Michael Harling's Blog, page 30

Because I Need More Piping in My Life

Numbered among my numerous shortcomings is this: I play the bagpipes. I did mention this about a year ago so those of you who have been paying attention may already be aware of this. What I did not stress enough in my previous mention, however, is that I am not very good.
I am not ashamed of this (though I’m not particularly proud of it, either) because, as my erstwhile bagpipe teacher once told me, “bagpipes are an instrument that too many people are happy to play badly.” And I freely admit t...

Hibernating

Oh my! The previous post (or the current one as I write this) is from December. What’s worse is, it ends with a “Happy New Year” message, and here it is the end of January. I suspect that having a post about New Year’s Eve still on your blog as you stare Burn’s Night in the face is some sort of Cyberland faux pas; the virtual equivalent of wearing corduroy after Memorial Day, perhaps. Rest assured, if this is the case (and, indeed, even if it is not), I feel properly chagrined.
The problem isn...

That Blitz Spirit

It is little remembered these days, but Britain was bombed during the First World War. The cunning Hun used zeppelins, and some extraordinary aircraft that pushed the envelope of aviation to its limit, to deliver bombs to East Anglia and, eventually, London.
The British did not take it well.
It’s hard to blame them. Wars were always fought far away, in someone else’s back yard, and—insofar as was possible in the chaos of war—hostilities were limited to active combatants. Floating bombs over the...

Next Up, Spring!

I like this time of year; winter as a whole (never high on my list of All Time Favorite Seasons) is not so nice, but the days surrounding the hibernal solstice and—not co-incidentally—Christmas always give me a nice, warm boost. I like it because I like twilight, that peaceful, reflective hour, as the world pauses, waiting for nightfall; and at this time of year, it is twilight all the time. Either that, or it’s dark.
When night squeezes the day into a brief period of grey light and long shado...

The Business of Writing

I have just passed a significant milestone: at the very tail end of my 11th year of “taking my writing seriously” I have finally turned a profit.
This does not mean I have earned more than I spent in 2013 (although I did) but, even more significantly, it means I have earned, over the past 11 years, more money writing than I have spent on writing during that same period.
It was not an easy hill to climb. Although I always say that taking up the hobby of writing is a sweet deal because it is dead...

My Next Book

When you’re a writer—especially one who has been (sort of) promoted to the position of full-time author—people tend to ask when your next book is coming out. It’s a fair question, and if you asked it of, say, Peter James [name-drop alert]—who lives just down the road in Henfield and who I have seen and chatted with on several occasions—[end name-drop alert] the answer is relatively straightforward, and you both know you are referring to his wildly popular Roy Grace books.
In my case, the answe...

My Year of Living Languorously

One year ago this week, I became a man of leisure; since then, it has been an interesting ride.
As predicted, the idea that I was jobless didn’t sink in for a long time. I had already arranged to take two weeks off in December and, after the flurry of the holidays, we visited Bath, so it was February before my new life settled into anything resembling a routine.
Now this may have been a nice way to ease into retirement, but it also got me used to the notion of not doing much of anything and hel...

Modern Man

I swore I would never do it and, frankly, it was not something I worried about giving into temptation over. Like answering unsolicited e-mails promising to make various parts of my body larger, longer or more attractive to the opposite sex, or having Britannia tattooed across my chest, it was safely ensconced inside the “Don’t Go There!” zone and I never gave a thought to it sneaking out unawares. But then, quite suddenly, I did it: I bought a man bag.
Don’t judge me; it was my son’s fault.
Whi...

Monday

The great thing about being retired (i.e. can’t be arsed to look for a job) is that every day is your own. You open your eyes to greet the morning thinking, “What adventures can I undertake on this day, what pleasures can I squeeze from these malleable hours, what joys can I uncover?”
It is, indeed, wonderful. Except for Monday; that’s laundry day.
Yes, today is earmarked for sorting, decoding tags, deciphering washing machine settings and wrangling wet laundry onto the drying racks. There has...

Anxious About Anxiety

I read something in the local paper yesterday that made me quite anxious. Apparently, the people who live in Horsham District—of which I am one—have been revealed as the most anxious people in the UK. And this makes me anxious.
Notice that Horsham is not the most anxious place in the south east of England, or in England itself, but the whole of the UK (there is a difference ). That’s a lot of responsibility to put on our shoulders. And this makes me anxious.
As a result of these startling...