Book Review - Martin Clunes - the biography

by Stafford Hildred and Tim Ewbank

Having read this book I feel like I know this man, having grown up with him in my life via the television.  He is my on-screen brother that I have never met. 

He was so funny in Men Behaving Badly which brought him to fame.  His behaviour, language and relationships, being out of step with my own experience, was at the same time somehow familiar.  In MBB he personified young, carefree, maleness.

Now we are both older I love his documentaries about Islands, Horses, Dogs etc.  His voice is dry and soothing.  Recently, whilst watching a programme about Ageing, I recognised his voice as the commentator.  It was as warm as the programme which gave a positive outlook, rather than the normal negative perspective of what old age might entail.  I like to think would know his voice anywhere.

My favourite character is Doc Martin - the quirky Cornish GP who has no people skills, no bedside manner and yet an excellent local GP.  He diagnoses illnesses accurately, sometimes without being asked to and saves children and adults alike from potentially fatal situations.  It is his relationship with Louisa that is of greatest interest to me.  He loves her but they misunderstand each other so much that living together, even for their baby's sake, takes a huge amount of effort and energy.

In one episode Asperger's Syndrome was hinted at but this has not been brought to the fore as a reason for his relationship difficulties and therefore the Doc is portrayed as 'odd', 'funny' and 'different' rather than there being a brain related reason.  Adult diagnosis of AS is not talked about in the media or in social circles, which is a pity as it needs to be more widely accepted.

I was unaware Martin Clunes is a real Doc Martin having been honoured with an honorary degree from Bournemouth University.  He was bestowed a Doctor of Arts for his work in acting.  The book mentions this near to the end, along with his love of VW camper vans - one in particular that he is doing up himself.

I was also unaware of the extensive charity work he does and of his lovely close knit family of three - himself, Phillipa his director wife, and Emily his daughter.  Many of the photographs the book includes show Martin smiling or laughing and the whole book left me with a sense of 'this is one happy chappy - grounded, loyal, caring and very talented'.  His commitment to charity work is admirable and the writers of this biography have done him proud.  A career listing at the end of the book shows how very flexible an actor Martin has been.  A 5-star read.

Memory Lane 3 - Hoola Hoops, Pogo Sticks and Go carts

 

I had a red hoola hoop.  An inexpensive circle of plastic that provided hours and years of fun.  Besides twirling it around my (then) nimble waist seeing how many rotations I could manage, it also transformed into a skipping implement too.  It was used at the school sports day too, laid out on the green grass with several others that we had to jump into, lift over our heads and run on to the next obstacle - a bean bag, egg and spoon or the dreaded sack race to the finishing line. 

 

I was quite envious of my friend having a pogo stick, and as I recall she had a pair of stilts too.  She was a good friend and let me use them too.  We would count our bounces or wooden stilted steps and laugh when we lost our balance and fell off, then start all over again. 

 

Living in a cul-de-sac we would 'play out' for hours during school holidays, after school before teatime (5pm) or before bedtime (7 or 8pm). 

The boys in our little avenue had home made go-carts that they would race along the road or around the pavements.  This one is quite superior to the one a neighbour made from scraps of wood, old pram wheels and his sister's old skipping rope to help 'steer' with or to pull it back to its starting point.  Us girls were 'pushers' but occasionally allowed a go in the steering seat.  The fun ended when one of the boys caught his hand in the spokes of the wheel and bled rather a lot, but I don't think he went to hospital.  Fortunately our play area was flat, I hate to think what might of happened if we took these contraptions to go down a hill. 

 

Memory Lane Post 2 - Corona Pop

When I was a child (half a century ago!) I lived in a house at the bottom of a cul-de-sac and a 'pop man' would park his vehicle outside our house and deliver, to the doorsteps, a weekly supply of fizzy drinks.  I think mother would pre-order three bottles a week and would rotate the flavours so that each week we had a different selection to choose from.  I quite remember the 'ooooh what have we got this time?' when fetching the bottles in off the front doorstep and placing them on the cool stone pantry floor.

