veils (sound) being the other (now how did you guess?)

In self-defence of inflicting Campari torture on the participants, I should clarify that I did give them the choice of an alcoholic or non-alcoholic drink. Stone the crows but they all opted for alcoholic, no doubt expecting a large glass of Chateau Rothchild 1974 instead of a thimbleful of a doppelgaenger for cough mixture. They were fantastically sporting about it all, didn’t even pull a face.

All in all they produced some really inventive and imaginative writing. Next Saturday will be more of the same (but different, if you get my meaning) at the Guildford Institute as part of the Guildford Book Festival. This time I’ll be in charge of touch and vision.

Just as I was getting depressed, thinking winter is just around the corner, not only does the sun grace us with an Indian summer, but my indoor and conservatory plants decide to put on an incredible show to cheer me up. Here are a few of them:

The amaryllis my kind Dutch friends brought when they visited in September. Colour incredible.

My cymbidium orchid which has never let me down yet (unlike the phaleonopses, which are notoriously temperamental.)

My faithful hibscus - this is the pink one. Last week the yellow and red ones were flowering too.

My papaya tree, currently sporting three junior fruits: don’t know if they’ll ever reach ‘eat-me’ size, but one lives in hope.

I’ve just spent the whole day in front of the PC preparing talks and ended up doing this blog. No time even to get on with Noontide Owls, never mind getting off my amply padded backside to do something energetic. No wonder I’m turning into a large slug. Resolution: at least 10 minutes on the air-walker from tomorrow on. I may have to do ten one minute sessions instead of one ten-minute stint – I get bored easily.

THE AMAZON JUNGLE

2009-09-24T10:24:00.000-07:00

I just checked the Amazon page for my novel The Moon’s Complexion (as one does…) and found a new feature. In big bold letters it announced that ‘72% of the people viewing this page buy The Moon’s Complexion. 28% buy…Mosquito.’

Mosquito? I looked it up and it’s by someone called Roma Tearne, of whom, I’d never heard. (Okay, okay, so everyone else has heard of her/him. What can I say? I'm a philistine). No indication either of what the book’s about. Very weird.

I then checked the Amazon page for my novel Darshan. But there was no announcement about percentages buying it or any other book. Which is odd because Darshan’s the better seller.

The same was true of my totally bonkers non-fiction book Sold to the Lady with the Limegreen Laptop (about internet selling).

I’m flummoxed. What is this Mosquito that’s siphoning away my buyers????

Apropos nothing, I thought I should upload a few more pictures of my Thailand trip in August/September before it becomes ancient history.

So here’s some ancient history…

A very ancient tree-root-covered temple

Plaster (or maybe plastic) chickens and poke-your –face-through-for a-silly-photo figures outside the very ancient tree-root covered temple.

A hill village on the Thai-Burmese border.

Waterfall mist in the mountains

Monks cleaning the temple steps near Chiang Mai.

Today I gave my first presentation on Hindu Art and Architecture at the Guildford Institute (scroll down). I’m delighted to say it was very warmly received – in fact I had to chuck them out at the end. It’s stimulating to be imparting knowledge of a subject that inspires me and hopefully I succeeded in inspiring the audience about this wonderful art. Some of them had never been to India. Several of them were very familiar with India and one was an Indian. He was the most enthusiastic of all of them and stayed behind to continue chatting.

Besides my remaining Indian Art talks (next Thursday afternoon and the consecutive Thursdays after that) I am also involved in two creative writing workshops on the five senses, as part of the Goldenford Team. Should be fun. We sat and thrashed it out over a nice bottle of red on Tuesday. The first will take place on Saturday 10 October from 2pm to 5pm at the Leatherhead Institute (part of the Mole Valley Arts Festival), and the second on Saturday 17 October from 10am to 1pm at the Guildford Institute (part of the Guildford Book Festival). If you want to know more, contact frances@goldenford.co.uk
We have a couple of other talks lined up at the beginning of October, so I’m going to be busy.

