Tuesday, 26 November 2013
For the last few months I’ve been in Cornwall, first in a motorhome and more recently in a self catering flat in a hotel complex in St Ives. Why this has somehow almost completely prevented me from blogging I have no idea.
For the month of November I have been doing the Nanowrimo thing and trying to write a novel in November. I did it last year, 53000 words later being tidied up into “Aimless Fear”. I spent some time earlier in the year persuading reading groups and various other to read it and give me comments. Since then it has some minor modifications, reacting to those comments, and an editor is currently removing the last of the typos and grammar idiocies.
Meanwhile, so far this November I am up to 44000 and counting, with a bit of luck I should make it to the end in time.
So that’s it then, when I had no excuse not to blog I didn’t, now while I have a good excuse, what do I do, blog of course.
The book is science fiction, though probably not what would usually be expected - no spaceships for a start. The central character is a time travelling granny with her teenage grand-daughter as a side kick. For reasons buried in granny’s past, they are looking for a vampire. Other interesting matters like pastry, highwaymen, black pudding and heavy metal music are woven in one way or another, so with a little luck it won’t be boring. There are some quasi serious bits, I can’t help delving into a little medicine, virology, genetics etc, trying to make sense of what a vampire might be and why they live for ever.
If anyone fancies reading a first draft, let me know.
It is called “Do not tell a soul”, which is the name of the heroine, Donattella Soul, the time travelling granny.
Wednesday, 24 July 2013
Last summer, it rained almost all the time, and the river Severn that flows by outside our window was over its banks and depositing mud everywhere for weeks on end. This summer we decided to put our motor-home on a site in Cornwall and go there whenever the weather was forecast to be good. The consequence of this strategy is that we have spent most of the last three months living in Cornwall.
Finally last night, it rained. After weeks of unbroken sunshine, I resisted the urge to run naked across the fields yelling strange incantations to the weather Gods, but it was a close run think. It being one in the morning might have had something to do with staying in bed, but maybe it was because there really wasn't very much rain, at least not at first.
Sleeping in a motor-home in a field in Cornwall does exaggerate the sound effects, every single drop of rain makes it's own individual sound, adding something to the impression created, so that a light sprinkling of a few drops sounds like a tropical storm. On the other hand, rain is rain, and we have not had any here since some time in May. This is possibly an exaggeration, but it feels very unusual for this pattering sound on the roof to go on, as it has now, for at least fifteen minutes. This constitutes a monsoon by comparison with the previous two months.
It could of course have been a dream but that seems unlikely because I appear to have been awake enough, some time in the night, to have gotten up and written the preceding paragraphs.
There is something soporific about the patter of rain on the roof. Paradoxically it wakes you up when it starts, and then sends you back to sleep if it goes on. The upshot of that is that I have no idea how long it continued.
This morning it is clear and sunny again. It is just possible to convince oneself that the grass is a shade greener. It was looking very parched and straw coloured yesterday; a hint of green makes the world seem fresher and the sunshine a little brighter, or maybe it is just that the rain has cleared the dust from the air and it really is clearer and the air does smell sweeter.
After the traumas of last year it is in some ways deeply satisfying to rediscover that summer rain has it's good points.
As I am about to post this a thought occurs to me, I don't seem to have written anything here since April, so let this be proof that living in a field in Cornwall is not incompatible with blogging, it just provides other distractions.
Tuesday, 30 April 2013
It seems like a blog post is well overdue.
The last post was in January, what have I done since then, mostly got a book out and done some performance pieces.
There is a spoken word event at Malvern each year called “As you read it” As far as I can see anyone can submit a piece so long as it takes about 10 minutes to read and it is has never been published before. I entered a somewhat amusing piece called Cinderella and Goldilocks, a sort of imaginary gossip between the two of them picking over their own careers and commenting on a few other fairy tale characters. I would print it here, except that it is going to be in an anthology shortly, so I’ll go on about it then.
I was lucky enough to be one of the final eight writers who were invited to read their piece. The event takes place in one of the big Malvern theatres, a room that could take several hundred in the audience, though nothing like that many turned up.
The event is done in a very theatrical way – you have to wait in a dressing room until your call, you have to rehearse the day before, and you end up on a stage bathed in a thousand watt super trouper so you can’t see the audience.
The nearest listeners were about 30 feet away and any sound from them was almost lost in the vast space of the theatre. I could just about make out polite titters in the right places.
I read the piece again, for a smaller and more intimate audience at 42,[ http://on.fb.me/ZxDCPr] an event in Worcester (named in honour of Douglas Adams’ answer to life the universe and everything) They laughed a lot louder. The somewhat atmospheric picture, taken by Geoff Robinson, is me reading at 42.