I disliked orangeade as much as I disliked Lucozade, the latter purchased separately when one of us were poorly to boost our energy.  That glass bottle came in an orange coloured clear wrapping which I used to look through and see the world as orange coloured; or I would cut it up and stick it in patterns in my scrap book (the original 'cut and paste').  Being a terrible traveller I was often given a glass of Lucozade along with the words of wisdom about it being 'good for you'.  It didn't stop me being sick, in fact it probably prompted it more so.

I was fond of cherryade (red being my favourite colour to this day in many ways) and I was happy with lime or lemonade.  Dandelion and Burdock was another favourite although it did cause a lot of giggles when the 'burps' occurred afterwards.

There was one occasion where Corona pop stays in my mind.  It was at a neighbour's birthday party.  Andrew lived three doors away and his mum was a 'dinner lady' at school.  At his party she allowed us to 'mix our drinks' - a concept I have never thought of before.  So, into our party glasses went a bit of orangeade, cherryade, lemonade, limeade, cream soda and dandelion and burdock.  It made a fun fizzy party drink.  I think a few of the children were sick later that evening and it taught us the perils of mixing our drinks!

I recall that there was a repayment on the glass bottles returned to the pop man - perhaps three pence (thrupence) or six pence (a tanner).  I also remember when on holiday in Cornwall my brother would collect discarded smaller empty glass bottles of pop (no plastic ones then) and take them to a shop and be given a shilling (a bob) or two, which I thought was very grown up.  He was allowed to wander off down the beach for this activity whereas I was younger and had to be kept in sight.

At the end of the two week holiday my brother and I would buy our parents a 'thank you' present - a box of Cornish fudge for dad and a small bottle of Devon violets perfume or a lace hanky for mum.  Weren't we good kids!  Now I am a grumpy old woman I bemoan that there are no thank yous for Christmas or Birthday gifts or money any more.  No letters written nor even a text message.  How things have changed.

Memory Lane Post 1- I remember when...

 

When this picture appeared on Twitter it immediately evoked a memory and these thoughts followed:

I do remember doing this as a child.  I used an ordinary HB pencil, whatever coins were to hand and a piece of white paper or tracing paper.  It could be done with a wax crayon of any colour; a piece of charcoal or coloured chalk.  I'm not sure if I actually used the triangular wax crayon that I have a vague memory of, used perhaps at school on a trip to a church for brass rubbings.

It was a simple exercise, pointless maybe, but one that passed a bit of time in quiet pleasure, perhaps whilst mother was preparing tea or on a Sunday afternoon in my bedroom.  There were no other distractions or self-play computer games, the saying 'I'm bored' never uttered.  There was always something to do.

Pressing flowers or leaves
Skipping
French skipping
Marbles
Hopscotch
Cats Cradle
Roller skating
Throwing a ball up the wall - one potato, two potato, three potato, four etc.
Reading comics
Reading books
Colouring
Drawing
Painting
Making things
Collecting insects in a jar
Studying butterflies
Playing make-believe
Playing 'Please mister crocodile'
Playing Hide and Seek
Playing Tig - akky one, two, three.
Kite flying
Cricket/French Cricket
Rounders
Jackstones
Listening to the radio
Going to the library
Going Ice Skating
Going to the pictures

The list could continue and I am sure you could add to it in the comments below.  Perhaps if you have young children, grandchildren or young nieces, nephews, great-nieces/nephews you could make a point of showing them some of these activities in order for them not to be lost forever.  Happy Memory Making.

Travel Photos - Fatima,Portugal.

 Fatima, 88 miles north of Lisbon, place of Pilgrimage.

In 1917 three shepherd children saw an apparition of Our Lady (Mary).

The 'visits' happened between 13th May and October that year and the last one, 13th October, 

was witnessed by 60,000 people. 

Next year, 2017, the Pope will visit in honour of

the 100th year anniversary.

Pilgrims walk up to the modern cathedral building, some on their knees in penance, others taking shaped candles to light for healings of body parts or grief. 

The nearby shops are overcrowded with statues, pictures, plaques and other religious keepsakes.

