In memoriam to Steven Room, and contentment.

Perhaps you have been jarred by the title of this blog? 

Perhaps these 2 elements sound conflicting and you think me insensitive; this isn't the intention so I hope that the juxtaposition will become apparent as you read on…

                                                                                                 

It is a sad fact that this year our annual Christmas rituals were replaced by funeral arrangements following the sudden loss of my father-in-law, Steven Room; sympathy cards stood in place of the usual jolly Santa, and celebratory proceedings were replaced by dark emotions: I have thus been avoiding writing at all.

However, when I discussed the dread of writing, and turning this blog into an emotional outpouring, my husband gave me one piece of advice…

”Then don’t,” he said, “Write of contentment instead”.

So, here goes…

I first met Steve over 20 years ago; petrified is the first word that springs to mind when I recall the booming articulations that could have belonged to a radio 4 presenter! His eloquence and breadth of knowledge highlighted my ignorance, and broad Leicester accent, and  sent me heading straight to a thesaurus…did I drop an ‘H’, should I have placed the emphasis on the first vowel of that word, or the second! I was ready to wear the dunce hat for evermore, but I soon discovered that the voice belonged to a gentle, humble man who indeed was incredibly intelligent, but also kind, generous and supportive. This Cambridge graduate was Captain of the Sport’s Team; he majored in Chaucer, spoke fluent French, and eventually went on to become a highly respected high-school teacher. However, he was unwilling to champion his own achievements: his modesty was a great part of his charm. A Facebook tribute page is further testimony to this humble man; his teaching skills and enthusiasm have reached hundreds of students who have recalled experiences in his class; the amount of people he encouraged to achieve is, quite simply, astounding. As you see, Steve had many enviable qualities; for one, he taught Catcher in the Rye for many years and this in itself deserves a medal!! You remember how I despise this book (see previous post!)  He apparently managed to compare the Cratch in the Eye to Dances with Wolves!!! Oh I do wish I’d been in his English class!

Although I wasn’t fortunate enough to have been taught by Steve, when I decided to become a teacher and study through the OU, Steve was there buoying me on, championing my efforts to anyone who would listen, spell checking my assignments, correcting my grammar, reading my stories and encouraging me to write more! (At this point only my tutor and I were privy to my stories, so when this legend of a man said he actually liked my stories…well, you can imagine…)

He did, however, constantly correct my punctuation and try to reign in my over-use of adjectives!! And he didn’t just correct essays …oh no… texting too!! I have never known a person text so syntactically correct!! This was just one of his many endearing qualities!

Steve was a greatly loved husband, father, Grandfather, teacher and friend. He will be sadly missed; too short a life, but I’m sure he would agree that he has had some glorious moments of contentment.

Amongst other things, I know that contentment for Steve was literature, and the teaching of;  music; admiring his garden in both France and England, after a hard days toil and labour; sitting in the sun with a beer and a fag; watching a myriad of foreign language films with Lone (intellectual not the other!); Scandinavian crime thrillers; cakes and sweet things; Rugby (the sport!); visiting family and friends in Denmark and France; laughing with his family and friends; being with his family (most of the time!).

Many simple pleasures, but I’m sure you’ll agree, contentment lives in the small things.

And contentment for me, well, I have just returned from a windswept stroll on Cromer beach with my long suffering other, and our dog; the children are happily playing with their Christmas presents; I’ve just finished the 6th Jo Nesbo (Harry Hole) book, this morning; I’m currently sitting here writing this, whilst eating chocolate as the sun sets over the garden; and I’m looking forward to the writing group which re-opens for business on Thursday (we are working on our first group anthology!); there’s a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard, a bottle of sparkly on ice and an ever expanding range of literature to digest!

What does contentment mean for you? Let me know!

