I forgot to mention that I was away last week visiting family and friends in Germany. Apologies to anyone who looked for a new post from me. And I'm afraid this post is going to be short because I have a lot of shopping and stuff to catch up on.
Disappointingly, there was no snow on the ground in Germany, in fact it was mild and rainy. This didn't stop me prowling round the Christmas markets and slurping mulled wine and - my favourite - eggnog with cream. Yummy. I just love the smell of cinnamon and aniseed and the all pervasive aroma of bratwurst (German fried sausage, as I expect you know). And of course I couldn't resist buying some Christmas ornaments and a few scented candles. But a bit of snow and a frosty sky sparkling with stars would have been a nice backdrop.
I often wondered why we like to have a white Christmas. I was reading Jane Austen's Emma for the umpteenth time recently and came across the passage where that pesky vicar gets into the coach with Emma and her father and says "ah,snows a little I see" and then goes on to say "Christmas weather! Quite seasonable!" So all those nostalgic Christmas cards depicting carriages or robins in the snow are not so wide of the mark for us insular Europeans. Snow was apparently wished for at Christmas and was not unusual in Jane Austen's time. And it does give us a warm, safe feeling if we look out the window at a white world as we sit in the warmth.
Whatever the weather, wherever you are, I wish you all a very Happy Christmas!
Saturday, 22 December 2012
Sunday, 9 December 2012
Just Looking
I must be every shop assistant's idea of a shop lifter. This was borne in upon me yet again last weekend when I went on a browse. No sooner than I had stopped at the first beauty counter than an assistant appeared out of thin air and honed in on me.
'Can I help you?' she purred. I told her I was "just looking". She ignored this feeble statement and with a practised eye noted that I had been looking at face creams. She picked up a tube of serum guaranteed to iron out even wrinkles you didn't know you had and have you looking younger than you did at 15. The price tag would have done justice to buying shares in the Waldorf Astoria. 'This is on special offer only this weekend,' she said, holding it out to me enticingly 'Try it.' I muttered something and moved away but she kept hovering at my side and as soon as I looked at anything on the counter she was there to tell me what great stuff it was. It was as if she thought I'd pocket something if she didn't keep a sharp lookout. In the end I slunk off without buying anything. I was even too discouraged to try a sample squirt of one of the new perfumes.
Of course I should have had more back-bone and kept on browsing, but with a shop assistant keeping a sharp eye on me - or so it seemed to me - I just didn't feel comfortable. And yet what are all those glass counters for, if not to browse what's on display and maybe buy something that catches your fancy and doesn't bankrupt you? Half of the fun is window-shopping and in these days of cold austerity it takes longer than usual to decide what you want to buy and what you can afford. Oh for someone who says "if you need any help let me know" and then goes off and leaves you to it. Nine times out of ten that's when I make a purchase. On the rare occasions when I really need advice the assistant is usually out of eye-reach attending some glamorous, well heeled customer. Ah well, that's Murphy's Law, I suppose.
To be fair, I guess many of these sales ladies are bored. They've learned all about the products and are dying to impart this information to prospective customers. The only trouble is that prospective customers like myself prefer to browse in peace and quiet. Otherwise we take ourselves off to the unmanned counters where we can look all we like.
'Can I help you?' she purred. I told her I was "just looking". She ignored this feeble statement and with a practised eye noted that I had been looking at face creams. She picked up a tube of serum guaranteed to iron out even wrinkles you didn't know you had and have you looking younger than you did at 15. The price tag would have done justice to buying shares in the Waldorf Astoria. 'This is on special offer only this weekend,' she said, holding it out to me enticingly 'Try it.' I muttered something and moved away but she kept hovering at my side and as soon as I looked at anything on the counter she was there to tell me what great stuff it was. It was as if she thought I'd pocket something if she didn't keep a sharp lookout. In the end I slunk off without buying anything. I was even too discouraged to try a sample squirt of one of the new perfumes.
Of course I should have had more back-bone and kept on browsing, but with a shop assistant keeping a sharp eye on me - or so it seemed to me - I just didn't feel comfortable. And yet what are all those glass counters for, if not to browse what's on display and maybe buy something that catches your fancy and doesn't bankrupt you? Half of the fun is window-shopping and in these days of cold austerity it takes longer than usual to decide what you want to buy and what you can afford. Oh for someone who says "if you need any help let me know" and then goes off and leaves you to it. Nine times out of ten that's when I make a purchase. On the rare occasions when I really need advice the assistant is usually out of eye-reach attending some glamorous, well heeled customer. Ah well, that's Murphy's Law, I suppose.