Travel Photos - Lisbon, Portugal

 A coach viewpoint stop, looking down to the sea.

 Arco da Rua Augusta

 Lisbon Cathedral

 

 A replica (smaller version) statue of Christ the Redeemer in Rio de janeiro, taken from the 25th April bridge

 Best mode of transport to see the City.  Don't take the yellow No 28 as this is very crowded and you might not get a seat.  The red tram only takes seated passengers and you can hop on and off anytime.

 

Lots of street statues, beggars, hawkers, musicians, dancers.  Loved this lass.

 Sardines, a must have local dish.  Also don't miss the egg custard pastries with a coffee, yum.

 

Travel Writing - The Church and the Beggar

One of the coach trips included a guided tour of Lisbon Cathedral where its architecture was explained to the group by the very knowledgeable and proud guide.  As we entered the doorway of the Cathedral a beggar lady sat baring her scarred face and amputated leg in an iron prosthetic.  It was hard to walk by - I wanted to sit next to her and hear her story, where was she from, what had happened to her, where did she live, why was she begging?  But I guessed she was not an English speaker and I followed dutifully our coach party into the Sanctuary of this magnificent building.

Our guide pointed out the ceiling, its carvings, the pillars, the people commemorated etc etc etc and although I listened I couldn't get the beggar at the door out of my mind.

  Queueing in the midday sun to get into the museum next to the Cathedral.

 

I am Christian but I could not get my head around the expense of such a building, not only in its years of being built, but in the years since, in maintenance and upkeep.  The rich and the poor, the grand, seen by all, and the small, unnoticed individual were side by side.  The phrase 'obscene opulence' rather than praise for the Christians who furbished this place swirls around my brain.  Do they think God wants this, to be revered in gold and for men to spend their time chipping and carving away when the Gospel teachings are ignored?  It raised so many unanswered questions for me.

There were many other beggars and hawkers in Lisbon city centre.  The next day I saw her sat by a shop, she had changed location.  I wished I had not walked by yet again, but instead gone into a patisserie and bought her some food at least.  However, I have experienced the error of giving money to a mother and child begging sometime ago in another country and it was an unpleasant experience of being followed and harassed for more money.  If anyone has pointers as to how to cope with these situations please comment below.

 

 

 



Travel Writing - Pousada Serra da Estrela, Covilha, Portugal

This, our second hotel with Titan Tours, is a converted Sanatorium once used for the treatment and recovery of patients working on the Railways who contracted Tuberculosis.

  The high altitude, 1200 m above sea level, set in a quiet location provided fresh air and a tranquil atmosphere of care.  Originally built in the 1920's over an 8 year period it then served all needy patients in 50 beds available to the National Association of Tuberculosis.  The building later passed ownership to the National Institute for TB Care.  It closed down in 1969 but re-opened in 1974 for 700 returnees from the former Portuguese colonies.

 

In 2011 restoration of the building began by the Pestana Group of Hotels and it opened in 2014 offering 92 rooms which were beautifully furnished, plain simple gardens, an indoor and outdoor pool and spa facilities.

My stay here was one of respite from the on/off coach travelling and sanctuary from the torrential rains, low clouds and fog of May, watering the earth for its long hot summer ahead.  The hotel was clean and fresh, comfortable, very spacious and 'grand'.  It felt a real privilege to be there.

 

The corridors were long and I felt the serene hospital atmosphere through the pictures on the walls of my room.  I imagined the coughs and breathing difficulties of former residents and rather than it being a place of convalescence it felt like a restorative place physically, mentally and spiritually. (Read Blog on Healing Waters and The Gym).  Here I had time to think more clearly, absorb the 'now' and not worry about time schedules other than planned meal times.

 

Some of our travelling companions complained that the food was not up to standard but this was not my experience.  The Mediterranean diet is so much healthier than the British based diet.  The colour and variety both at breakfast and evening meal gave choices for all tastes.  By now I was beginning to weary of the negativity of several of the group and had to avoid being seated with them at meal times.  I would rate this hotel 5 stars out of 5.  A wonderful place in the mountains, a place I would return to, perhaps in better weather days to sit outdoors and bask in the pure air.

