Debbie Young's Blog, page 43

Funny Valentine

My monthly columns for the Hawkesbury Parish News and the Tetbury Advertiser have to be submitted to their respective editors by the middle of the previous month, which is why my February column was composed with the shadow of the January 31st tax return deadline anging over me… 

I’ve never quite got Valentine’s Day. It’s not that I’m unromantic, nor have I been unlucky in love. It just seems to me that designating one day on which to celebrate your love smacks of doing your tax return on the 31st January deadline, then thinking “Phew, thank goodness that’s over for another year!” before ignoring your personal finances for the next 364 days (365 tin 2016, thanks to leap year – a 24-hour reprieve, hurrah!)).

Now available in paperback and ebook

That’s why my latest collection of short stories, “Marry in Haste”, looks not at Valentine’s Day or “the big day” of the wedding, but at what I call the three key stages of love: finding a partner, deciding whether and how to get married, and surviving the long haul. The book contains five humorous stories in each of three sections: Seeking, Committing and Enduring.

If you can’t let Valentine’s Day go by without a gift for your partner, you could do worse than stop by the Hawkesbury Shop to buy a copy of my little book.

Meanwhile, I’d better get on with my tax return…

To find out more about Marry in Haste, visit the book’s page on my blog. 

 

Filed under: writing Tagged: Marry in Haste, Valentine's Day

Let’s All Go Down the Strand (Bananas Optional)

Why the bananas? I can hear my non-British friends wondering. I explain at the end of the post.

How the emptiness of one of London’s busiest roads, The Strand, near Charing Cross Station, caught me by surprise on Saturday morning

When I was a little girl, I lived in a leafy south-east suburb of London. Sidcup, to be precise, which is on a train commuter route half an hour from Charing Cross, technically the centre of London. Stepping out from the Charing Cross Station forecourt onto the Strand meant hurling yourself into a heaving metropolis, streaming with traffic of both pedestrian and vehicular.

Never Stationary

Later, I worked in central London in a couple, in one job round the corner from Victoria Station, in another a brisk stroll from London Bridge. (What is it about my career and train stations? Suddenly my life is starting to sound like a game of Monopoly.) Every day on my way to work, I’d automatically brace myself to wade purposefully through the crowds. It’s just what everyone does in rush hour, and no-one thinks anything of it.

Village Contrast

Since I moved to a small Gloucestershire village on the edge of the Cotswolds 25 years ago, a walk down the street has become rather a different experience. Here, you may not see many people – sometimes none at all – but each that you do see will say a friendly hello, and you’ll probably know most of them by name. Whenever I return to London now, I’m startled by the crowds, until my brain reboots into its former Londoner setting.

No bananas here – the very empty Strand, London, at 8.30am on a Saturday morning

So it came a huge surprise to me to discover last month that early on a Saturday morning, the Strand is deserted. Twice in January I had to be there at 8.30am on Saturdays, and I don’t think I’ve ever been there at that time of day at the weekend before. There was scarcely a vehicle to be seen, and the only people about were homeless people sheltering in shop doorways. What I first took to be a large gathering of them outside a theatre, I later realised to be a queue for cut-price tickets released early in the day. (I thought it was odd that one of them had a Cath Kidston handbag.)

Do I Know You?

Another surprise came when someone called out a cheery hello to me. It turned out not to be someone I knew, as it would have been back in Hawkesbury, but a young, very grubby chap of about 30, huddled under a blanket outside McDonalds. I stood him a cup of hot chocolate by way of a thank you.

Feeding the birds – to the bird – in Trafalgar Square, in front of Nelson’s Column, with Big Ben in the background.

The only other person I spoke to was a little beyond the Strand, on Trafalgar Square, where I strolled to kill time, waiting for the friend I was due to be meeting at 9am. My attention was drawn to the jingle of bells as a hawk flew down from the National Gallery to return to this chap’s wrist. They turned out to be there on official business, paid to patrol the Square for three hours a day as pest control. Gone are the days when tourists were encouraged to buy bags of birdseed from street vendors to feed the pigeons. Mary Poppins’ persuasive song calling us to “Feed the birds” suddenly took on a whole new meaning.

Why the Banana?

Speaking of meanings, I owe my non-British readers an explanation of the banana. In 1909, a Cockney Music Hall became a smash hit, called “Let’s All Go Down the Strand”, in which that line was followed by the refrain “Have a Banana”. I’ve always wondered what the significance of the banana was, other than the obvious connection of what was then a fruit market in nearby Covent Garden. Coming from Charing Cross, in search of a banana, going down the Strand would be a reasonable route.

I hesitated to research the meaning of the banana, knowing that most music hall songs are filled with bawdy double entendres. It turns out that “have a banana” wasn’t part of the original lyrics, but may just have been added by enthusiastic, tipsy crowds as it fitted the musical phrase that followed the first line of the verse. The rest of the lyrics are largely forgotten by most people these days. I’m not sure I ever knew them, but you can find the original lyrics here, if you’re interested. But there’s not a a banana in sight, nor are bananas relevant to the theme of the song. (Sorry if that news makes me sound about as much of a killjoy as a High Court judge.)