HOWEVER… I have decided that the only way I’m going to get Noontide Owls finished is to set aside a certain time each day for writing. I’ve done this – nothing too ambitious, just a couple of hours in the morning. So far, apart from a few unforeseen crises I have managed to stick to it, and am amazed at the progress I’ve made. I thought I was devoid of inspiration, but simply forcing myself to sit and write has dragged it out of me. I’m managing 1000 words per day, which will do me nicely. Fingers crossed, Owls should be ready to fly of to the publisher in a few months time.

Then I can start on my Indian Art book.

NOT QUITE SAINSBURY’S

2009-09-10T05:48:00.000-07:00

Really, it’s a question of where to start. After three weeks living in a Chinese Supermarket in a southern suburb of Bangkok there’s a lot to write about. Of course not all the time was spent in the supermarket – there was a five-day excursion up north to the Laos-Burma border, for example; a weekend en famille at the seaside (14 members of our Thai-Chinese family plus YT, Ant and half of Miss T representing the European side); trips to Ayutthaya (an erstwhile Siamese capital), various ancient temple sites, floating (and other) markets and finally Bangkok itself, a monument to Consumerism writ large, with pockets of sublime beauty hidden in the midst of unspeakable twenty-first century decadence, traffic jams and pollution.

For today let’s start with the supermarket. It is not in Chinatown, but it is in a Chinese district. This is the view from my bedroom window.

It stands a few metres from the mighty Chao Phraya river. There’s a temple complex on the river bank, where you can spend a serene morning feeding the catfish and listening to the monks chanting in the temple, where people come to worship and add tiny slivers of gold leaf to the Buddha images.

If you’ve ever been to Chinatown in London, New York, San Fransisco, or indeed, Bangkok, you’ll know what a Chinese Supermarket looks like. This one is further enhanced by delectable Thai products. It sells everything – and I do mean everything. Want some new sandals? This is the place. A strap for your sunglasses so you can hang them round your neck? No problem. A lethal-looking catapult? But of course. Bedding, clothes, pain-killers, swimming goggles etc etc. And of course, every food, fruit and vegetable item you could ever want. Fancy a tarrow icecream? A slice of pungent durian? A mooncake? Some dried shrimps? Every imaginable type of cake from the in-store bakery?

The warehouses at the back of the shop seem to go on and on in a maze-like fusion of large spaces. At the top is a roof garden, where pots of orchids, plumeria, lotus tubs and hanging vines thrive. The family (and some staff) living quarters are upstairs. A small shrine sits at the foot of the stairs leading from the shop to the private quarters, and this is also where you leave your footwear – bare feet only upstairs. Special events take place there, like the early September ancestor remembrance day, when a table full of food and incense is placed before photographs of long-dead relatives, and the family come to worship (and finally eat the food…)

But in practice, most of daily life takes place in the supermarket. The TV stands on the bakery counter.

The dinner table is usually shoved against the wall at the end of an aisle, but if there are many visitors it is pulled out right into the middle of the aisles, next to the bakery counter. Meals (various dishes cooked in the behind-the-scenes working area of the supermarket by the senior males in the family) arrive in large quantities on large plates and you just help yourself to Pad Thai, Tom Yam, noodles, stir fries, rice etc – there’s no such thing as sitting down together for a family meal (unless it’s a trip out to a restaurant). Meanwhile the customers carry on shopping around you.

All very eccentric and wonderful to our western eyes.

Now I’m home I have to come back down to earth and sort out the coming busy month. My Indian art course starts at the Guildford Institute (scroll down to Special Events) on 24th September, I have several talks and workshops coming up (both individual and Goldenford) and I’ve now been asked to run a monthly Creative Writing course.

I might get down to finishing Noontide Owls. Eventually…

TAKING TO MY HEELS...