 

 

 



 

Travel Writing - Pousada da Castelo de Palmela, Lisbon, Portugal

 

The courtyard/Cloisters by day and by night

The converted Convent, formerly of the Order of Santiago, is adjacent to a Castle built by the Moors in the 12th Century.










The convent refectory is now a dining room and features a preaching place overlooking the diners below.

It stands on a hilltop setting with breathtaking panoramic views and is 40 kms from Lisbon.

The view of the village of Palmela below is beautiful - tree tops, red tiled house tops, white walled buildings and the winding cobbled narrow streets greeting us visitors as warmly as the late afternoon sunshine.

 

In the hotel courtyard were wicker chairs upon white marbled slabs surrounded by the arches that made up the cloisters, once open to the elements but now with glass doors and windows with a celtic cross print on each.  I imagine dour faced black habited nuns walking softly from cell to chapel, arms folded and in silent contemplation after their morning duties.  Compline would be said, Psalms sang and Holy Orders observed.

 

Brass bowls on wooden stands perhaps once used for Holy water now contain sand for smokers to snub out their cigarettes before entering the building.  If the hotel bedrooms had once been cells they were very spacious and peaceful places.  The huge windows had dark wooden shutters to close out the weather or darkness of night when the twinkling of streetlights and homes below glowed like stars beyond the reach of nuns.  Were they a closed order I wonder?  The internet tells me the Order of Santiago was founded in 1502 and had several convents throughout Portugal and Spain.  The Order still exists under protection of the Spanish crown, but, it would seem, like many religious Orders, their numbers have vastly diminished.

 

The hotel was a sanctuary to us travellers/holiday makers - a place to rest awhile after a long journey from England.  It offered drinks and food to refresh us, had huge beds with soft white quilts and pillows to rest us and local staff to serve us as valued guests.  From here we explored Lisbon city and then onwards to Covilha, Fatima and into Spain.

 

It comes to you highly recommended by myself.  The only missing thing was tea and coffee making facilities in the rooms, as with all other hotels visited.  I will rate this place 4 stars of 5.



 

Heaven on Earth

Day 5 of an 11 day tour of Portugal and Spain.

Location : Pousada Serra da Estrela (Historic Hotel, Portugal) (a separate blog will tell you more about this hotel)

I sink into the empty pool, alone for a short while.  "Ahhhh," I sigh.  It is a 'coming home' moment.  A contentment beyond describable words.

The water is a very comfortable 30 degrees and I glide through the waters experiencing a release of tension that causes my emotions to overflow as tears.  A cry from deep within my soul, not of sadness but of shear joy.  This is my 'happy' place, in the warmth of the blue waters.  Is it a reminiscence of being in my mother's womb - safe, loved, alive without life?

I sit on the steps within the pool, press a button and bubbles arise - a Jacuzzi.  A neck and shoulder jet spray activated next washes away stresses and anxieties of travelling.  I swim, I float, I enjoy the sensation of water all over my body, holding me, supporting me, loving me.

Somehow the water changes me from entering it to emerging from it.  I am different afterwards, lighter, happier, cleaner, calmer.  Relaxed, refreshed.

And then, as if that wasn't a treat enough, I have a massage.  I was given an individually wrapped pair of paper panties (new experience but remember they were fashionable for a short while in the 1960's).  I de-robe and lay on the couch, cover myself with the sheet and put my face on the towelled opening at the head of the massage table. 

The obligatory music is playing and the masseur enters the room.  She tells me  she will start with a 'welcome' touch and uncovers my feet (another new experience).  I try not to laugh out loud whilst she lightly touches the souls of my feet and then puts some 'scrub' on a few dry parts of my heels, covers them with hot flannels and presses my soles.  Lovely.

After the back, neck and shoulder massage I am sat in a relaxation room, given a complementary cup of soothing herbal tea and left to take as long as I like to re-enter the hotel.  Lying back on the sunbed I listen to the piped tinkle music and birdsong and think of family and friends back home.  I let tears flow for them and hope it washes away their pains and troubles.  For a brief moment and in silence I talk to loved ones gone from this world.  It is though I am on a higher spiritual ground.