I couldn’t, of course, mention Mr Room without his wife, Lone; being a Dane she is an advocate of all things Scandinavian, and by marital decree I am bound to champion the nation! This however isn’t difficult, especially if you enjoy Scandinavian crime writing! As I mentioned earlier, I have just finished the 6^th Harry Hole novel and although I’m hooked on Nesbo, I recommend you explore the wider brilliance of this popular genre:

I began by reading one of the Wallander novels by Henning Mankell- an easier, gentler read than Nesbo and larsson, the action is more rural in feel than globe trotting-the essence is far more Morse than Bond! The books are a great read, but do also try to watch the addictive, original, Swedish series on DVD-go for the original rather than the painfully, brooding kenneth Branagh remakes-he’s a poor substitute for the huge charisma that is Fredrik Gunnarsson!

After Mankell, I then moved on Steig Larsson with the awesome Millennium Trilogy-I actually couldn’t put these down (clichéd but true) and read them over a few days on the beach-developing a nice book-shaped tan line across my chest! The series was absolutely awesome, a whirlwind trip (action relying heavily on the use of technology and dodgy associates!), the action is at times brutal and gruesome (at times hard to stomach), the believable characters, thrilling plot twists and of-course an amazing female lead-Lisbeth Salander-ensure that many Scandinavian thriller writers will be compared to him for years to come. Read the books first, then watch the ORIGINAL films- Daniel Craig does have great biceps, but once again something is lost in the translation and too much detail is cut by the necessity of editing for a movie length film.

After reading Larsson, and aware that these books were his last, I found Nesbo: The sticker on the front of his books calls him THE NEXT STEIG LARSSON-Yes, his books are a gripping read, but Nesbo cannot compete with Larsson’s intricacies of characterization and plot. However, saying this, I’d still thoroughly recommend reading the Jo Nesbo books , his interweaving of plot threads is extremely clever, yet wholly conceivable. Once you’ve read one you do have the basic formula, but there are some great plot twists and the lead character Harry Hole is indeed a loveable rogue!

On initial reading I thought that these books were written by a woman- an opinion I’m told is shared-the men I spoke to found the Nesbo books a little pretentious and felt that he was trying to hard to be lyrical; women I have spoken to however love the books, or is that, they love Harry Hole!!

Although you can just pick up any one of Nesbo’s books and go with them (it’s not complicated to grasp the character and his life/lack of social skills; many themes are recurrent: his colleagues tend to murdered and he’s a battling alcoholic with an attitude, oh and there’s a relationship that he keeps screwing up) it is best to read them in order-I didn’t, and it meant a few spoilers for me!

So, as the books aren’t numbered, here’s the order (a couple of texts aren’t yet readily available):

The Bat (only available in hardback/as an eBook at the minute so I haven’t read it!)

The Cockroaches (can’t even find this on Amazon!)

The Redbreast (success seems to have started here)

Nemesis

The Devil’s Star

The Redeemer

The Snowman (This is where they get quite gruesome!)

The Leopard

Phantom

Headhunters

Give them a go and let me know what you think.

After I’ve given the first draft of my friend’s sci-fi novel a read (thanks, John), I’ll try another Scandi-Crime writer, as recommended by Lone…I’ll let you know what I think to both!!

If you have any recommendations please let me know by either leaving a comment where it says ‘comments’ or email me on:

walshamwritersgroup@gmail.com

Happy reading, and have a happy and contented start to 2013.

Hayley xx

Slaughter of the Innocent

There are many forms of escapism-for me, they are: reading, writing and single malts! Indeed, escapism is a necessity of modern living for many of us and its forms may be many...However, watching the Dexter series and The Walking Dead are worryingly two  other forms I indulge in and thus I'm concerned that these choices somehow relate to a hidden personal philosophy of mine; If you don't know, I guess that the basic premise of these series boils down to this...It's ok to kill another thing if A: You are about to be eaten by someone who resembles a Jeremy Kyle contestant with the brain capacity of pond slime, or B: If an evil person continually harms the innocent without consequence then an alternative form of justice must come into force. 

Yes, so far, I'm leaning towards an agreed philosophy, though, who, and how, should justice and evil be defined? (Comments below please)

So, let us say that a wide consensus is agreed, we are clear on the term EVIL and this is the premise by which I choose to live my life, then how far, in-fact, would I go?