The Banana in the Room

Turning the banana of Edwardian Music Hall into sublime 21st century comedy

But the banana in the Strand is like an elephant in the room. (No, I’m not talking about the Elephant and Castle, another district of London – I’ll save that for another day). It simply won’t go away. if you play “word association” with most British people of a certain age, and say “Let’s All Go Down the Strand”, “Have a banana” will be the first thing that comes into their heads. There have even been cover versions of the song recorded this century by – wait for it – Blur. (Listen to their version here, if you must.)

For a much more authentic and hearty demonstration of how the banana line should be sung, check out this extract of BBC Radio 4’s  smart sitcom Cabin Pressure, starring Benedict Cumberbatch, Stephanie Cole, Roger Allam and John Finnemore, its genius writer. As the suave scoundrel Douglas (Roger Allam) might put it, the banana is in play.

IF YOU ENJOYED THIS POST, YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE THESE OTHER POSTS ABOUT LONDON: 

A Visit to St Bride’s Church, Fleet Street
An Afternoon with Virginia Woolf, My Self-publishing Hero
Let it Snow: My Best Childhood Memories

Filed under: nostalgia, travel Tagged: bananas, Cabin Pressure, Cath Kidston, city life, Let's All Go Down the Strand, London, Strand, Trafalgar Square, village life

7 Films in 7 Days

Off in search of a cinema to while his days away?

I don’t often join in games on Facebook, but when my friend Lisa tagged me to name seven favourite films on seven consecutive days, I couldn’t resist joining in what sounded like a cinematic equivalent to one of my favourite classic BBC Radio 4 programmes, Desert Island Discs.

Having thought hard about my choices, I’ve now brought them altogether in a single blog post to share them all in one place, and to see what my blog friends think of them. So, cue the Pearl and Dean music, grab a choc-ice and a Kia-Ora orange drink  and sit down in the nearest plush red tip-down seat, and see what you think… (Note to my non-British friends: these are classic overtures to enjoying a film at the cinema circa 1970!)

The numbered film titles have links that take you to the IMDB record for each movie where you can read an authoritative guide and fascinating stats.
If you click on the photo for each film, you’ll be taken to Amazon so you can check out buying options and read more info and reviews.
After each film I’ve noted which friend I tagged to start their own 7 in 7 series, and why.

1 The Music Box

I’m kicking off tonight with “The Music Box”, starring Laurel and Hardy, which I first watched when I was a child with my grandfather, who would have been just 27 when this classic was released in 1932, and a love of this film must be in our genes, because it’s passed down from him to my father to me to my daughter Laura (12).

84 years since its release, it’s still fresh and witty and warm-hearted. If you’ve never seen it, watch it now, and marvel at how ahead of their time this masterful pair were. They’re Laura’s comedy heroes, and she couldn’t have picked a finer pair of role models.

Tagged: my film journalist friend Andrew Lowe – obvious choice!

2 Mamma Mia

Okay, it may be a bit naff and past it by now, after the craze for it when it first came out, but I have to admit, I do love Mamma Mia.

Firstly because I’ll watch anything with Meryl Streep or Colin Firth in, so to find both together is a bonus. Secondly because I love Greek islands, and the scenery and Greek extras bring back many happy memories. Thirdly because I know all the words to all the songs from when they first came out, and can belt them out word-perfect along with Meryl Streep and co for a bit of feel-good aerobic exercise. Fourth, because the nostalgic song Meryl Streep sings about her daughter growing up reduces me to tears every time and makes me realise how lucky I am to have a daughter of my own (and that I’m not alone in feeling guilty that I don’t spend enough time with my daughter doing all the things the model mother would do!) Fifth, because I do love a happy ending!

Tagged: my author friend Jenny Heap, keen to join in the fun!

3 Some Like It Hot

A silly, funny, warm-hearted black and white movie that is now the stuff of legends, featuring three Hollywood megastars at the height of their powers – Jack Lemmon, Tony Curtis and Marilyn Monroe.

I first watched it as a student and was drawn in in so many ways – the period setting during American prohibition, much of it in gorgeous art deco Florida, the sublime comic timing of Curtis and Lemmon, the remarkable presence of Marilyn Monroe (I haven’t seen a lot of her films, but surely this is role she is born to play – simple, daffy, vulnerable and charming), the pacy plot, the daft storyline of mistaken identify leading to C & L posing as women to join a girls’ band, and the witty, timeless script.

If you’ve never seen it, you’re missing a treat. Another one I should introduce my 12-year-old daughter to soon, I think – an essential movie experience, by anyone’s standards, surely?

Tagged: my American chum Becky Brain, to give her a bit of Florida sunshine, just before two feet of snow was due to descend on her in Philadelphia!

4 African Queen

The two leads, Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn deservedly won Oscars. Set during World War I in the Congo, a repressed female missionary is forced to flee invading Germans who kill her brother and destroy the village in which they’ve been working, and her unlikely knight in shining armour is the grubby, hard-drinking captain of a one-man vessel, the eponymous African Queen, who normally brings their supplies.