I open my eyes, wipe away the tears and drink the warming herbal tea.  I am back in the world and ready to move on.

DOUBLE DECKERS

Recently I travelled into Birmingham by train to attend my second Author and Bloggers meet up.  The train was crowded on the busy Saturday morning.  I estimate the train had 5 or 6 coaches and the compartments were all paying customers of the rail company.  In the carriage I was in, all the seats were taken and all luggage racks full of cases and bags.  People were standing in the doorway areas holding on where they could.  I joined this standing crowd.

To my left was a passenger in a wheelchair which blocked the entrance to the rest of that carriage, and to the right people stood alongside rows of seats and there was a large piece of luggage in the aisle making it impossible to pass by.  Kiddies and their mother stood next to me.

I wondered at the health and safety aspect of the situation should an accident or other emergency occur.  No-one had access to the toilet facilities on this particular carriage either.  Travelling by this train both outward and return was an uncomfortable and unpleasant experience.  I felt I had paid good money for this poor service, except that the train was on time and we all emerged safely at our destinations.  No doubt we will all do it again and inwardly grumble.

In comparison in Lisbon, Portugal, a similar train journey had me marvelling at the ingenious invention of DOUBLE DECKER carriages.  Double the seating area without having to provide further carriages to cope with commuting passengers seemed a super idea to me.

 

During the journey the train went over the River Tagus bridge which was also a DOUBLE DECKER.  The lower part of the bridge was for the railway and the upper deck for road transport.  How amazingly thoughtful and resourceful of the space and expanse of the bridge.  Well Done Lisbon.  I was very impressed.

 







April

Isn't April the most amazing month.  Everything springs into life.  Buds on trees, yellow daffodils waving their trumpet heads at us along roads and from neighbours gardens.  Colour at last after the grey days of winter.  Spring has sprung.

Lambs are born and skip about in fields, signs of pink blossom and bluebell begin to appear.  The sun shines and showers refresh the earth and makes the lushness of our green and pleasant land.  Mowers begin to whirr again and people seem lighter in spirit.

The rain reminds us it's not yet summer as the temperature tries to stay in double figures, but the sun gives us an energy boost.  Neighbours stand chatting in the street and the parks come alive with children playing outdoors again.

This morning I am up with the larks, or more precisely the blackbirds - there is one sitting on my garden wall wondering why I am typing on the computer at this hour reserved for birds to tweet and gather before the humans disturb the peace.  He has sat there for sometime now, looking this way and that, his mate in the tree above.  Have they had a disagreement?  The chirping has stopped.  Oh nice, he has just pooped all down my garden wall and he is looking at the white line it has made.  Why is bird poo white?

Anyway, I digress.  This is April, the first quarter of the year has come and it will soon be the merry month of May with two Bank Holidays to add in a bit of fun before the summer months.  Holidays and barbeques will soon be here and everyone is perked up with the thought of a bit of warmth and carefree days of relaxation.

I hope your April is going well and you enjoy the small moments as well as the everyday hum drum of life.

A Tasty Treat

Tamworth Lit Fest – What’s Cooking?   By Sue Flint©

Thursday 14^th April 2016

Venue: Tamworth College

Demonstration courtesy of Christopher’s Restaurant – Chef Max cooking Wild Sea Bass.

Christopher Gill looked on as his new young Chef introduced himself and began scaling the gutted large fresh sea bass.  I was glad to see not a speck of blood or guts on his ‘chef whites’, an aptly placed towel tucked into his waistband came in very handy.   Having cut the fins off with kitchen scissors he placed the fish inside a large plastic bag and, using a scaler tool, released the scales without them flying all over the surrounding stainless steel work surfaces.

Max told the young college students and visitors that he had only been at Christopher’s Restaurant for two weeks having previously worked at The Belfry Hotel and Golf Resort.  His youthful exuberance gave the students food for thought as he encouraged them to work towards getting their VRQ Level 3 examination, perhaps working part time to acquire catering experience too.  At 21 he appeared extremely confident in his work and obviously loved his job.