Well, let's test this premise using the first pond-slimed weasel that pops into my head- Ah yes...Michael Gove-yet to appear on Jeremy Kyle but mixing with pond-life nonetheless. Together with his posse of public school boy buddies they have decided that year 6 children (that's 11 year olds) should sit a grammar test which includes: identifying a passive, impassive voice within a text, and identifying main and subordinate clauses within sentences. 

Can we agree that this is evil ?

Will we see children turning away from literature, or will we see them queuing into the early hours for the next Harry Potteresque book whilst discussing the texts inadequate use of the impassive, and the lack of subordinates! I for one never read or write with these elements in the forefront of my mind (Could this be why I'm not a successful author on The Booker Prize list?!). Surely we should be nurturing the joy in the written word before teaching them to tear each sentence apart and analyse all its parts.

So, what do you think? 

Gove's posse, furthermore, have also suggested that all primary school children should learn, not just 1 foreign language (most schools I know of already teach 2) but also latin and greek- I say Mr Gove, 'Repere retro sub rupe a qua vos concepti sunt' or 'σέρνεται πίσω κάτω από τον βράχο από τον οποίο σχεδιάστηκαν' (Google told me that this means 'crawl back under the rock -guess it should say 'public school'-below which you were conceived'). 

So, as you can see, Gove indeed comes under the category of  'a bad man' doing harm to innocents, but the question now remains of how to deal with him? A punishment equivalent to the crime...hmm...If anyone has any suggestions please let me know below!

Anyway, I promised not to vent my spleen and I have broken that promise, so back to the celebration of the group's achievements! Below you will see that I have pasted Bob's amazing story which came second in the Norwich Theatre's ghost story competition. Well done again, Bob.

(Please comment at the end of the post-it isn't obvious where the link is but, if you move the mouse over it, it should highlight the link). 

Bob also wrote a brilliantly intelligent and witty review of  Alan Ayckbourn's 'Haunting Julia'. Hopefully Bob will post this up very soon!

Happy reading!!

NON-COMMITTAL

Margot sent me to cover the funeral. It seemed a bit pointless to me – what was going to happen at his funeral, after all, that could add anything to his life story? But a job’s a job, so I looked out a suitably sombre dress and put on black tights, even though the temperature outside was somewhere in the high twenties. I was a little early, which would give me time to observe the mourners as they arrived. 

An usher intercepted me in the foyer of the crematorium. He had a clipboard and a reverential smile. Was I family? I told him I wasn’t. I was handed an order of service and accompanied to a seat. Even though it was early, the chapel was already half full, which meant that it was also half empty, so why did the usher almost sit me on the knee of the single occupant of one of the rear rows? I made a show of settling myself. Should I pretend to pray? I decided not to be hypocritical, modestly tugged my dress towards my knees, and tried to look reflective. Mourners kept arriving, but no-one else was directed to our row. Was it reserved for unwanted guests? I sneaked a look at the man next to me. He was of middle years, dark-suited, with a startlingly colourful tie. He must have noticed my scrutiny, because he turned and flashed me what could only be described as a cheeky grin. I looked away, but the contact had been made.

“Good turn out.” he said, in a husky whisper, still grinning.

“Yes,” I whispered back, not grinning. He looked away, his eyes roving the room as though trying to see someone in particular. Perhaps he was. In my head, I began to cast my piece for tomorrow, rehearsing an opening sentence: “A large lottery win did not bring good luck to local man, Simon Farnsfield. Less than six months from cashing in his winning ticket for twenty-five million pounds, Simon’s life was tragically ended by a freak accident…” Was falling drunk into the swimming pool of his new mansion a freak accident? Perhaps tragic accident would be better?

“Friend of the family?” came the husky voice beside me, cutting short my deliberations.

“Something like that,” I mumbled.

“Only I don’t recognise you.”  Why was I embarrassed to admit to being a reporter? I decided to shift the focus from myself. If he wanted to chat, I might pick up some inside information.

“Did you know him well?” I ventured.

“Pretty well.”

“An old friend?”

“Old as they come.” His tone, even though muted, was jaunty. I noticed he was still grinning, not quite your traditional mourner.