For most of the time this film is a two-hander (or three-hander if you count the boat,) and the chemistry and perfect timing between the two leads is a masterclass in acting. A delicious mix of action adventure, a lush yet perilous exotic setting and a gentle romance between two lonely people, this is a class must-see.

Tagged: my South African friend Karen Lotter – in South Africa rather than East Africa, where this was filmed, but I always think of her when it comes to African themes. Yes, I know it’s a big place…

5 Barry Lyndon

Stanley Kubrick’s epic is a stunning evocation of 18th century England, based on Thackeray’s historical novel following the adventures of a charming, ruthless Irish rogue, played by the captivatingly beautiful Ryan O’Neal, as he does all he can to become rich and powerful. It is a lavish, technically groundbreaking producition, its drama underpinned by a gorgeous score, including a memorable reworking of the grand and ominous Sarabande by Handel.

Wonderful cast includes not only the big names noted on the IMDB credit in the link, but also the late great Leonard Rossiter in one of his serious roles, looking as if he stepped straight out of a period politic cartoon.

Tagged: my musical friend Pauline Setterfield, to share the joy of the soundtrack

6 Hugo

This children’s film based on Brian Selznick’s lavishly illustrated novel “The Invention of Hugo Cabret” tells the adventure of a boy who secretly lives in a Paris railway station rather than risk being taken to an orphanage when his father dies in a museum fire. Asa Butterfield is an engaging young hero in a wonderful cast, but the true hero of this visually stunning film (directed by Martin Scorsese) is the film itself, and the adventure-within-the-adventure the birth and blossoming of the silent movie.

This is a must-see for anyone who loves film, and I defy you not to shed a tear in the final, triumphant section of the movie.

Tagged: my Francophile author pal Alison Morton, who was inspired to write her first novel after going to see a film and declaring “I could do better than that”. Then she did. 

7 Cabaret

Saving the best for last, my all-time favourite film, Cabaret, directed by Bob Fosse. Set in 1930s Berlin, Brian, a middle-class young Englishman, played by the oh-so-British and beautiful Michael York, has his eyes opened to the world beyond university by the dubious delights of decadent, dangerous Berlin, led by the hand by American night-club chanteuse Sally Bowles (Liza Minelli) in the role that she was surely born to play.

The mischievous night club MC Joel Gray binds the story together leading the gritty, catchy songs (“Money Makes the World Go Around”, “Two Ladies”, etc)  that intersperse the action beyond the club.

Intricately bound up in Brian’s coming-of-age is Germany’s transformation, with the rise of the Nazis, kicked out of the Kit Kat Club early on in the film, but by the end a terrifying force. Their rise is told skilfully and subtly, e.g. the scene in the Beer Garden, where the young Hitler youth leads a spontaneous chorus of “Tomorrow Belongs to Me” – it sends shivers down my spine every time.

Though there is much actual and implied suffering in the film (we witness Kristallnacht, for example), with the promise of what is to follow in the form of World War II, the final note is one of strength and optimism in the face of adversity, and of the underlying humanity of us all. Based on Christopher Isherwood’s novel “Goodby to Berlin”.

Tagged: my travel- and music-loving friend in Florida, Shay Tressa DeSimone, because it often seems to me that for her, Life is a Cabaret!

(All photos from Amazon – click on the photos if you’re interested in buying the DVDs; click on the film title to see its entry on the IMDB database)

OVER TO YOU

What do you think of my choices? Which films would be your top seven? I’d love to know!

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Filed under: lifestyle Tagged: best movies, cinema, favourite films, seven films in seven days

Flu Fury

(My column for the January issue of the Hawkesbury Parish News)

My daughter Laura demonstrating at an early age that sleep is the best medicine

When, like a less powerful cousin of the Grim Reaper, flu stalked the village before Christmas, I was one of its victims. The first half of December passed me by in a blur.

It’s only when you’re on the mend from a nasty bug that you realise how poorly you’ve been, and what bad decisions you’ve made while unwell, e.g. being fobbed off with an unnecessary prescription for penicillin by the GP’s triage system.

The older I get, the more suspicious I become of conventional medicines. I prefer my own remedies: tea, chocolate, and sleep, in unlimited quantities. None of these come with patient information leaflets full of scary warnings in small print, and each makes you feel better in its own way.

I also think I’m the best judge of my own recovery. When I find myself spoiling for a fight with the doctor’s receptionist over the phone, rather than meekly accepting whatever she tells me, I know I’m on the mend.

Another good measure is my tolerance of daytime television. Finding it scintillating entertainment means I need more bedrest and convalescent time. When I find myself shouting at its stupidity, I consider myself cured.

If you’ve been stricken with flu this winter, I hope you have a speedy recovery, and I wish a happy and health New Year to the Parish News team and all its readers.