2009-08-14T02:19:00.000-07:00

I’m attempting to write this on my laptop. I say attempting, because I’m still sore after what happened yesterday. I spent the whole evening writing a large new chunk of ‘Noontide Owls’, my YA Fantasy novel. Then I saved it and… hey presto! It disappeared. Nowhere, but nowhere to be found. I stayed up until one in the morning looking for it, but it had vaporised. Moreover, it’s the second time this has happened. Exactly the same thing happened last week with my previous blog entry. In both cases I had to rewrite the whole lot on my PC next day.

So what happened? I’m not sure, except that in both cases I saved the document on Word 97-2003, instead of the default Word 2007 that was supplied with the laptop. I have to do this to make it compatible with my PC, which has XP and cannot read Word 2007. Usually this works fine. The problem seems to occur when I try to open an existing document and then resave it. Any advice would be gratefully received.

In addition, my laptop has started making decisions on its own. Twice now it has decided to update Windows while I’m working and simply close down on me so that it can activate the updates with a restart.

That’s, no doubt, got you thoroughly bored. It would certainly bore me if somebody harped on about their laptop. So now I’ll tell you about my week.

Sunday: to London with Joe and a friend from her office. They wanted to do ‘something cultural’ so I suggested the exhibition ‘Garden and Cosmos -The Royal Paintings of Jodhpur’ at the British Museum. Yes, I was being thoroughly selfish but I was determined to see it before it was due to close in a couple of days’ time.

The upshot was that we were all totally absorbed by the 56 paintings on display. We arrived before midday and left at around 3 pm. The paintings, 17th, 18th and 19th century Rajasthani watercolours, never before shown in Europe, were enchanting, as were the stories, philosophies and historical events woven into them. We all hired audio sets, which enhanced our enjoyment further. The catalogue was a steep £30 for the softback so I resisted, but I know I’ll give in eventually. There are hours and hours of pleasure in those pages. Next day I discovered that the exhibition has been extended until 11th October. You can find details here.

(Photo from BM website...)

I will certainly be paying a second visit.

Monday: lunch with V, in the picturesque village of Alresford. First time I’ve been there, All very pretty and very English, Crammed with boutiques, hardly a chain establishment among them. I wondered if this place might hold the answer to my dilemma: how to find a gift for a seven-year-old girl that is NOT made in China. Other, that is, than Lego and Meccano. I kid you not. Try it for yourself. Go into any toyshop. Pick up anything and read where it is made. I guarantee 99% will say China. The other 1% will probably be from Indonesia. I find this extraordinary. Are we to be dependent on China for everything in the near future? My immediate reason for avoiding Far Eastern products, however, was entirely non-political. It was simply that the (ethnic Chinese) child in question lives in Thailand. I certainly don’t want to fill my suitcase with coals to Newcastle when I visit them next week.

The children’s shop in Alresford had a partial answer. A gorgeous pink felt bag, adorned with beads and ribbons. V, who has a similarly-aged granddaughter, assured me that it was a young girl’s dream. What’s more, although the shopkeeper couldn’t tell me where it was made, at least it didn’t have a label. I filled it with pink frothy girlie items from the Ballet shop in Merrow (no ‘Made in…’ label on these either). And before you admonish me for buying pink frills, well, sometimes you have to bow to the Zeitgeist. Far better than guns and prickly Barbie Dolls (in my opinion). In any case, in spite of being a life-long feminist, I never was a bra-burner. I am totally of the opinion that femininity and feminism are not mutually exclusive.

As long as femininity is not confused with bondage. By this I mean those awful, mile-high stiletto heeled shoes that some females insist on tottering around in. For goodness sake, girls, can’t you see that these are no better than bound feet? You may think it’s your choice, but it’s not, you know. You are letting fashion turn your brain into blubber. Do you realise you are basically standing on tiptoe when you wear these evil objects? why fetter yourself? Why cripple yourself? Why sway around looking vulnerable? Lord forbid that you ever have to run away fast from anything… Their only redeeming feature is that if you have to defend yourself you could do some damage. Though I suspect my knee would work as well.

