Thursday, 2 May 2019


Following last Saturday's Meet The Author event in Telford, the event moves on to Wellington for May 4th.

Publisher Victorina Press will be there with their authors (including me) and plenty of other local writers. Wrekin Writers was well represented at the Telford event and there were plenty of local history writers and self-published authors. I really enjoyed the day and hope to meet them all again in Wellington. Any aspiring writer or keen reader would find it interesting too, as the cross-pollination of ideas, from writer/poet/artist/historian generates new material and contacts.

Sophie, Victorina Press's hardworking P.A. kindly gave me a lift. The weather was foul, and a high wind caught hold of my pile of bookmarks and whizzed them all over the car-park. (Thanks to all the passers-by who helped me retrieve them!). I had forgotten how heavy boxes of books are, and our trolley was well loaded as we set off  towards the library from the car-park. Once set up, I had a chance to chat to the other Victorina authors and browse the other stands.

So- if you're in the vicinity - pop in!

Saturday, 22 December 2018

What is going on?

The news is becoming stranger and stranger.

Arguably, it isn't even news, it's what news hounds write when they are feeling slightly hysterical because nothing makes sense any more.

It's not fake news, it's too trivial for that, but it is some weird, esoteric bit of nonsense culled from a conversation in a bar, overheard on a train, or half-heard on headphones while semi-sleeping. There was one this week about a dog eating a kebab skewer. Another about cannibalism following a plane crash,  lip-reading in the Houses of Parliament.  And then there's Trump. Truculent toddler? Another one bites the dust? Heads of staff sent rolling down the bowling alley of Congress, never to return.

Now we have the Will we? Won't we? Do we? Don't we?  dance of No Deal Brexit.
Stockpile or chance it? 
Invest. Withdraw. Lie down. Die.

It's a mad world, my masters, populated by thieving  scumbags, knife-wielding hoodlums, men from the ministry. And us, of course.

On Winter Hill, in Lancashire, the coal under the ground has caught alight.
Remember summer? It was dry and hot; many places burned, but at Winter Hill the fires were not extinguished, they just went under the ground.

There's a metaphor there somewhere, but I'm not sure what it is. Only I know that real news will surface, like an underground fire, and the anger that is emerging in Europe will not die down or go out. In Catalonia, in Paris, people are tired of empty promises, of not being listened to, of being ripped off. Underground, the fires are still burning.

We have heard little from our M.E.P.s   regarding Brexit. What have they been doing all this time?  They must carry some of the blame for this, surely?  At least when they lose their jobs there are still places under cover where they can sleep and food banks they can draw from.  Or have I got that wrong?  That would be news.