To be fair, I guess many of these sales ladies are bored. They've learned all about the products and are dying to impart this information to prospective customers. The only trouble is that prospective customers like myself prefer to browse in peace and quiet. Otherwise we take ourselves off to the unmanned counters where we can look all we like.
Saturday, 1 December 2012
The Next Big Thing - Tag
Janet Cameron, whose novel Cinnamon Toast and the End of the World will be published by Hachette in spring 2013, tagged me to answer the questions below on my current novel Spate of Violence which will be published as an e-book also in spring 2013. See link to Janet's website under My Blog List.
So here goes:
Where did the idea come from for the book?
Driving home late one night I saw a gang of kids roaming the streets, intent on no good by all appearances, and I started thinking about these kids, their families and what would happen if someone tried to stop them.
What genre does your book fall under?
This is a difficult one to answer. I guess it's a contemporary fiction novel.
What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?
I would like all roles to be played by unknown actors because I think that would suit the nature of the story.
What is the one sentence synopsis of your book?
The Bartels move to the town of Bitterfeld when Sebastian lands a super job in nearby Frankfurt but his family are torn apart when he joins the local vigilantes whose avowed aim is to restore law and order to the city streets.
Will you be self-published or represented by an agency?
I plan on publishing Spate of Violence as an e-book.
How long did it take you to write the first draft?
It took me over a year. I revise as I go, so I kept changing and editing scenes.
Who or what inspired you to write this book?
My inspiration to write comes from every day experiences, conversations with strangers and a generally overactive imagination.
What else about your book might pique the reader's interest?
Spate of Violence is the story of how a a family walks the tightrope between self defence and obeying the law. It also provides an insight into the world of the gangs.
Normally I should now nominate at least one other writer but will have to do this at a later date.
So here goes:
Where did the idea come from for the book?
Driving home late one night I saw a gang of kids roaming the streets, intent on no good by all appearances, and I started thinking about these kids, their families and what would happen if someone tried to stop them.
What genre does your book fall under?
This is a difficult one to answer. I guess it's a contemporary fiction novel.
What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?
I would like all roles to be played by unknown actors because I think that would suit the nature of the story.
What is the one sentence synopsis of your book?
The Bartels move to the town of Bitterfeld when Sebastian lands a super job in nearby Frankfurt but his family are torn apart when he joins the local vigilantes whose avowed aim is to restore law and order to the city streets.
Will you be self-published or represented by an agency?
I plan on publishing Spate of Violence as an e-book.
How long did it take you to write the first draft?
It took me over a year. I revise as I go, so I kept changing and editing scenes.
Who or what inspired you to write this book?
My inspiration to write comes from every day experiences, conversations with strangers and a generally overactive imagination.
What else about your book might pique the reader's interest?
Spate of Violence is the story of how a a family walks the tightrope between self defence and obeying the law. It also provides an insight into the world of the gangs.
Normally I should now nominate at least one other writer but will have to do this at a later date.
Saturday, 24 November 2012
Who goes there?
I read the other day that a friend of Prince Charles told the media that he (Prince Charles) had seven eggs cooked for him every morning and then decided on which one he would eat, depending on how cooked or not it was. We are assured that this is a myth and the Prince does no such thing and I can hear a collective sigh of relief all over the egg-eating world at this very important discovery.
It set me thinking, though. Who was this friend who blabbed about something about which he/she obviously knew as much as a reader of a secondhand copy of Hello at the hairdressers? How do you define who a friend is? If you are a celebrity you'll have lots of "friends" spilling your guts to the media any time you have half a personal crisis. "Friends of the couple, who wish to remain anonymous say ...." What kind of a friendship is that?
So what is a friend? For me, a friend is someone who knows when to keep their mouth shut. Someone who doesn't dish the dirt on me or give away my darkest secrets - I haven't got many, in case you're worried. And someone who makes me feel good about myself most of the time while still being able to give me a verbal kick up the derriere if I get out of line. By definition, this is an "intimate" friend - again another invention of the media. I either have friends of the above calibre or I have "acquaintances". I don't expect too much from acquaintances. They can be lots of fun to be with - people I really like - but I'd never tell them anything I'd regret telling to even the cat in the morning. And I might not like it if they criticize me behind my back, but hey, I probably do the same to them.