Tuesday: Déjèuner sur l’herbe, or, to be precise, a picnic on Pirbright village green.

Not on my own, I hasten to add, in spite of my crudely doctored photo (there were others on the photo but I'm not sure they'd want to be publically displayed!) . We were three ‘girls’ and one fella. All acquaintances from the ‘Pirbright days’ long ago. We all brought goodies for the feast and even the sun came out and smiled on us. I felt quite rejuvenated.

And in the evening, an additional ‘holiday’ Guildford Writers’ meeting at J’s. We were a select group of seven. I read out some poems, as I didn’t want to start on the next section of Noontide Owls until next term.

Rest of the Week: Starting to panic about impending trip to Thailand. It takes me ages to get organised. I write lists. Everything that goes into my luggage gets listed as it gets packed. Then I don’t have to unpack everything to check whether I’ve remembered my glasses, sunscreen, sandals etc. And if – worst scenario – my suitcase is lost, I know exactly what to claim for. Other lists for those left behind at home with instructions for cat-feeding, fish-feeding, plant-feeding, lawn-mowing, rubbish collection, plum freezing etc etc.

Talking of which… This is what I’m picking off my Victoria plum tree every day. The bulk will be ripe while I’m away. So lucky Joe, D, G …

Thanks are due to Anjali Mittal for this review of Darshan on Amazon.co.uk:

5.0 out of 5 stars A MUST READ

A fantastic book. Very difficult to put down right to the end. Coming from India myself I can see how Irene Black has a superb understanding of the Indian culture and life. I certainly learnt a few things myself having read Darshan - A journey. Keeps you mesmerised till the end. The characters created by Irene Black are so real to life, it feels like you are actually living the tale yourself. Pulls on every emotion as many of us feel and have gone through what the author has portrayed in the novel. Would recommend it to anyone who has a passion for reading.

And also to Julie Yau for this one:

5.0 out of 5 stars Excellent and Addictive!!

From the beginning to end, I was totally gripped by Darshan, unable to put the book down till the early hours of the morning. I found Irene Black's writing and storyline addictive. The book left me wanting more of the characters, especially Sara, a young Anglo-Indian woman who struggles to find her identity and sense of belonging in the world. A fantastic book which I highly recommend to all.
Thank you so much, ladies. It’s a wonderful warm feeling to read that my book is appreciated.

Now there are multitudinous tasks to do before I go off to Thailand, so I’d better get on with them.

I AM PLEASED TO REPORT THAT …

2009-08-05T12:15:00.000-07:00

...Jackie and I had a lovely day at the Pirbright Flower Show at the end of July. We set up our table of Goldenford books and settled down for an afternoon of cheerful chat with the friendly villagers - and, of course, selling our books.

I even had time to peek into Lord Pirbright's Hall and admire all the lovingly cultivated fruits (and vegetables) of painstaking horticultural labour, now carefully laid out on tables, receiving scrutiny and awaiting judgment. Almost worthy of the Archers...

I am also delighted to report that I have found a mention of Darshan on the blog of renowned Brazilian author Paulo Coelho. It appeared in comments by Keith as part of a discussion during Paulo Coelho's August online workshop on his wonderful book The Alchemist. This is what Keith had to say about Darshan:

‘I have recently been reading an excellent novel Darshan by Irene Black. It is very Paulo Coelho, following ones dreams, especially the discussion of the Indian concept of darshan.
Darshan is seeing God, and God seeing you. It is the Buddhist concept of enlightenment. It is the Jewish practice of Kaballah, of being as one with God. It is crossing the transition zone, of communicating with the Soul of the World. Knowing God and being known.

The Alchemist is a book on following your dreams. Paulo Coelho followed his dreams when he decided to become a writer and many people around the world who have read his books are very happy that he did as the world would have been a less better place had he not chosen to follow his dreams.