Sunday, 13 January 2013
This is a short piece I read at an event in Worcester earlier this week. It got a good laugh, so I thought I'd share it. It's an imaginary conversation with a child; I should add that my children are now very much older that the child imagined here.
'How deep is the Ocean?'
'That’s a trick question.'
'Because there is more than one ocean, if you don’t say which one, then no one could answer.'
'How deep is the biggest ocean?'
'That’s better, but it still won’t do.'
'Because you didn’t say what you mean by biggest. Do you mean the widest? Or the deepest? Or the one with the biggest volume of water? Or the one with the longest name? There are many ways of being the biggest.'
'The deepest. How deep is the deepest ocean?'
'That’s not really a fair question either.'
'Because to answer it I’d have to know how deep all the oceans were, in order to know which one was deepest, so really you are asking five questions.'
'Because most people think there are five oceans'.
'When you look at a globe it looks like one ocean.'
'Yes but no one knew that when they got their names.'
'What are their names?'
'The Atlantic, The Pacific, The Indian, The Arctic and The Antarctic, but now they call that one The Southern Ocean.'
'Which is the biggest?'
'And which is the deepest.'
'The Mariana Trench in the Pacific, is the deepest part, it's 35800 feet deep. If you stood mount Everst, the highest mountain in the world, in it, the whole thing would be so far underwater that you couldn't see any of it.'
'Why do you answer all my questions?'
'Because I’m your Dad.'
'Ask your Mother.'
Thursday, 3 January 2013
I spent New Year's Eve having the shaking chills; uncontrolled rigours, probably caused by Norovirus. Three duvets and an electric blanket brought some respite, but it’s no fun.
As a writer, I kept trying to tell myself that there must be some sort of inspiration lurking in the experience; but if your every muscle is shaking, and your teeth chatter when you don't keep your jaw clenched, it’s hard to concentrate on anything like that.
One thing I did notice was that time seemed to slow down. Apparently, I kept asking Lois the time. On each occasion, I thought that a couple of hours must have passed, but it only turned out to be 20 minutes. Unfortunately, what with one thing or another, I did not record the exact times. For a while, I had a theory that my brain must have speeded up because of the fever. I imagined it must work like a slow motion camera, where the frame speed is increased, so when you play it back at normal speed it creates slow motion. In order to make sense of that, my brain would have to be both recording events at a faster frame speed, and playing them back at normal speed, at the same time. It was a while before this struck me as rather unlikely.
The other thing that didn't make much sense was the speed factor. I appeared to think that time was moving at about six times normal speed, so my brain must have been going at six times it's normal rate.
Chemical reactions roughly double their speed every ten degrees, so to go at six times normal my temperature would have to be something over 60C. At anything over 50C, the thermometer would have broken. As it is still intact, I am forced to abandon my feverish theories and conclude that it was just amazingly boring.
Somehow, feverish and boring don’t work together. If you put feverishly boring into Google, you get no hits, unless of course, it finds this blog.
The good news is, the rest of the year is almost bound to be better.
Sunday, 23 December 2012
I admire the concept of kickstarter funding, but until now, I have not seen anything that I really wanted.
The funding concept is simple, some genius has an idea, but needs money to take it further, so they set up a web site explaining the invention and make possible customers an offer; in exchange for one of the, as yet non existent items, you send some money. If all goes well enough cash is sent to get the project off the ground, and eventually you are the proud owner of the relevant gismo.
What the various kickstarted sites do is to provide a single site where these projects can be displayed. I suspect that they also require some standards and financial discipline, but I haven't checked that.
There are obviously risks, the thing might not be made, or the early prototypes are rubbish etc. etc. As I understand it, when it all goes wrong you are supposed to get your money back. I love the idea, but one way or another I am usually not quite filled with enough enthusiasm to actually send cash.
Today was different. I came across some guys who want to make a light that runs on gravity. They think they can make these things so that they sell for a few dollars and can potentially replace kerosene lamps, which are all over the third world and are smelly and dangerous. They cause indoor air pollution, contributing to asthma and such, and they cause fires.
The lamp works by having a pulley that drives a small generator. The force comes from hanging a sack of rocks from the pulley and letting it slowly fall to the ground. So actually, it doesn't run on gravity, it runs on the muscles that have lifted up the sack of rocks. According to the bumph the device comes in a sturdy sack, which once unpacked can be used to hold 9 Kilos of rock, mud, or whatever you have available.