Filed under: Hawkesbury Parish News, health Tagged: Christmas, flu, new year, sleep, winter

Happy New Year – and May All Your Slugs Be Fluffy Ones

A post sending good wishes for New Year 2016

Beware of the slug!

Towards the end of December, my body clock addled after a week of late nights and lazy morning lie-ins, I wake up at 4.30am and unable to get back to sleep.

Fumbling for my glasses, I wander downstairs to make a cup of tea, halting just in time to stop myself from standing, barefoot, on a nocturnal slug that has crawled across our red-tiled kitchen floor.

It is now waiting to pounce on me from behind the fireside chair.

Limaxaphobia  (Fear of Slugs)

I cannot abide slugs. They are my third most feared creature, after the snake and the crocodile.

Fortunately, these two animals are seldom seen in Hawkesbury Upton, aside from the green inflatable crocodile that currently resides in our bath, and which reduced a small girl to tears when serving as an accessory to my husband’s Indiana Jones costume in this year’s village show.

The only crocodile in Hawkesbury Upton – or at least, I hope so

The first step to curing my fear of snakes? I hope so

I have also just acquired a small potstand in the shape of a rubber snake, which I’m using to help cure my aversion. Just as the longest journey starts with a single step, I reckon I might conquer my ophidiophobia if I tackle it one snake at a time. (Actually, having just discovered fear of snakes is called ophidiophobia, I don’t feel so bad about it.)

Though I feel sick just looking at this unwelcome guest, I am confident that the slug will be gone by morning, so it’s with horror that I realise it’s still there at midday, as I lean against the kitchen sink fielding a call from my friend Susanne, who is phoning from her townhouse in London. I bet she doesn’t have slugs on her kitchen floor.

Feigning Courage

Call that a slug? I don’t think so…

An hour later, I decide that as no-one else in the house has taken the hint to remove it, I must steel myself to the task. I fetch the dustpan and brush, and I bend down to scoop it up, trying to quell my rising nausea. When I push the armchair out of the way to line up a safer approach, more light falls onto the floor from the big kitchen window, and I do a double take. It looks a bit fluffy for a slug. Surely they don’t grow winter coats, especially when we’ve had such a warm December?

A Mystery Solved

Then my vision clears. It’s not a slug at all, but a lump of fluff, curled in the shape of a Quaver*, i.e. remarkably like a slug in the midst of a three-point turn.

And it’s Happy New Year from Gordon too (and sporran stowaway Shona, the Hebridean teddy bear)

Suddenly the world seems a more benevolent place. It’s a good start to my day, even if it is gone noon and I’ve still not had breakfast. Then it occurs to me what my New Year’s wish should be to my friends and family:

In 2016, may all the slugs on your kitchen floor turn out to be harmless little bits of fluff.

Happy New Year!

 

*Note for my non-British friends: Quaver = potato-based, cheese-flavoured crispy snack

 

 

Filed under: humour, lifestyle Tagged: crocodiles, limaxaphobia, ophidiophobia, slugs, snakes

The Gift of Time for Christmas

Santa and tiny friends (including Iggle Piggle) visiting Laura many Christmases ago

With just a week to go before Christmas Eve, most households are likely to be going into overdrive just now, wrapping presents, writing cards and stocking up with groceries for the holiday season. Having lost most of December to illness, I’ve not written a single card yet, and as I type, my daughter, now 12 and old enough to be very useful, is wrapping all my presents for me.

I’d already started panicking about running out of time last month, when I wrote my column for the December issue of the Hawkesbury Parish News, which you can read below. But if you’d like an antidote to this dilemma, I’ve also added below my short story, “Christmas Time”, which is one of twelve in my festive collection, Stocking Fillers.

CHRISTMAS LISTS (from the December issue of the Hawkesbury Parish News)

Don’t let anyone fool you that February is the shortest month. It’s actually November.

Being an old-fashioned type,  I wait until after Guy Fawkes Night before I start thinking about Christmas. Then, without warning, I discover it’s nearly December, and I’ve still not done any Christmas shopping or written any Christmas cards.

In hope of catching up with myself, in mid-November I ask my daughter (12) what she’d like for Christmas. As she’s already planning her birthday party for next May, I’m surprised she hasn’t yet presented me with her usual A4 wish-list.

“I don’t really need anything.” Her candour is refreshing. She passes the baton to my husband, quizzing him on what he’d like.

“Socks,” he pronounces, with certainty.

“But you’ve got dozens of socks in your wardrobe,” I point out. “You just need to pair them up.”

“In that case, for Christmas, I’d like someone to pair up all my socks for me,” he concludes.

No-one asks me, so I ask myself what I’d like for Christmas. More time, I decide, I just need more time. Then when I flip the calendar over to look at the next month, I discover that my gift has already been delivered: December, unlike November, has a whole 31 days.

Well, that was a cheap round, Santa, but I think your work here is done.

Merry Christmas, everybody!

The Knitivity, on display at the St Peter’s Hospice shop a few years ago

CHRISTMAS TIME (A short story from Stocking Fillers)

My annual Christmas present from my godmother, Auntie Fay, may be small in size because she has to post it all the way from Australia, but it’s always a tonic that helps me get through the whirlwind of preparing for a typical family Christmas.