Irene Black, author of Darshan and The Moon’s Complexion, used to be a school teacher. Like Paulo Coelho, she followed her dreams when she decided to become a writer.
Too many people lack the courage to follow their dreams, or if they try are stopped by others.’

Many thanks, Keith. I am honoured to appear in such exalted company. I read The Alchemist many years ago and loved it. I will now be re-reading it.

I was also delighted to receive the following e-mail from Julie, a reader of Darshan.

‘I don't normally choose read fiction as I barely find books that keep me interested till the end. However, I love Darshan. I was totally gripped, reading till 2-3am!! I cannot believe that an Indian woman did not write that book - I mean that as a compliment. The book also leaves me wanting more of the characters, their life after their marriage, returning to Wales, etc. The books also reminds me of my British Asian friends, to whom I will recommend your books.

I can't wait to read The Moon's Complexion and will order one from your website. If at all possible, I hope you will be able to sign the book for me. I am totally hooked to your writing.’ Later she wrote ‘I find your writing/book very much in the same league as those listed as best sellers. I don't know much about book publicity, but I would not be surprised if your books do become best sellers.’

Shucks, Julie, what can I say?

Last Monday I was treated to my third visit to the Proms. Joe, Mayen Visitor Three and I went to hear a concert of eastern European music-Smetana, Bartok, Martinu and Stravinsky (Petrushka). I was rather dreading the Martinu double piano concerto – I’m a philistine when it comes to 20th century Czech composers – aprt from the usual suspects. But the Martinu work was a very pleasant surprise. Not a discordant bone in its body. Lovely. Before the performance we paid another visit to the idiosyncratically charming V&A.

I think the cast rooms are just wild. How could they make these accurate life-size copies from plaster moulds in the 19th century? Mindboggling.

On Saturday Joe and I finally got round to seeing Slumdog Millionaire at the Guildford Film Festival. Not easy viewing but extremely good. I have just read Rohinton Mistry’s superb novel A Fine Balance, which, Like Slumdog, exposes the flipside of Indian society. India is the most sublime, but often the most barbaric country in the world. You can’t turn a blind eye to its iniquities, no matter how much the place seeps into your soul, so to speak. Sara, my heroine in Darshan, expresses her own fears for its future, in the light of the gaping chasm between the haves and the have-nots. Wealthy and middle-class Indians are a tiny minority. The rest, in far-flung villages, are often poverty-stricken, sometimes downtrodden and ferociously abused. Your caste and religion can decide your fate. One day the bough must break.

THAT’LL TEACH ME TO BE GREEDY…

2009-07-25T02:30:00.000-07:00

I do love amaretti morbidi. Munchy-scrumpchy soft Italian almond macaroons. So much so that I was a bit surprised to find a half-eaten one on top of the packet I’d put on the dining room table. Not like me to leave one unfinished. Must have been distracted by the phone… So anyway I pick up the remains of the cake and stuff it in my mouth. A bit soggy, perhaps the table was wet, or… I swallow hard as the evidence looms before me. Dribbled, previously unnoticed cake crumbs materialise in front of me. Smears on the glass table top, unmistakeably caused by… a paw. Under the table an innocent black and white face with a wonky moustache smiles up at me. Steal a biscuit? Moi?

Fortunately I survived to tell the tale (tail?) though I did feel a bit – well very – sick for a while.

Turned on BBC One and caught the end of the most revolting programme about rat catchers – a dog killing a rat, a dead decaying cat, squirrel traps that look like man-traps. And macho, grinning ‘pest-controllers’ who seem to think its all great sport, looking for all the world like those mobster skinhead brothers from Eastenders (whose names I’ve forgotten). What does it say about our society that this kind of barbaric programme is so popular that it is shown on prime-time TV on the Beeb?