It seems such an obvious idea that I am amazed that no one has thought of it. I suspect that it was waiting for the LED to be invented so that there was a light source available that does not need much power. I did find some similar ideas in student projects from a few years ago, but they did not get made, I presume because older lightbulbs used too much power so the sack of rocks would have been too heavy to lift
If these guys do manage to make lots of them it should only be a matter of time before bright young kids all over the world have figured out how to power all sorts of other things from them. I can picture Raspberry Pis being connected as we speak.
Will it charge a phone I wonder? The possibilities are endless.
If you are interested, the link to the project is
You can watch a video of the thing working.
Saturday, 8 December 2012
I’ve been to Australia twice and I loved it both times, even though I nearly drowned surfing on Bondi beach, I still love the place. It is important to be clear about that. So what comes next is not aimed at Australians in general, neither, if any of them happen to read this, am I doing a whinging Pom act.
Two DJs from the Australian radio station 2Day FM called King Edward VII hospital in London and pretended to be the Queen and Prince Charles. They phoned at about 5.30 am and hence the call was taken by a night nurse, rather than a trained receptionist. That nurse put the call through to the ward, where another nurse was taken in, and gave out some details of their royal patient.
One of these nurses now appears to have killed herself. Details are available all over the media, including three BBC reports at:- http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-20651246and www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-20649816 and http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-20650721. On the face of it, this is just another example of the media not caring a damn about anyone other than themselves. To my mind, the matter has been made a lot worse by the chief executive of the radio station, Rhys Holleran, defending his reporters by saying:
"I think that prank calls as a craft in radio have been going on for decades. They are done worldwide and no-one could reasonably have foreseen what happened.”
He should have said that the whole thing was his fault. He is the chief executive, and therefore responsible for the culture of the station that thinks it is OK to try to deceive hospital staff. That thinks it is OK to phone a hospital at five am and see if nurses can be caught off guard.
Why should the hospital have to act as though everyone phoning them is a possible fraudster or some lying prankster? Is nothing sacred? Has no one at the radio station ever had a relative in hospital? Is there any difference between this prank call and the Levenson Inquiry description of blagging in order to try to obtain information illegally? This sort of stunt, and hacking Milly Dowler’s phone come right out of the same stable that says “fuck you” over the door.
Was it actually illegal in this case, I don’t know, there is obviously some work there for international law experts, who will no doubt charge a lot. I was under the impression that you were supposed to tell people if you were recording them, and certainly if you then intended to broadcast the material.
Whether it was illegal or not does not alter the fact that it was bloody stupid, and more likely to lead to adverse consequences than good ones.
I can understand all the people who have hurled abuse in one form or another at the two radio presenters who carried out the prank. I hope they survive, the last thing the world needs is another suicide. The DJs obviously did not ask themselves how they would feel if a member of their family was on the receiving end of that sort of trick. It is probably reasonable to say that it would be difficult to imagine that the nurse might kill herself, but it is not hard to think that she might have been disciplined or fired. Do we want to live in a world, where radio presenters phone people, who are going about their normal job trying to help the sick, and pull tricks on them that might get them fired?
If one uses a little imagination, it is easy to see another possible side effect from this. Every relative phoning to ask about their loved ones in hospital in future is likely to find it harder to get through and harder to find out anything about a relative in hospital. As I write, armies of PR people are probably busy writing new protocols for how to take calls from the public. I can just imagine all the additional data being collected in every patient’s record in order to ask bank style security questions every time a mother phones to find out if their child is getting better.
I find it sad that Jeff Kennett, the Chairman of Australia's national depression charity, Beyond Blue, said the radio pair had no intention of causing any harm and urged the public not to condemn them. He has an odd definition of harm. They must have known that at the very least anyone who fell for the joke risked public humiliation and possibly being disciplined or fired. If that isn’t harm, I don’t know what is. It is not clear exactly who dreamed up the stunt, but neither they nor the two DJs should be blamed on their own, others too, have a responsibility to bear.
We are given to understand that lawyers approved the transcript. I went to a seminar by a very senior British judge a few years ago, where he said that there was hardly any teaching of ethics in law schools, so it may be too much to expect ethics from lawyers, though they ought to have an eye on risk management. Someone at the station should consider getting new lawyers.
The buck really stops with the chief executive. He is the one is responsible for the culture of the organisation; he should have considered whether this was a sensible thing to do. He should have asked what the downside might be if this went wrong. Hopefully the station will lose a lot of advertising revenue and the trustees or owners, or whoever sits on top of the chief executive, will fire him, unless he has the decency to resign first.
The station also ought to compensate the nurses family. Just because they say they meant no harm, it doesn't let them off.