Alice and

My friend Alice has just eaten a chocolate covered ant. How's about that for bravery above and beyond the call! Surely deserving of an 'I've eaten a chocolate covered ant, bet you haven't' medal. She is the bravest person I know. Apart from Colin, but then he's eaten half a sheep head in a restaurant in Cyprus; tripe soup which smelt like sewage at a pow-wow in Manitoba and maggot in barbecue sauce (part of this rather odd present we were given - Christmas creepy crawlies encrusted in chocolate or salt or something) given us by a friend who is now definitely not a friend, I'll see to that...
When I discovered what I was eating, thinking it a chocolate covered coffee bean and wondering if I'd ever sleep again, I spat the whole lot out and was picking pieces of ant legs from between my teeth for what seemed like hours. At least I'm convinced they were ant legs. Crispy ones. Someone out there, who will claim to know better, is sure to tell me otherwise but I won't believe that it was just a sugar casing, which only looked like ant legs.
I told Alice my story and still she thought it would be good to try it.
Mind you, we did have ready a glass of wine, just in case it was too horrible for words, a willing hand to waft her face in case she fainted and some resuscitation equipment (erm... more wine...) because, well, you just never know do you?
As it happens, Alice did have a mouthful of wine straight after eating the ant, so perhaps it wasn't the most wonderful experience, but there was no shrieking or spitting out, no hysterics, nothing to suggest she hated the idea. So yes, pin that medal on her chest.
Not sure if she just swallowed it or crunched it though.
Hmmm.
Let's hold that medal until this has been thoroughly investigated.

jingle jangle bell time

Is it that time already? Christmas upon us once more and only just hanging witch catchers or preventers or whatever they're called on the tree. (Baubles to those who aren't in the know.) Does anyone out there really know anything about the witch and the bauble thing? Let me know ASAP. Anyway, the tree is now full of glitz and smells of forests and stands like a rather large green brush which has just cleaned out a bottle full of light and colour and pine wood sap. It's in the corner by the fire. A Victorian Christmas card scene. Actually it's hiding the mess that sits on the shelves and which suffers an occasional dusting, an occasional sorting and culling, but never looks any different How is that? Answers please.
Well, it seems that at least with Alice and me, Franco-English relations are fine and dandy, no matter what David C. tries to do to stymie it things. In answer to Alice's question (see post -oh how wonderful that feels to be able to write that. Take note everyone who might be toying with the idea of saying hello...all is forgiven...) my manuscript has already done the Frankfurt thing, I believe. What actually happens there is mystery to me, but it's been there done that and if books can get T shirts then it has one of those too, and will be published in Berlin apparently. So brushing up on the few words I have in teh lingo, just in case. So there it is. Maybe soon we'll have a book cover to show everyone. We have a title but until the cover is sorted I'm keeping it to myself. Who knows what might happen if I give the game away too early. Happy Christmas to you all. And to the person who will no doubt come to my door selling yellow dusting cloths and gadgets to clean the inside and outside of my windows both at the same time. Which is remarkable.

poppies

Yes. I know. It's been weeks. Months. I almost forgot that I was a blogger. Well it's not as if anyone out there is reminding me... and I've been away and busy and all sorts of darned excuses. Researching book number two now, but please look out for book number one which will be coming in your direction in 2013. Lord that seems a world away. And I must brush up on my German. Hah now that's got you interested. I'll give you the title and the reason why, if you're very good and say hello to me before then. Put it in your diaries. Diary. Hi Alice, how's it going? Sole friend. You know why already.
11.11.11 I took my cup of coffee to the local Cenotaph and gathered myself there along with a pit bull terrier (or some such dog) and its owner, the local parking ticket man, complete with high viz jacket, and a whole bunch of others who just melted out of the street and cars and shops and landed around the monument. It wasn't an official thing, that's on Sunday, and there was no-one to lead us in a service, so we just did our own, taking the cue from the local private school which hauled out all of its pupils, gowned up all of its teachers and rustled up a very fine cornet player. The Last Post drifted over the school, enough to catch most of it, and use as a timing device. Then silence.
Silence is an interesting thing. You hear all sorts. Like the scrape of leaves across the paving stones, and the trees breathing in the wind. Oh and the cars, still moving, not stopping for a couple of minutes, which is a pity. What's two minutes out of 356 days worth?
No, I don't know anyone on that monument, I don't know their families. I read the names anyway, as a list poem, and when you've only one face of the monument to read, you get to the bottom of the list and start again. You can go on and on. Not just for two minutes but for two days. More. The same names repeating so that maybe you almost get to know them. Remembrance Day services always remind me of my dad, who, if he was alive today, would still sit and cry as the poppies tumble down and the bands march. Big tough Royal Marine, battle-scarred inside and out. He could so easily have been a name on a monument. I'm so glad that he wasn't. But maybe we all have someone, somewhere, whose name could be on a monument. I suppose that's why I gathered myself and my coffee, and though not properly dressed, (writing gear, sloppy, slobbing around gear, I hope nobody minded) stood in a biting wind and heard the leaves and the wonderful cornet player, just a boy, probably in a school uniform.
That's it. I'm done now.