“Were you at school together?”

“Indeed we were.” This was a stroke of luck. My fingers itched to get out my voice-recorder.

“Had you kept in touch?” (This as close as I dared get to “Did you look him up again when you heard of his lottery win?”) He crossed the first fingers of his right hand in a gesture appropriately reminiscent of the National Lottery logo itself.

“We were like that.”

“His death must have come as a terrible shock?”

“It certainly did. What a prat!”

“I’m sorry?”

“Could have seen it coming. Should have seen it coming.” I almost put my hand up to my nose to stop it twitching: it was detecting the first raw, tantalising scent of a story.

“How do you mean?” I prompted. “He should have seen what coming?”

“Murder, of course.”  

This was a wind-up, wasn’t it? He knew I was a reporter. He was feeding me a line. All the same…

“You’re saying he was murdered? It wasn’t an accident?”

“Accident my arse!” A woman two rows in front heard the inappropriate word and stiffened. Arse? At a funeral? Well, really! She looked over her black-clad shoulder and frowned in our direction, positively crackling with disapproval.

“Who murdered him? How do you know?” I hissed. I had to find out more, even at the risk of further expletives. I was sensing career advancement.

“Hannah, of course. The cheating bitch!” Several people looked round this time. 

“Hannah? His wife?” The grin had gone, I noticed. At that moment, precisely on cue, the grieving widow entered, head bowed, faltering steps aided by an older man: grief personified.

“She pushed him into the pool?”

“And the rest. Hard to fight back when you’re sozzled.”

Now the coffin began its slow progress from the rear doors. Everyone fell silent. I dared one last whisper: “How could you possibly know? Weren’t they alone in the place the night it happened?”

“Oh yes,” he said, “It was just the two of us.” And along with my story, he vanished.

Bob Bishop 
October 2012

The Times-Ghost Story Comp

As promised, here are both Patsy's and Bob's entries to The Times ghost story comp
(please comment below and let them know what you think-if you're having problems posting a comment I think you need to just click the link that says the amount of comments at the bottom? It isn't clear it's a link!):

Haunted House

Go away! This is my house! It has always been mine: the house I was born in, the house my parents left me, the house where I lost my child…the house that killed me with its vicious stairs. On second thoughts – come in, pretty lady: I’m ready for you.

(Entered for The Times Ghost Story in 50 Words competition, Oct 2012 by Bob Bishop)

‘The spirit in the bottle’

By Patricia Ford (Oct 2012)

He dreamt an Angel flew him to a pub to see the living mingle with the 

dead. 

The living had a white aura energy.

The dead could not quench their thirst.

A drunk passed out, his aura opened, and a dead spirit 

jumped in. 

He woke and cursed the whiskey.

Alan Bennet, Dog Fleas and Jazz

It is November the 1st and, as promised, here I am writing the monthly blog for The Walsham Penners.

The past few weeks have flown by in a haze, not unlike the fuzz experienced the morning after a 1940s, Pimms party many, many, years ago! (If you hate me and I'm not reading the signs, simply pour me a glass of this Satan's blood and I'll get the message!)

It is a pity however that this particular haze wasn't initiated through an overload of jazz, or the joviality of a social function-purely through the necessities of being a working mother, in a new job, who recently completed a form where she had to tick the next 'age-range' box along! It may relieve  you to know, however, that as the wrinkles and girth of my thighs increases, so too does my cynicism! I do actually think I am the off-spring of Hilary, in Alan Bennett's 'The Old Country', a play I was fortunate to see at The Maddermartket Theatre recently. (Nice lead in, Hayey, I hear you say!)

This, I'm shame-faced to say, is the first Alan Bennett play I have ever seen, and WOW what an initiation. The days of The Cold War, defectors and double agents may be resigned to history and James Bond, but the issues of treachery and deception are ever relevant, whether on a global scale or in the close quarters of home! The debates that this play could give rise to are numerous: Englishness, the British social system/state, materialism, capitalism versus spiritual wealth, minimalism, family versus the individual....discussions too numerous to debate here, but any comments on these are most welcome! Anyway, I'd thoroughly recommend seeing this play if you get the chance, the bombasting, cynical wit  and black humour was, quite frankly... 'right up my street'! I love you, Alan!