No surprise, then, that I can’t resist opening her parcel the moment it arrives. This year, it landed on my doormat on 23 December. Seeing her beautiful copperplate handwriting on the label beneath the showy Australian stamps made my heart skip a beat with excitement. Settling down at the kitchen table, I peeled off the outer wrapper to reveal a small Christmas card bent protectively around a tiny square parcel. I ripped off the glittery paper, sending specks of silver fluttering up around me as if heralding a magic spell. To my surprise, inside lay nothing more remarkable than a slim alarm clock. Its circular clock face bore a stylised world map, reminding me of just how much distance lay between Auntie Fay and me. Around the edge of the clock face ran the slogan “Stop the world!” repeated several times.

I flipped the clock over to see whether it was made in Australia, but found no clue. There were just the usual knobs, time set and alarm set, and three buttons labelled off, stop and snooze. I adjusted it to English time, then twiddled the alarm set knob to match the time so that I could check out the sound of the alarm. It was a pleasantly low vibrating purr that I didn’t think would be audible beyond my side of the bed. Then I noticed a raised pillow-shaped symbol with an arrow pointing to it, suggesting that the clock should be tucked under the pillow for the gentlest, most comforting of awakenings. I liked the sound of that.

Feeling vaguely guilty that, like a badly brought-up child, I’d taken stock of the present before the card, I set the clock down on the kitchen table and opened the card. It showed an unlikely scene of a wombat and a kangaroo exchanging Christmas gifts. What would they buy each other? I wondered. Inside, opposite the printed greeting, the page was filled edge to edge with Auntie Fay’s handwriting, its neat script at odds with the rambling message. She always wrote exactly as she talked.

“Jessie my dear, I hope this little gift will help you get more rest and catch up with yourself. I couldn’t help noticing you looked a little tired in that last lovely photo you sent me of you and Jake and your dear boys, haven’t they grown? More like your father every day, that’s no bad thing, he’s a dear boy too, at least he was when we were small, though always bigger than me, of course. Don’t try to do too much at this busy time of year, will you? Get plenty of sleep and you’ll all enjoy Christmas so much more. Those buttons on the back are there for a reason, you know, so make sure you use them!”

I put Auntie Fay’s card on the kitchen dresser, where it could stand in proxy for her throughout the season’s celebrations. Then I went upstairs to slip her gift under my pillow before getting on with my chores.

 

By bedtime I was bleary eyed from a long day of channelling the twins’ excitement into constructive behaviour. We really didn’t need quite so many paper chains, but making them keeps six-year-olds occupied for ages. I flung myself wearily into bed, forgetting Auntie Fay’s new clock until I fluffed up the pillows for a soothing late-night read. I showed the clock to Jake, who was sitting up in bed playing Hearts on his tablet.

“That’s cute,” he remarked. “But surely you’re not planning to set an alarm for tomorrow, are you? We’re on holiday! A fortnight without work, hurrah!”

“Are you kidding? I’ve still got all the presents to wrap, mince pies to make, vegetables to peel, stuffing to mix, plus loads of cleaning to do so the house looks half decent for when our folks come round for Christmas dinner. The kids are messing the house up faster than I can tidy. In fact, even if I didn’t go to bed at all tonight, I’d still have trouble fitting everything in.

Jake set the tablet on his bedside table, leaned over to give me a quick kiss, then lay down facing away from me.

“Well, wake me up when you’ve finished, love. I’m on holiday. Night night.”

I set Auntie Fay’s alarm for 7am and slipped it under my pillow.

 

I woke up to its gentle purring what seemed like moments later. The light was still on, my reading book had fallen sideways in my hand, and there was just enough traffic roaring past the house to confirm that the rush hour was about to begin.

Hazy with insufficient sleep, I pulled the clock out from under my pillow, flipped it over and hit a button on the back to silence the purr. Jake slumbered on peacefully as I threw back the duvet and wrapped my dressing gown around me. The refreshing silence from across the landing told me that, by some miracle, the twins were also still asleep. I stuffed my feet into fluffy slippers and stumbled downstairs to brew a sustaining pot of tea. I needed to be fortified before I tackled my to-do list.

I decided first to take advantage of the continuing peace upstairs to wrap all the presents. Job done, I hid them in the ironing basket (the last place Jake or the boys would think to look) before taking a cup of tea up to Jake. He was still spark out, as were the boys, so I left the tea on his bedside table. As I went back downstairs, I slipped one hand into my dressing gown pocket in search of a tissue, only to discover that I’d absent-mindedly put Auntie Fay’s clock in there instead of putting it back under my pillow. Turning it over to check the time, I realised with a start that it still said seven o’clock. Had I inadvertently dislodged the battery? No, it was still ticking. So why had the hands not moved on?