check, check and check again

You see, trying to be a smart alec and publish my posts without checking enough, so stray words get in. Slap my hands. Apologies all round. Annoyed it is, I am though, (just fancied a bit of Star Wars there) because my replies seems to have gone nowhere. How is that? Tried to answer Alice, my faithful follower, and she didn't get it. So who did? That's what I want to know. And if anyone else out there is hanging onto Alice's reply then... then... then... well don't know what I'll do really. Just enjoy, I suppose and think of poor Alice. So Alice, you will have your reply in the body of my blog for now. As you're the only one actually responding. Not that I feel friendless and unloved. No siree. Not me. Though the milk on my doorstep keeps going off pretty d. quick and I keep getting litter through my letter box i.e. stuff I really don't want to know about, such as offers on planet sized pizzas and armies of painters and decorators just begging to gloss my woodwork. You know the thing.

healthy food, healthy living

This week I found myself researching a few final details for Megan's story. And off I popped to the city hospital and sat with my skinny latte and notebook, in what could double as a French pavement cafe area (serving any amount of any kind of food available possible) and watched so many people down so much junk! How can that be? Why are they serving any junk food when we're about to suffer an obesity explosion which will cost the health service millions. Do hospital get paid a kind of bums-on-seats (or rather bods in beds) commission, so the surest way to get new patients is to feed them heart trouble in a bun? I'm bewitched, bothered and bewildered.

Obviously, I could have had a muffin, or a brownie, or a packet of biscuits with my latte but didn't. Later, waiting to see someone I had a cup of soup and a pineapple pot. OK so neither is anywhere near as nice as a double choc chip muffin or full butter shortbread and self congratulation doesn't take the edge off plain greed, emotional necessity or habit, but still I managed it. But why tempt people? It's... a.... hospital... Duh!
Bet they don't sell cigarettes in hospitals!
Hmmm.
Maybe I ought to check that one out.

try though I might

Just a worrying little thought. Being an absolute Luddite at all things technical, and I've said this before, you may remember, I'm not entirely sure what happens to my replies when someone comments. I write them and try to send them and then can't seem to find them anywhere. Alice, help me out here. Did you get my reply re: Chameane?

my kingdom

Now then, here's a to do. What to call the book. What title to give it. What a weight on the shoulders. Not mine exactly (my publisher's), but even so. All important stuff because no-one's going to buy a book with a naff title. Here's the question. What makes a naff title? Anyone out there care to get involved? Is it, too many words? Is it, too sugary? Is it, too dull? Is it, what is it exactly, that makes a title so bad you don't even want to use the book as a door stop. I'll leave that question hanging out there like one of those non-biodegradable carrier bags, those strange fruit which hang on our winter trees. We have one in our garden. It's blue. No name. No title. So I can't blame a particular superstore, though I'd like to blame the lot of them for putting my butcher, baker and candlestick maker out of business. But that's another story. This blue bag emerges like some very confused animal out of summer hibernation and dangles, or is battered by our salty winds, and still it hangs on, every single atom of its make-up, intact and ready to face another decade. The tree is too high to climb. I can't get it down. The bag, that is. I can plot the seasons with this one blue carrier. But it has me thinking. Maybe my title needs to be non-biodegradable. Anyway, I'll keep you posted. Hiya Alice. Bonjour. How're doing? Can't remember that in French, such a bad linguist am I. Fancy some German translation?
OK. So... now I'm going to click on PUBLISH POST and see what happens. Anything can, apparently, in the next few minutes.