The most hurtful thing is to consider someone a friend and then discover they've been tearing you to pieces as happily as a terrier with an old slipper. That's happened to me a few times in my life - can't say I've learned from it, either. I have the feeling that it happens to celebrities a lot - otherwise it would mean colossal job-loss on those glossy gossip magazines even with all the eye-boggling "confessions" and interviews with the rich and famous. You have to have a quote from a "friend" of Brangelina or Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson or any other celeb who migh be currently in the spotlight for whatever reason.
In the old days the sentry guarding the gate to the city said something like "who goes there - friend or foe?" It would be good sometimes if we could ask this question of those around us - not that I think anyone would admit to "foe." But perhaps a telling silence might suffice.
It set me thinking, though. Who was this friend who blabbed about something about which he/she obviously knew as much as a reader of a secondhand copy of Hello at the hairdressers? How do you define who a friend is? If you are a celebrity you'll have lots of "friends" spilling your guts to the media any time you have half a personal crisis. "Friends of the couple, who wish to remain anonymous say ...." What kind of a friendship is that?
So what is a friend? For me, a friend is someone who knows when to keep their mouth shut. Someone who doesn't dish the dirt on me or give away my darkest secrets - I haven't got many, in case you're worried. And someone who makes me feel good about myself most of the time while still being able to give me a verbal kick up the derriere if I get out of line. By definition, this is an "intimate" friend - again another invention of the media. I either have friends of the above calibre or I have "acquaintances". I don't expect too much from acquaintances. They can be lots of fun to be with - people I really like - but I'd never tell them anything I'd regret telling to even the cat in the morning. And I might not like it if they criticize me behind my back, but hey, I probably do the same to them.
The most hurtful thing is to consider someone a friend and then discover they've been tearing you to pieces as happily as a terrier with an old slipper. That's happened to me a few times in my life - can't say I've learned from it, either. I have the feeling that it happens to celebrities a lot - otherwise it would mean colossal job-loss on those glossy gossip magazines even with all the eye-boggling "confessions" and interviews with the rich and famous. You have to have a quote from a "friend" of Brangelina or Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson or any other celeb who migh be currently in the spotlight for whatever reason.
In the old days the sentry guarding the gate to the city said something like "who goes there - friend or foe?" It would be good sometimes if we could ask this question of those around us - not that I think anyone would admit to "foe." But perhaps a telling silence might suffice.
Friday, 16 November 2012
Grotesques and Gargoyles
The Duomo cathedral in Milan is putting its 135 gargoyles up for adoption. The scheme hopes to raise the 25m euros needed to restore them and stop them falling off the building onto a passing tourist's unsuspecting head. If you've got 100,000 euros stashed in the right foot of your winter boots and are prepared to donate them you will have the satisfaction of knowing that your name will be engraved under a gargoyle.
Alternatively, you could dish out some cash for the preservation of ancient buildings in Rome. Recently, pieces of stone fell off the Trevi fountain. Now, a nice little thank you plaque with your name on it where it can be seen by all and sundry and caught on camera any time the Trevi fountain is used as background would be just the thing to gob-smack your family and friends. That's much safer than trying to explain away a gargoyle with your name underneath it. And it's much more intriguing than donating to some local charity. You might even be invited to Rome and given a special public thank you by whoever happens to be prime minister of Italy at the time. The Colosseum is also in trouble, I believe, and would be equally suitable for having your name held forever in gratitude in the Eternal City. It's something to think about as you leaf through that pile of bank-notes.
But to get back to adopting gargoyles: the most important distinction to be made, apparently, is that gargoyles are figures used to drain off rainwater and are not to be confused with grotesques, which although every bit as ugly as gargoyles are in fact meant to protect buildings from evil spirits. This distinction could be important. There are almost as many grotesques as gargoyles to be seen on churches and cathedrals all over Europe and it might make all the difference staying dry or getting drenched with rainwater depending on which figure you stand under in a rain shower.
Here's a thought: if you are visiting Milan and the Duomo cathedral with friends or family in years to come, there is a distinct possibility that when admiring the gargoyles, they might get the idea that one of them is a likeness of you, seeing as how your name is engraved underneath it. Do you really want to be associated with an ugly water spout?