But I couldn’t spare the time to investigate, so I tucked it back into my pocket and hauled the Dyson out of the broom cupboard. The noise of vacuuming would certainly wake the boys, but it had to be done. Yet as I tucked the Dyson back in the cupboard half an hour later, there was still no sound from upstairs. Suddenly filled with panic, I ran upstairs to check the boys were still breathing. They were, but they were asleep, so I tiptoed back downstairs to start cooking.

Not used to such peace in the mornings, I clicked on the radio for company. I was just in time to hear the BBC’s pips marking the hour, immediately followed by the announcement of the seven o’clock news headlines. Spooked, I quickly pressed the off switch. Surely I’d done at least three hours’ work since Auntie Fay’s alarm woke me up at seven? For a moment I wondered whether it had reverted to Australian time, but that made no sense because the time difference between our countries is more like twelve hours than three.

I distracted myself by setting to work on the mountain of vegetables that I planned to prepare and leave in the fridge, ready to cook on Christmas Day. That job done, I started on the mince pies.

By the time the third batch was cooling on the wire rack I was feeling peckish, so I made another pot of tea and some toast. I thought I’d take Jake a fresh cup. When I nipped upstairs to get his mug, predictably still untouched, I was astonished to find that the tea in it was still as hot as when I’d poured it hours before. It was as if time had stood still.

I sat down on the bed with a thump, not caring whether I disturbed Jake now, and drew Auntie Fay’s alarm clock out of my dressing gown pocket. I didn’t need to look at it to know that it would still say 7am. I turned it over to double-check which button I’d hit to turn off the alarm. One was still depressed. It was the stop button. And then it hit me: with my Stop the World clock, I’d stopped the world.

I had a sudden panic. Was the action reversible? Quickly I hit the stop button again, and as it sprang back up the second hand started to move. At the very same moment Jake awoke.

“Is that my tea? Thanks, love. Happy Christmas Eve!”

All at once, from the twins’ bedroom came sounds of excitable boys on the cusp of their seventh Christmas. Having already completed my chores for the day, I realised to my delight that I could now relax and enjoy the day with them.

 

By the evening, I was in a mellow mood and unusually calm while bathing the twins and putting them to bed. Then Jake and I enjoyed a relaxing evening watching television with a jug of mulled wine. While Jake was out of the room on a quest for Pringles, I raised a silent toast of gratitude to Auntie Fay for her thoughtful, magical gift of time.

My gratitude to her did not end there. I’d told the boys they were not allowed to wake us on Christmas morning until six o’clock. I had the foresight to set Auntie Fay’s alarm clock for one minute before six. The moment I felt its gentle purr, I slipped my hand beneath my pillow and felt for the stop button. Then I turned over, snuggled down under the duvet and leaned in to the warmth of Jake’s back. Plenty of time yet for a nice lie-in. Christmas Day wouldn’t begin until I was good and ready. Smiling, I closed my eyes.

THE END

If you enjoyed this story, it’s not too late to order Stocking Fillers , the book of twelve stories from which it’s taken, in ebook or paperback form. The paperback’s available from various local bookshops, and both ebook and paperback are available to order online from Amazon and all the usual suspects. Just search under ISBN 978-0993087929 for the paperback, or for the title and author name for the ebook. 

Filed under: Stocking Fillers, writing Tagged: Christmas, December, November, running out of time, shortest month, Stocking Fillers, time management

The Joy of Book Clubs and Local Radio

The BBC Radio Gloucestershire Book Club 2015 – from left to right, Caroline Sanderson, Claire Carter and Debbie Young. You can tell how much fun we’ve been having!

A post about the book club I’ve been part of during 2015 on BBC Radio Gloucestershire

Until last year, I’d never belonged to a book club, and have since joined two that have added a new strand of enjoyment to my writing and reading life.

HNS Experience 2014

During 2014, I joined the Bristol Historical Novel Society book club, run by local author Lucienne Boyce. I met some really interesting new people, including a historical re-enactor and a Roman-style chef, who at moments made me feel like I’d travelled back in time. The club also made me read outside my comfort zone – I’d not read many historical novels before, but now I’m hooked, and regularly review self-published historical novels for their Indies review section.

BBC Radio Gloucestershire 2015

By my fellow book club panellist, Caroline Sanderson

Just as that group disbanded due to other pressures, another opportunity opened up – the BBC Radio Gloucestershire Book Club,  founded by lunchtime show presenter Claire Carter. Together with my great friend Caroline Sanderson (non-fiction associate editor of The Bookseller magazine, and author of a very topical biography of Adele), we have been choosing and discussing a book of the month, as well as chatting about news from Gloucestershire book shops, libraries and literary events.

We’ve challenged ourselves to read widely, taking it in turns to pick a title, choosing either books we’d previously loved that we were keen to reread and share, or books that we’d never read, but thought we ought to. To give you an idea of the range, authors represented included Brian Blessed, Ray Bradbury, Anton Chekhov, Matt Haig and Harper Lee.

This month’s choice was mine – or rather recommended to me by my cousin Frances: J R R Tolkien’s Letters from Father Christmas, a charming collection of letters to Tolkien’s children that were purportedly despatched from the North Pole. We also shared our recommendations for holiday reading.