I‘m having a day off from visitors today – don’t get me wrong, I love having people to stay. But the occasional breather to catch up on emails (and this blog) and watch a little telly is welcome (except when I switch on to dead rats and choke on the cat’s leftovers).

It’s been an activity-packed fortnight ever since H & I appeared from Germany. We had a couple of superb nights in the Peak District, staying at a farm in the middle of nowhere with naught but sheep and cows for company and an old (16th century) ruined manor house (used to belong to Thomas Cromwell). The stones had contributed to the building of the ‘new’ (Georgian) farmhouse. We climbed Ecton Hill, over the dramatic Manifold Valley,

walked through the valley to Thor’s Cave and next day walked the length of Dovedale from the Thorpe end carpark to Milldale and back.

The weather smiled on us and the heavens only opened when we were safe and dry in Chatsworth House the next day.

On Saturday we went up to London for a day of culture – the RA Summer Exhibition, the V&A – I finally got round to seeing the new Buddhist wing – well worth while and excellently informative. In the evening we attended a performance of Haydn’s Creation at the Proms. It’s one of my favourite choral works, beautifully performed by the Gabrieli Consort, though the Royal Albert Hall did tend to swallow up the baritone, in spite of the blue mushrooms.

I went to the Proms again on Monday with my Good Neighbours. This time it was Mahler’s Ninth conducted by Bernhard Haitink – what can I say except ‘wow’?

A summons from afar (ie fast train from Waterloo) compels me to abandon my ramblings and collect Joe and German Visitor Three from Guildford station after a day doing cultural things in London.

POST SCRIPT – it’s taken me 2 days to commit this to Online LIVE! And given me a chance to remember to post this evidence of my brush with the Exalted Nobility of Guildford in the Twinning Marquee in Freiburg.

L to R: Ex-mayor of Guildford, wife of Freiburg Association President, current mayor of Guildford Freiburg Association President, ME!!!!, husband of current mayor (mayoress?)

Today I'm off with Jackie to promote Goldenford books at the Pirbright Show. I'm delighted to see that Amazon.co.uk are obviously gaining faith in Darshan as they are now saying they have got in multiple copies rather than the 'only one copy left' tag they put on when they're not quite sure of sales.

PETS, PRESENTATIONS, PUBLISHING AND PARTIES

2009-07-09T08:25:00.000-07:00

This is my attempt to blog before my visitors arrive from Germany. I know they have ‘disembarked’ from the Dover ferry but they are planning to take a trip down memory lane and visit old haunts on the South coast before turning north and heading my way, so I should have an hour or so before they appear. These are the same visitors H and I, with whom Jackie, M and I spent a happy few days in Freiburg.

Last week has been quite eventful. On Tuesday Joe and I went to a live transmission at our local Odeon cinema of La Traviata from the Royal Opera. It was simply stunning. What a cast – Renee Fleming, Jose Calleja and the delectable Thomas Hampson. We’d seen both men in the flesh at a Royal Opera concert the previous week, and it was a joy to see them in an opera. One of the most wonderful productions I’ve seen for a long time. What a fabulous idea these transmissions to cinemas are. And the uptake had been so big that they had had to transfer it to a larger auditorium. A word of praise for the Guildford Odeon staff. They are always so helpful and friendly. Others could learn from them…

I put my Indian Art to good use on Thursday by giving a presentation to a class of 24 6 and 7-year-olds at Shalford Infants School, which is a little hidden gem. A tiny school in a picturesque Victorian building, but with very up-to-date ideas and well-disciplined, eager children. I stayed the whole afternoon and had such fun. First I gave them a Power Point presentation on Ganesh and his family (Shiva, Parvati etc) and all the family animals.