The month may have been fraught with snot, projectile vomit, paint sliding from my bathroom walls, and dog fleas, but it hasn't been entirely without success either! Two of our fabulous members recently entered the 'Norwich Theatre's Ghost Story Comp' (both entries were brilliant!) and I'm ecstatic to announce that Bob came 2nd!!!!! This was his first short story entry, so huge congratulations to him!! I'm hoping that both Bob and Patsy will post their entries below for you all to enjoy. Comments greatly appreciated.

I made the huge mistake earlier this month of writing a short story for a competition entry (months in advance)waiting, and waiting, for the deadline to approach so that I could email my creation, only to find, 24 hours before closing, that it was postal entries only!!!!! Please don't fall into my trap and CHECK THE FINE PRINT!!! (Not quite sure why I waited??? Some befuddled logic I'm sure!!)

I'd like to sign off by warning you that we are working on our group anthology which will (hopefully) be published sometime in the new year! Yes, you may queue outside our meeting room to ensure you get a copy!

Please leave me some comments on anything I've said, or post here if there's anything you'd like to share-please...I'm so lonely!!!

H xxxx

The Impossible State

 

Have just finished reading an intriguing book entiled The Impossible State by Victor Cha. Prior to reading this book, I knew next to nothing about North Korea apart from the usual media treatment of the country which inevitably portrays the country in a bad light.

 

Victor Cha is the former Director for Asian Affairs at the National Security Council. During his role as an adviser he spent some time in Pyongyang so is in a very good position to comment on that country. He treats the subject objectively giving us both the good and bad points.

 

Of course there are plenty of bad points, such as the political prisoners, low wages, and no real individual thought process. Everybody is expected to treat the leaders of the country ( the Kim Dynasty) with the utmost reverence. It is fair to say that who ever the leader is, is worshiped like a god.

 

Obviously the fact that North korea possess nuclear weapons makes it a state that other countries tread very carefuly around, and allows it to get away with it's digressions. Victor Cha argues that the only way to stop this cycle of threat and appeasement, is for unification of the two countries. A costly. but ultimeately necessary excercise.

 

Victor Cha states that given the oppertunity the Korean people would flourish , once the politics have gone.

 

I enjoyed reading the book, which gave a fascinating and objective view of a little known state.

 



 

 



 

 



Next blog date!

Hi there,
A short note-It's been a while-trapped between family life, attempting to get back into body combat-which resulted in a dubious walk and a very curious expression-a  puppy who thinks that all socks and pants should be shredded, and starting a new job-which this week included a vile case of projectile vomiting on my classroom floor-I haven't had time to post properly!!

I'd love one of you to start posting, as I shall now only be posting on the first of every month! If one of you would thus like to post in the interim....

H xxx

Blowing-up the world and Why I won't read Harry Potter!!

This blog should, in theory, be written on a Sunday after planning for the school week is in hand, and the weekends hangover has dulled to a mere stagnant pond aroma on my breath...but, the days planning did not end well-and I found myself trying to blow-up the world at 8 o'clock; there must have been a puncture however, as every time the USA began to expand, it quickly shrivelled again! (I hear you cry...good??? ) Thus, out of puff and with the failure of my world, I went to bed. The evening did not get any better as I picked up The Catcher in the Rye, by JD Salinger-the book that makes bedtime a chore! Heralded as a classic, and on many 'banned lists', I expected to be blown away by this classic.However, I can only imagine that it's banned because it makes the reader feel violent. Holden is a male, cynical (is there any other) adolescent, who really needs a good slap. It's not that I can't sympathise with teenage angst and I've been a practising cynic for some time, but, the constant maudlin tone and repetition of the phrase 'To tell you the truth' has driven me insane night, after night. When Holden gets punched by the elevator/pimp I found myself thinking... hit him in the face! Last night I was so bored I began to re-arrange the letters of the title and author. The best I could come up with was Hear the Thatcher Cry and The Cratch in the Eye, both by Gas Lingers (clearly I had to omit a couple of letters here and there!)