You can hear the broadcast in full for the next three weeks on BBC iplayer here:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p038h79t

Pure joy – thank you, Frances, for your recommendation

As ever, we had great fun, tempered only by learning that Claire Carter will be heading off to BBC Radio Somerset in the new year, having been headhunted to present their prestigious Breakfast Show. We know she’ll do a brilliant job, and we’re looking forward to continuing the Club in her absence with Dominic Cotter, who will be taking over the lunch time slot from January.

Our next Book Club date is Tuesday 12th January at 12noon, when we’ll be comparing notes about the books we had for Christmas, and nominating our first book of the month for 2016. If you’d like to listen but aren’t in BBC Radio Gloucestershire’s catchment area, you can listen online, or catch it afterwards on the BBC’s fab iPlayer service.

Happy Christmas Reading

In the meantime, happy Christmas reading – and if you’re wondering what you should read this Christmas, you might like to check out my Stocking Fillers, which at the top of this month’s show, Claire generously praised, having read one of the stories, Good Christmas Housekeeping, at a charity event, to prolonged applause!

Filed under: BBC Radio Gloucestershire, reading, reading, writing Tagged: BBC Radio Gloucestershire, book clubs, Caroline Sanderson, Claire Carter, J R R Tolkien, Letters from Father Christmas, Someone Like Adele

What’s in a Book Title?

(My column for the December 2015 issue of the Tetbury Advertiser)

My special subject: the obvious title

Now that we’ve made it past Halloween and Guy Fawkes Night, I’m spending a little time each day promoting my festive book, Stocking Fillers.

I intended the title to signal that it contains short stories, to avoid upsetting any readers who feel shortchanged by fiction that isn’t in the form of a novel. Only after the book was published did I appreciate the subliminal helpfulness of a title that is also a serving suggestion: “Makes a great, er, stocking filler”, as I have been known to tweet.

At any time of year, the choice of book title is a sensitive issue for any author and a make-or-break decision for publishers, who will spike an author’s preference if it’s not commercial. Not that title is an infallible predictor of sales: Best Seller, by Timothy B Sagges, languishes in obscurity.

Before and After Classics

The Last Man In Europe smacks to me of smug tabloid phraseology, reminiscent of The Sun’s infamous 1992 headline, “If Kinnock wins today, will the last person to leave Britain please turn out the lights”. In 1948, George Orwell’s publishers preferred 1984, which quickly passed into popular culture as shorthand for an oppressive, controlling regime. Yet if a book with that title were published today, we’d assume it was a nostalgic memoir of the year in which Sweden won the Eurovision song contest with a song called Diggi-Loo, Diggi-Ley. Now there’s a title of questionable judgement, unlike their compatriots’ all-conquering Waterloo ten years before.

Which leads us  neatly into consideration of All’s Well that Ends Well, an inappropriately cheery working title for the huge, serious, philosophical tome about the Napoleonic Wars eventually published as Tolstoy’s War and Peace.

It may not be a mockingbird, but you’ll have to admit a robin is festive (in the UK, at least)

Even the most carefully chosen titles for international classics can cause confusion. Or is it just me? Until I read it for the first time this autumn, I didn’t latch on to the significance of Harper Lee’s title, To Kill A Mockingbird (originally written as Atticus). Then part way through the book, Miss Maudie explains it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird because it does nothing but give people pleasure. It’s thus a symbol of innocence destroyed. Dare I confess that I’d previously assumed a mockingbird to be an annoying parrot-like mimic, an unsurprising target for any short-fused American with easy access to handguns?

Thank Goodness for Book Covers

It’s not easy to come up with names that work around the world and across cultures. Vauxhall found out the hard way that in Spanish Nova means “doesn’t go”. I discovered too late that in the US, they prefer the term “stocking stuffers” to the one I’ve used for my festive book title. If it wasn’t for its Christmassy cover, they might presume my book is all about legs.

I’d like to thank the team behind the perfectly-named Tetbury Advertiser for another year of dedication, hard work, patience and good humour, and to wish you all a very merry Christmas and a happy and healthy 2016. See you next year!

 

 

Filed under: Tetbury Advertiser, writing Tagged: book titles, Christmas

Votes for Minions

This post was written on 12th October, the day of the general release of the film Suffragettes, for the November edition of the Tetbury Advertiser.

Lucienne and I show our true colours

Today I did two things I’d never done before: I went to the cinema alone, and I saw a film on the day of its general release.

Though I’d wanted to see Suffragette for ages, I don’t usually get round to seeing films until they’re out on DVD, unless they’re children’s movies such as Minions, whose bright yellow and blue merchandise is everywhere just now.

 This time I had an incentive to be quicker off the mark: my historian friend Lucienne Boyce, author of The Bristol Suffragettes, was to give a talk at the cinema before the film. In a show of support, and because I’m genuinely interested in the movement’s history, I donned an outfit in suffragette colours (green, purple and white) – though I drew the line at chaining myself to the cinema railings.