Then we watched a cartoon DVD ‘How Ganesh got his elephant head’, lent to me by Anjali, whose lovely children’s book, The Convent Rules, I have mentioned before. Then they wanted more – so another little cartoon and some worksheets. And I even read a bit out of Darshan: there’s actually a suitable extract involving a 7-year old boy. Here’s a bit of it:

‘If you are not too tired,’ Anil told them, ‘I would like to take you to the Bull Temple. I think it will appeal to our young friend here.’ His eyes twinkled as he looked at Dafydd.
‘The Nandi bull inside the temple is fourth largest in India, carved from a single piece of rock,’ Anil explained as we climbed the small hill toward it. He turned to Dafydd. ‘Have you heard of Nandi?’ Dafydd shook his head.
‘In India,’ Anil continued, ‘God comes in many forms and has many names. But each form has someone to ride on, usually an animal. The great god Shiva rides on a bull called Nandi. This is his temple.’
‘Wow! A temple to a bull. That’s like … like having a church named after the donkey Jesus rode on.’
‘Precisely! A good comparison. Come, let us go inside.

Of course, I had to adapt it slightly for infant consumption but it went down well.

Talking of Anjali, her book was launched with a great party on Saturday evening at her home, and Jackie and I attended. And being the lovely person she is, she insisted that we put the Goldenford books on display, in order to whip up interest among her guests. Now who else would promote another publisher’s books at their launch? If you’re reading this, Anjali, you are a star!

Before we went to the launch though, we three Golden Girls were busy promoting and signing books at Book Boys in Farnborough. One person bought 4 copies of Darshan. Thanks, K – I hope the Russian ladies will enjoy it.

On Sunday I was invited to a party at Jackie’s – I’m really becoming a socialite! Lovely food, old friends and plenty of chat.

I decided to move a chest of drawers in my bedroom and a creepy green hand crawled out from under it.

Luckily I have a good memory and knew immediately that this was a ghost from 25 years or so ago come back to haunt me. I bought this for Ant in Germany when he was a child – you throw it at windows and it sticks and slides down. One of my best buys – both kids loved it. Now it’s re-emerged, I can’t wait to try it on Miss T!

The cat’s on steroids. The vet agrees that he may have an auto-immune disease so it’s worth a try. The vet said, ‘I can’t tell you what’s wrong with him, but he’s definitely not all there.’ Well he was all there all right this afternoon, when a large DOG appeared in the garden – some sort of beagle I think, all dressed up in various collars and name tags. Not that it helped – neither I nor my neighbour could get near it. It saw the cat and raced after him (to my horror!). The cat disappeared into the hedge followed by dog, hot on his heels. Seconds later I hear blood-curdling dog-screams that seemed to go on forever. Then out of the hedge shoots terrified canine followed by HUGE cat (fluffed up to around 100 times his normal size). We won’t see that dog again.

The Truculent Virgin and other Tales

2009-06-30T05:27:00.001-07:00

Before I forget – an addendum (or two) to the Bad Boys-Good Boys saga. Yes, you guessed it, Virgin Media again. This time they surpassed themselves. My monthly statement from them came an hour before I was due to leave for Germany. I made the mistake of opening it and checking it through. Should have left it till I got back. Too late. Discovered to my perplexity that the ‘balance carried forward’ column, which should have read ‘zero’ as I pay by direct debit, had a figure of £124 in it. PLUS I had been charged a LATE PAYMENT fee of £10. How can a direct debit payment be late???

Nothing for it but to pick up the phone again (‘Just so you know… arghhh!) Finally (after several minutes of loud pop music and getting cut off) was put through to a male voice (British). Blurted out my tale of woe in some agitation, as I didn’t want to miss my flight. The male voice hummed and ha’d then asked me if I’d moved house recently. ‘No,’ I told him. He hummed and ha’d a bit more then said ‘Are you sure you haven’t moved house?’

‘If I had moved house,’ I said trying to control my mounting rage, ‘I think I’d know it.’

At which point – get this – the fellow replied very haughtily, ‘there’s no need to use that tone with me,’ and HUNG UP ON ME!!!!