Alternatively, you could dish out some cash for the preservation of ancient buildings in Rome. Recently, pieces of stone fell off the Trevi fountain. Now, a nice little thank you plaque with your name on it where it can be seen by all and sundry and caught on camera any time the Trevi fountain is used as background would be just the thing to gob-smack your family and friends. That's much safer than trying to explain away a gargoyle with your name underneath it. And it's much more intriguing than donating to some local charity. You might even be invited to Rome and given a special public thank you by whoever happens to be prime minister of Italy at the time. The Colosseum is also in trouble, I believe, and would be equally suitable for having your name held forever in gratitude in the Eternal City. It's something to think about as you leaf through that pile of bank-notes.
But to get back to adopting gargoyles: the most important distinction to be made, apparently, is that gargoyles are figures used to drain off rainwater and are not to be confused with grotesques, which although every bit as ugly as gargoyles are in fact meant to protect buildings from evil spirits. This distinction could be important. There are almost as many grotesques as gargoyles to be seen on churches and cathedrals all over Europe and it might make all the difference staying dry or getting drenched with rainwater depending on which figure you stand under in a rain shower.
Here's a thought: if you are visiting Milan and the Duomo cathedral with friends or family in years to come, there is a distinct possibility that when admiring the gargoyles, they might get the idea that one of them is a likeness of you, seeing as how your name is engraved underneath it. Do you really want to be associated with an ugly water spout?
Saturday, 10 November 2012
Better than a play
Well, it's all over and the shouting (in the US senate) is about to start. I don't think anyone, anywhere, on this planet could have evaded the hype on the US election this week. As King Charles II said in 1610 of the House of Lords' debate on the Divorce Bill "better than a play". I know I happily switched to CNN to watch the whole thing unfold, drinking endless cups of tea to stay awake. And I was a teeny bit surprised, after all that had been said on the subject of jobs and the economy, that Obama won fairly comfortably. I felt sorry for Mitt Romney - tears were forming in my eyes at his speech - and I rejoiced with Obama (more tears). There was a tremendous buzz about the whole thing and I wouldn't have missed it for anything.
The thing that impressed me was the determination of so many people in New York and New Jersey to get out and vote amid the devastation of Hurricane Sandy. Maybe we don't appreciate our civil liberties until something happens to prevent us exercising them. If we were told we couldn't vote in a general election any more, that the government would re-elect itself and demonstrations were not allowed, I bet we'd have a fit. We'd be out there marching and social media-ing all over the place. That's why I really admire those civil rights people who put their lives at risk for things they believe in - people like Aung San of Myanmar who was under house arrest for most of her life and who is still fighting for democracy in Myanmar.
Well, it's back to grey reality and I need to catch up on the soaps which I happily put on the back burner during the last week of the election. At least Christmas is coming and the stores will keep our stress levels well oiled by telling us just how few shopping days are left. Won't have the same buzz as the US election, though, not even if I still believed in Santa Claus.
The thing that impressed me was the determination of so many people in New York and New Jersey to get out and vote amid the devastation of Hurricane Sandy. Maybe we don't appreciate our civil liberties until something happens to prevent us exercising them. If we were told we couldn't vote in a general election any more, that the government would re-elect itself and demonstrations were not allowed, I bet we'd have a fit. We'd be out there marching and social media-ing all over the place. That's why I really admire those civil rights people who put their lives at risk for things they believe in - people like Aung San of Myanmar who was under house arrest for most of her life and who is still fighting for democracy in Myanmar.
Well, it's back to grey reality and I need to catch up on the soaps which I happily put on the back burner during the last week of the election. At least Christmas is coming and the stores will keep our stress levels well oiled by telling us just how few shopping days are left. Won't have the same buzz as the US election, though, not even if I still believed in Santa Claus.
Saturday, 3 November 2012
Home Again
I can't believe that I wrote my last post on 29th September! It doesn't seem that long ago since I was struggling with my virus and getting all excited about my trip to Spain. The weather was still warm enough to go out with only a light jacket. Now I am back almost a week and find myself reaching for my winter coat. Quite a change after temperatures of around 25C or higher.