Not So Last Century

Terrific display material included free suffragette badges and stickers from the British Film Institute

I invited my daughter (12) to join me, but she decided the film wasn’t relevant to her, because “We’ve had the vote for ages now, Mummy.” I was glad that she felt so secure in her equal rights, yet for me the British suffragette movement feels like recent history. My grandmother didn’t get the vote till she was 28. She was born in 1900, and in the UK, women only gained equal voting rights with men in 1928. While I was still at primary school, Grandma made me promise to use my vote and use it wisely. When I pressed her to tell me which party she voted for, she refused to say, citing the confidentiality of the ballot box.

The credits at the end of Suffragette include a list of the dates when women were granted the vote around the world. Though Britain lagged behind some countries, other nations made their women wait much longer, e.g. in Switzerland until 1971. Yes, 1971. Less surprisingly, Saudia Arabia’s women are still only on a promise, and even that’s just for local elections.

Suffragette City – the information area in the cinema foyer

The Wider Message

Even if, like my daughter, you think women’s suffrage is old news, the film relays many topical messages about standing up for what you believe in, about giving voice to the oppressed, and about how far you should go to fight for your rights.

Though unhappy about the way the film ended (I won’t spoil the plot in case you haven’t seen it yet), I left the cinema buzzing with enthusiasm and laden with promotional flyers, badges and stickers bearing authentic suffragette slogans such as “Find Your Voice” and “Deeds Not Words”. I was even given a sash proclaiming “Votes for Women”. Oh, I do love souvenirs!

Let them eat Minions

When I took my booty home, I expected my daughter to nab the stickers to adorn her school history book, but she declined. Fortunately, I had another conscience present for her up my sleeve: a small golden heart-shaped badge, sold at the box office in aid of the Variety Club children’s charity. This she was very happy to accept. The reason? It featured a Minion. Of course.

If you enjoyed this post, you might like to read this one about how my grandmother taught me to value the vote.
If you’d like to know more about Lucienne Boyce, visit her website: www.lucienneboyce.com.
If you’d like to read my reviews of her books, visit my book blog here.

Filed under: daughter, humour, lifestyle, Tetbury Advertiser Tagged: Minions, Suffragette, women's rights, women's suffrage

Is it a card? Is it a book? Yes, it’s both of these!

Introducing my new mini-book which also functions as a Christmas card!

Showing the back and front cover when you open the book out

Knowing how rubbish I am at sending Christmas cards to people on time, on a sudden whim last night I decided to go off piste and produce a little book as a substitute instead. It even includes in the title page a Christmas greeting plus the space to add your own message, if you’d like to buy it to send to someone else. 

What’s inside? Well, you’ll find out when you unwrap it – i.e. open the book. I’ve brought together for the first time in print two short stories that I’ve previously published only in ebook form, as stand-alone single story ebooks. (They’re not featured in my other festive story collection, Stocking Fillers, which includes 12 short stories about Christmas.)

The two stories are slightly different in tone, but I hope you’ll find both of them heartwarming.

The cover of the single short story ebook

“Lighting Up the Dark” is about a young woman who wrestles with her fear of the dark on the night of the winter solstice, and it’s also a heartwarming story about her relationship with her late aunt and her sister.

This is how one reviewer describes it on Amazon:

“A delightfully endearing story of a woman battling her fears and finding a guardian angel within. There’s a lovely self-deprecating tone to this heroine, and a deft touch with characterisation throughout. A ghost story to make you smile, not shiver.

The cover of the single short story ebook

“The Owl and the Turkey” is a gentle comedy that purports to explain the real reason we eat turkey at Christmas, via a medieval folk tale. It isn’t, of course – I made up for a bit of fun, after mishearing something on the radio that sparked my imagination.

Here’s an extract from an Amazon review:

“Carefully crafted and entertaining, it draws you into the tale much as you were drawn as a child. You know it cannot be true, but can’t help but enjoy the storytelling. Lovely.”

A Book for the Price of a Card

Instead of a Christmas Card is just 40 pages long and retails on Amazon at £2.75 – about the same as you might pay for a fancy Christmas card you might buy for someone special in your life. If you’re on Amazon Prime, you could even send it directly to that person as a gift and save yourself postage. It’s not currently available in bookshops, and is only on Amazon for now while I await delivery of my next batch of Hawkesbury Press ISBNs (my author friends will know what I’m on about there !)

If you’d prefer a longer collection of stories, Stocking Fillers is currently available in various local bookshops including The Yellow-Lighted Bookshops and in Henleaze gift shop Kondi Gifts, as well as from the usual suspects online.

View of the book cover opened up to show front and back

If you’d like to read my confessional pieces about my epic failure on the Christmas card front, check out these posts:

The Tyranny of the Christmas Card

Happy Chinese New Year (and sorry Christmas passed me by)

And in less of a mea culpa mood, you might like to read about my best childhood Christmas memories in:

Let It Snow

 

 

 

 

Filed under: writing Tagged: Christmas books, Christmas cards, instead of a card