Well, I finally did get through to a sensible-sounding woman who immediately realised that Virgin Media had got it wrong (yet again) and promised to rectify it immediatement (or at least on my next payment). I await my next statement with some trepidation and not a lot of hope…

A Bad Boy turned (temporarily, I’m sure) GOOD, is British Gas Home Care. After the sad tale of how they turned up a day late in Oxford, I now have to report that they have turned up a day EARLY to service my boiler. I should add that they didn’t just turn up – someone actually rang me to see if I was in before the man with a van arrived.

Utilities apart it’s been quite a musical week. Joe and I went up to the Royal Opera on Wednesday for a concert by three of the current stars performing there – Joyce DiDonato, Jose Calleja and the delectable Thomas Hampson. These brave souls were doing a last-minute stand-in for Dmitri Hvorostovsky, who met with ‘an accident to his vocal chords’, and who himself was supposed to be replacing Rolando Villazon, who was ill (We’d booked for Hvorostovsky, who is a dish with a dreamy voice - OK so he’s a tad pompous but I can live with that.)

The concert was very enjoyable, especially the Mahler song cycle Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen, beautifully sung by Thomas Hampson.

On Sunday we had tickets for an all-Mendelssohn concert (Philharmonia Orchestra at the Royal Festival Hall). Another lovely evening. And the view from the RFH is lovely too (though hard to photograph straight into the evening sun).

Tonight it’s a live transmission of Traviata from the ROH showing at the Odeon in Guildford. These opera transmissions are a wonderful innovation.

On the book front, thanks, Keith Parkin, for a review of Darshan on Bookcrossing – here it is – at least part of it – it’s very long.

Keith’s Review

A Journey!

Saraswathi, an Indian student at Oxford, lost, lonely and far from home, is easy prey for a religious slime-ball and arsehole who seduces her into a religious sect. Although she has her initial reservations she loses all sense of reality when she is brainwashed into the sect. She finally comes to her senses when members of the sect try to gang rape her as part of an initiation ceremony.

That John/Ieuan is a religious nutter is illustrated by his comment 'You won't find God in a stained glass window and rousing music. It's all wrong.' Later we learn that Beethoven, or at least his music, is sinful.

How wrong could he be. Hildergard von Bingen spoke of being 'a feather on the breath of God'. There are those whose art seems to transcend the transition zone, are in communication with the Soul of the World.

Or to quote Paulo Coelho on art:

'Painting is an art. And art is a power that should be aimed at developing the soul. If art does not do this job, the abyss that separates us from God is left without a bridge.'

(Here I’ve left out a whole screed on Paul Coelho and other of Keith’s causes célèbres – interesting but too much. Also left out less than flattering aside about Moon – accusing it of containing clichés (at least, I think that's what he means) – rubbish, they would never have got past me, not to mention the editors. I think he’s got the book confused with another! Or he has a weird idea of clichés)

Saraswathi decides to study in Oxford to get away from India. She also has another reason, she wants to find her estranged Welsh father who her mother will not talk about. She is also on a quest, although she does not know it yet. A spiritual quest to find her inner self. Very Paulo Coelho.

The discussion of darshan is very Paulo Coelho. Darshan is seeing God, and God seeing you. It is the Buddhist concept of enlightenment. It is the Jewish practice of Kaballah, of being as one with God. It is crossing the transition zone, of communicating with the Soul of the World. Knowing God and being known.

Darshan is a very powerful novel, part love story, part thriller, part spiritual quest.

Darshan opens with a beautiful and haunting poem.

A very interesting review – I’m glad Darshan provokes such profound thoughts. And I see he has posted the poem on the web too. Not sure if this is permissible – copyright etc. I don’t mind personally – it’s all grist to the mill.

And last but not least - if you are anywhere near Farnborough on Saturday 4th July between 1 -3 pm do drop in at Book Boyz, (16 Kingsmead Farnborough, GU14 7SL) where Jackie Luben, Jennifer (Jay) Margrave and I will be signing copies of our books.