Six Year Plans and Cornish Books

Tuesday March 25, 2008

This Easter we spent a few days in Cornwall. I own a bungalow there by the sea and – not being one to rush things – I have been doing it up for the last six years. It’s a process that’s been slowed down further by distance and available time; life gets in the way with house moves, new schools, new jobs and the all-important lack of funds. But we’re getting there. Four years ago we passed the important milestone of central heating. Three years ago it was a new bathroom. Either four or three years ago (the memory fades) new carpets. Just recently the further milestone of new windows. And I upgraded from video player to DVD player. The house is now ready for holiday lettings. My daughter sorted some DVDs that would be suitable for guests – DVDs bought for her during the six year renovation period. Baby stuff – in her eyes – including Barbie Fairytopia, Heathcliff (a cartoon cat) and Tom and Jerry (something I though might have more mileage in it). I was no different, downgrading the films Mrs and Mrs Smith, Enduring Love and Sideways.

My choice of books to line the shelves has been odder. Although the intention was to provide a small yet solid library, I’ve realised that the books I’m providing are mostly my rejections or my disappointments. Or inherited books. Some examples from the Cornish book cudboard:

So although my intentions aren’t entirely sound (I’m sharing my book dumping ground rather than books I go around saying people simply must read) it will be interesting to see what people make of it. The worst that can happen is that guests will ignore my books complelely. Or swap them for something worse, like Iain Banks novels.

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London

Thursday March 13, 2008

I’m currently reading The Book of Dave by Will Self and I really think I’m going to finish it. My life has hitherto been Selfless, but I’m enjoying this one very much. And although his vision of London (both present and future) is an unusual one, it’s got me thinking a lot about my home city. It also proved a perfect companion for me on a recent trip down to the smoke. I moved out of London seven years ago and don’t visit that often. Whenever I do, it’s usually work related – a ninety minute train journey followed by tube stress to somewhere-or-other for sometimes only a two hour meeting. Then the tube and train business in reverse and often a guilty Burger King snatched on the way. And whenever I do visit London these days I feel further removed from it; the underground connections I have to make are less embedded in my memory, I don’t recognise the free newspapers that people try to hand to me, everywhere just seems to be standing room only.

So it’s always with a mixture of trepidation, wonder, nervousness, excitement, mystery and romance when I travel to London. This time I was visiting the BBC Weather Centre in Wood Lane on a work-related trip; the mystery and trepidation looming large as I had not yet met either my potential new pals at the BBC nor even the fellow colleagues from the organisation I work for. Many of these meetings simply don’t work out as you fail to gel with eachother, although on this occasion all concerned were pleasant and likeable, so the trip quicky began to morph into one of excitement and possibility.

I haven’t been to the BBC Television Centre for a long time, and in that time it’s changed beyond recognition. There’s the obvious architechtural changes such as the space age frontage to the building complete with automatic swivel doors that appear to have escaped any usability testing (momentarily encasing two of my alarmed colleagues within their glass walls), but I noticed more the change in culture. Where it used to be such a laid back place, with the likes of John Craven and Valerie Singleton strolling around holding their styrofoam tea cups, it’s now so very hustle and bustle, so business-oriented. And a lot less charming. Apart from the weather presenters, we spotted no tv celebrities. Or none I recognised. Perhaps the tv stars of today are so much less noticeable and blend in with the staff and visitors, although the building did appear strangely devoid of all creativity and actual programme making. We were constantly overtaken by groups of teenagers as they were given quick tours of the BBC of long ago, shown where the Blue Peters and Record Breakers of yesteryear were filmed.

Memories and expectations aside, we still had a great time visiting the BBC, but with business easy to complete our visit was brief and we were out of the swing doors back into Wood Lane in what felt like record time. I’ll probably be returning quite soon now that we’ve hit it off, but my next visit will be no less romance and memory fuelled. As we climbed the steps on White City station I looked back at the already thickening traffic, pleased I’d come but equally pleased I was leaving. As we held ourselves up on the speeding tube back to Paddington we passed the time with our London anecdotes, where we’d lived, the nightmare commuting journeys we’d taken. London has become the stuff of personal battle, the stuff of personal legend.

I love my quick and periodic visits to the Capital but it’s a three stage process; get in, do your stuff, get out. When I eventually find a seat on my train home it’s with a sigh of relief. The mobile comes out of the pocket to inform my loved ones of when I’ll be returning, and then the book comes out of the rucksack. In this case a wonderful dose of Will Self.

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Reading But Not Writing

Monday February 25, 2008

This corner of the blogosphere is becoming increasingly silent. I’m still reading, but there’s never much time for writing at the moment. I finished The Three Evangelists by Fred Vargas, a writer who was annoyingly hovering just outside my radar – for too long for me to continue not reading them. Reading this novel helped me to conclude that I am useless at crime fiction, not giving my full concentration and missing the clues as they are scattered before me. For me, Vargas writes too much like Agatha Christie – I have trouble differentiating between the various characters that just appear too similar. At the end of the book I had just about learnt the names of Vargas’ three evangelists – but I couldn’t tell you any more about them. And I also kept forgetting that Vargas is French, the novel is French-set and a translation. It could have been set in New York, Berlin or Bristol for all the local atmosphere it gave me.

So I’m passing on to Day by A.L.Kennedy, a novel that might just be more my cup of tea…

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Christmas Wrapping

Monday December 24, 2007

Christmas festivities have already started in our house, but I’m hoping to find some time to dip into The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly. This is an intriguing novel set in 1939 about a lonely young lad and his love of books. Connolly’s style is almost childlike but his writing is deceptive. It’s quite a dark study of fairy tales and the fears deep within us all. I’m only a few chapters in, but I think it might become a late addition to my books of the year.

But mostly I’m preoccupied with food and drink, especially how the tv chefs appear to shape our lives these days. I’ve been mulling over Heston Blemenfeld’s secret recipe for mulled wine. How does he make it so one half of the glass is hot while the other half remains cold? There’s also Jamie Oliver’s mince pies to think about, and this year I’m following Nigella’s advice and roasting the potatoes in goose fat. The success or failure of the technique in my hands could make or break our Christmas dinner.

So Merry Christmas to all – and thanks for reading, commenting and making it fun.

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Comments...

Sunday November 11, 2007

…are now fixed! And if you want to change your comments form, always make sure it still works properly afterwards…

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