I really enjoyed my time in Spain with my friend Eileen. My virus plagued me for the first five days (it probably thrived in those temperatures! but then finally left me. It was so hot that it took a few days to acclimatize. In fact, we didn't do anything madly exciting, we just chilled out - or warmed up would be more appropriate. We did go on a day trip to Cartagena and visited the Roman museum there. The amphitheatre was discovered in the late 19th century when some of the old fishermen's houses were being renovated. It is in excellent condition and well worth a visit. What an industrious lot the Romans were! Cartagena itself is a very old Spanish city with wide streets and lovely buildings. We also visited Mar Menor, the largest inland salt lake in Europe if I understood our guide correctly. People with arthritis, rheumatism and various skin ailments come here for the mud baths which are reputed to give a lot of relief.
I didn't take many photos but I have put a few under the "Photos" tab if you care to see them.
I loved the open air market in Torrevieja on a Friday morning. The food stalls stretch at least a kilometre and offer just about any kind of fruit or vegetable you could think of. You get the powerful smell of spices and herbs as you walk along. If I lived locally I'd definitely do all my fruit and veg shopping here. The market is huge and there are stalls offering clothes, shoes, watches, leather goods, things you've always wanted and things you've been trying to avoid. As soon as you stop to look someone pops out of the back regions and tries a hard sell. You suddenly find that the handbag for 50 euros is being offered to you for 20 and is genuine, yes genuine camel leather, and in fact the eager seller is going to throw in a genuine leather belt just to be nice. You smile, shrug and move on , avoiding the watch for 5 euros which is being presented to you. You also refuse to be drawn into the "find the dice" game which is being played by a shifty looking character using three halved and hollowed-out potatoes and two accomplices who are winning 50 euros each time by discovering under which potato the dice is hidden and are insisting that you can be just as successful. It is all good clean fun as long as you keep a tight hold on your purse.
Despite all the fun and sunshine, though, I am glad to be back home. I prefer the rough Atlantic in all its moods to the sleek sophistication of the Mediterranean. The Atlantic has more character, I reckon. And so I was out on the beach today drinking in the bracing salty air and watching the oyster catchers and the gulls parading around the wet sand. Cold? Not really, well wrapped up and contented.
I really enjoyed my time in Spain with my friend Eileen. My virus plagued me for the first five days (it probably thrived in those temperatures! but then finally left me. It was so hot that it took a few days to acclimatize. In fact, we didn't do anything madly exciting, we just chilled out - or warmed up would be more appropriate. We did go on a day trip to Cartagena and visited the Roman museum there. The amphitheatre was discovered in the late 19th century when some of the old fishermen's houses were being renovated. It is in excellent condition and well worth a visit. What an industrious lot the Romans were! Cartagena itself is a very old Spanish city with wide streets and lovely buildings. We also visited Mar Menor, the largest inland salt lake in Europe if I understood our guide correctly. People with arthritis, rheumatism and various skin ailments come here for the mud baths which are reputed to give a lot of relief.
I didn't take many photos but I have put a few under the "Photos" tab if you care to see them.
I loved the open air market in Torrevieja on a Friday morning. The food stalls stretch at least a kilometre and offer just about any kind of fruit or vegetable you could think of. You get the powerful smell of spices and herbs as you walk along. If I lived locally I'd definitely do all my fruit and veg shopping here. The market is huge and there are stalls offering clothes, shoes, watches, leather goods, things you've always wanted and things you've been trying to avoid. As soon as you stop to look someone pops out of the back regions and tries a hard sell. You suddenly find that the handbag for 50 euros is being offered to you for 20 and is genuine, yes genuine camel leather, and in fact the eager seller is going to throw in a genuine leather belt just to be nice. You smile, shrug and move on , avoiding the watch for 5 euros which is being presented to you. You also refuse to be drawn into the "find the dice" game which is being played by a shifty looking character using three halved and hollowed-out potatoes and two accomplices who are winning 50 euros each time by discovering under which potato the dice is hidden and are insisting that you can be just as successful. It is all good clean fun as long as you keep a tight hold on your purse.
Despite all the fun and sunshine, though, I am glad to be back home. I prefer the rough Atlantic in all its moods to the sleek sophistication of the Mediterranean. The Atlantic has more character, I reckon. And so I was out on the beach today drinking in the bracing salty air and watching the oyster catchers and the gulls parading around the wet sand. Cold? Not really, well wrapped up and contented.
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