Anyway, the reason I shouldn't have read it is because I'd been waiting to read it, it'd been sitting by my bed, and penned on my reading list for many moons...I'd been building it up far too high-it could never really live up to my expectations! Maybe I should read Harry Potter, I have no expectations.

Well, that's it...if anyone has anything to add I always want to hear it. Also, if anyone knows what a cratch might be please let me know!!!!

As a post this week-or a mail to me if you're shy, can you rework any other classic titles into something more...fitting????

Blackadder did Sense and Senility-I love the book but this title did make me laugh!!!!

Enjoy your week my pretties x

50 Shades of the Social Spectrum and the Sunday Scribble

Thought for the day...
Is it just me, or should every invite to a family bash come with a health warning, ear plugs and plastic gloves?

I'm pondering the thought as I'm recovering from a weekend in Leicester, which included a surprise 60th bash for an aunt and a visit to...Beaumont Leys. For those of you unfamiliar with the spectacle - that is Beaumont Leys - it may help you to picture the scene if I give you the name of the area as it is known by the initiated....Beaumont Fleas. I have however, decided to rename it, as the post-title states, as...50 shades of the Social Spectrum and Other Pond Life.

I have never heard such colourful language spoken by parents (with so few teeth and questionable personal hygiene) to their children. The experience, in this out of town metropolis, reminded me why I hadn't visited for so long - in-fact the last time was when my girls were very small (and lacking in judgement); we went shopping, and swimming, at what was then a new and pretty funky leisure centre-it is now referred to as 'the baths'-I'm really not kidding! The very last time we paid to bathe with the locals, one child locked himself in a locker- his mother din't seem to care-and someone had left a well-worn pair of the pants in the shower. I hadn't realised it was a swap and drop centre-so many things could be picked-up for free!!! My visit this weekend has given me a renewed view of North Walsham!

Anyway, social rant and snobbery aside, I promised a spark for a quick write for those who would like to play...I've had a couple of witty emails that would make great reading for all, but it seems shyness stops these writers from posting here and I won't post without your permission - remember...If the 50 Shades of Grey author isn't embarrassed........No more than 100 words on the following :)

Voewood Festival and The Sunday Scribble

If only I could afford
to sleep in this bed!

This weekend saw the second ever Voewood Festival in Kelling, Norfolk. It is lorded as The Arts Garden Party of the Year. Usually I need to rob my childrens' piggy banks to go to any social event-and I mean any-but happy chance found half-price tickets on the wonder that is Group-on, thus, I was at the festival on the opening night-

Friday. Although I had a sneaky peek at the house and grounds, on the 2nd wonder that is google, I wasn't quite prepared for how stunning the venue actually was. Feeling slightly out of place, lacking in vocab and plums in mouth, I headed straight for the Hendrick's tent-if the house doesn't blow your socks off the gin cocktails will (the price may also give you palpitations!) I felt like an aunts poor neice, but after managing to fit a 5 syllable word into conversation-without the use of the internet-and after 3 cocktails, I relaxed in the ambience that is Voewood. The chilled DJs in the Hendrick's bar, HMS Sweet Charity, who only play records found in thrift and charity shops (I was afraid Bananarama and, worse, Chesney Hawkes, may be infecting my ear drums!) played a great collection of sound tunes from many moons ago, some of which my Nanna would croon and swing too.

As this was the first evening there were, of course, a few hiccups-the veggie tapas selection was Gazpacho and dry bread-ER...yum? The garden expert was stuck in traffic, as was Kate Mosse-OO and John Hurt was apparently at Voewood, but we didn't see him because he fell off a wall during a party the evening before -sounds like a good night!-and the helpers/workers weren't sure where some events were happening-luckily it's a small venue so it would be hard to get too lost and the charm that oozes from the setting canels any hiccups out-the most amazing port-a-loos I ever seen were also a point of awe and wonder!

It may seem that we spent most of our time staring in amazement at the loos and drinking but we actually managed to see all of Kate Mosse's slot where she discussed her latest novel-she only finished editing it this week and read out the opening page to an awestruck audience-she also discussed 'labyrinth'-apparently Ridley Scott has just serialised this, and I believe Mr Hurt is part of the cast, however, I may have been in a gin haze and completely confused conversations so don't quote this!! I admit, I've never read Kate Mosse's work-shamefaced I am-but her focus on female heroines puts her on my pile of books to read!

The evening finished with a music set by British Sea Power-my lovely pal Cindy(a committed fan-of BSP, not of me) knows me well and said I'd love them despite the amount of the foliage they'd strewn around the stage-she was spot on-rock and rolllll! They were absolutely amazing-fab tune after tune after tune-I am a new fan! The lead singer fell off of the stage and right on top of me and STILL carried on playing-now that is rock and roll!  

The list of literary guests was mind-blowing and I'm sure the festival will grow and grow so get on the mailing list for next year and I'll see you...yes-in the gin tent!

Oh, and as of next Sunday the Sunday Scribble will begin-a spark will be on the blog and an invite to you all to write 100 words max relating to the spark-Go wild!

Voewood Festival this weekend...a good line-up-though my literary ignorance is shameful-Simon Armitage, Hanif Kureshi...Billy Bragg...get a ticket if you can and I'll meet you in the gin tent!!! Yes, there's a Hendrick's gin tent!!!!

Hi

Saw photos on my laptop looks very good.You were probably as hot there as we have been here over the past few days. after playing around with various bits and pieces I think I have worked out how to respond to a blog

All the best
John

Blogging phobic no more!

I'm completely new to this blogging malarky but small children have advised me it's the thing to do!

I guess they're right, you're never too old to learn something new and, as time presses on-we never know how much sand is left in the timer-I've decided to embrace every new experience that comes my way!!! 

On my list of things to do, the top priority was to take-up skinny dipping, but I'm going with priority number 2, which is only slightly less offensive to the public...that is, to take my writing more seriously, stop dreaming about it, and actually do it...hence the formation of Walsham Writers' Group based in the bootiful North Norfolk countryside. We began meeting in April 2012 and we've quickly grown into a small, but very friendly, dedicated group of both published, and aspirational writers-the debate of when to call yourself a writer can be discussed here!!!

Thanks to the group I have begun to embrace the long-neglected reading of poetry-our first 'social' was to a poetry reading by Wendy Cope in Stalham. She was wonderful, sharp, witty and highly entertaining.

 As one new discovery leads to another...holidaying in Spain we came across a real gem of a town called Orihuela. Once you've passed the prostitutes on their red plastic chairs, the stunning turquoise lake, and the salinas, you'll find a small, sleepy little place nestled at the bottom of a hill; on top of which, sits an ancient monastery. This town was once the home of a poet-I confess I had no idea who he was, but faked the emotions, for the benefit of the kind lady at the tourist info, who attempted to impress me with the sights dedicated to this one, Miguel Hernandez! Sadly, everything, bar the library, was closed on this particular day-a phenomenon that seems to occur every time we drag ourselves into an inland Spanish town, through 40 degree sunshine, with 2 very agitated children!! However, the exterior of every museum, church and cathedral was absolutely stunning and well worth a trip again next year! The one attraction that had little choice but to entertain us, was the most stunning outside gallery. Huge murals have been painted by a collection of artists, writers, children, teachers...on the sides of houses, in an otherwise poor, shabby looking part of town. Stunning!! I've posted some pics above- but the photo that I really wanted was of a young, ragged boy climbing out of a ditch, full of rubbish, holding 2 pigeons in his arms. He was standing beside the picture of the dove above, which exemplifies freedom. I tried to get out my camera quickly to capture the moment, but the car began to roll backwards down the hill, my husband and children began shouting, and the boy skipped off laughing, his pigeons tucked safely under his arm!!

I've just been informed my blog is too long, so that's all for now!
Please feel free to comment on any of the above, post work you'd like to share-be prepared for comments. I'd also like your short story recommendations-try this one, it's mind-blowingly fantastic,
'The Snow Goose' by Paul Galico.