He used a very flexible knife to remove the spine and bones followed by some tweezers to pull out any small remaining bones.  A good sprinkling of salt, to bring out the flavour, covered the flesh before placing the skin side into hot oil in the frying pan. The blue flame of gas heated the metal and it soon crisped the skin.

Max was an excellent multi-tasker tossing spinach, salt and nutmeg in a battered old iron saucepan whilst in another carefully making a white butter sauce, as well as giving us details of all ingredients.  He artistically plated up a scrumptious speciality dish, a feast for the eyes making our taste-buds tingle, which was then divided for all to enjoy. 

As a frequent consumer of good food at Christopher’s Restaurant in The Peel Hotel, this will certainly be my choice from the menu on my next visit.

Sea bass on a bed of spinach with white butter sauce

 Christopher Gill and Max from The Peel Hotel, Christopher's Restaurant

Television Adverts

The Ads.  We love them and hate them, those jingles, lovely ladies and funny men vying for our attention between our chosen viewing programme. They are the loo breaks, the tea breaks and the checking other channel moments but sometimes we just sit and endure them.

Personally, I press the 'mute' button on the controls and play a game or two on my tablet.  Silence is golden.  Have you noticed how they are actually louder in volume than the programme you are watching, especially on the extra ITV channels where they are more frequent, sometimes with only seven minutes of programme before it's advert time again.

Most annoying for me :

• 'You buy one, you get one free' - windows ad.
• 'Go compare' man singing - I have never gone and compared.
• The dancing lad around and in a swimming pool - why is he alone, where are his parents and all the other holiday makers?
• The 'double discount' or 'hurry sale ends Monday' furniture ads.

Bring back :

• For hands that do dishes - Fairy liquid ads.
• For mash get Smash - iconic laughing metal aliens

And ones I quite like :

• 'I like this one (box of tea bags) and I like this one (an Aldi brand) but I prefer tea'
• Adverts that show you forthcoming television programmes or films to see at the cinema.

What do you think of television adverts?  Leave a comment below...

Mother's Day

 You are like a Mum to me.....

My Mum died aged 47.  I was newly married and my youngest sibling, my sister only just at school.  40 years have gone by and each year the anniversary of her death, her birthday and Mother's day bring the same longing of the heart.  We have children of our own and they see us as Mum and the plentiful cards and gifts in the shops no doubt will pull on their heart strings and we will gladly receive a card and a gift or bunch of flowers from them.  We do our best to enjoy a day that is both sad and then happy with our own children.

Over that time, I have been lucky enough to have had mother-substitutes in my life.  A mother-in-law, Aunty Greta and Aunty Daisy.  My mother-in-law had three sons and so was not used to the ways of girls around her but I loved her and cared for her in her last days.  Aunty Greta was a very special lady - she didn't have any children of her own and took me and mine on as her 'kids'.  She lavished our daughter with things we couldn't afford and we all had a very special bond with this lovely lady who died many years ago too.

But Aunty Daisy has been something else.  She is Godmother to myself and my sister.  She was my mother's best friend, they met in their first job after school and remained friends until my mother died.  Daisy is not a blood relative but has taken that friendship and commitment as Godmother to the maximum benefit of us all.  She has one daughter but took all four of my mother's children under her wing when my dad grieved and then found a new wife.  She always speaks well of my brothers even though they have caused her some angst; she never complains about her neighbours becoming increasingly from other countries and cultures.  She sees the best in everyone.  She is a woman of great, yet simplistic faith.  She incorporates positivity, laughter and faith into each sentence, every day.  Her favourite saying is 'that's just the way it is'.  Acceptance. 

Over the years she has loved and lost a lot of people, sisters, husband, friends.  She has drunk tea like a true Brit.  Put the kettle on at every opportunity, it has been her tipple in times of joy and in times of sorrow.  I can't imagine my life without her in it.  She is 86 and has terminal cancer.  We don't know when that hour will come but this will probably be the last Mother's Day when I can give her a card that says 'you've been like a mother to me' and thank her for the love, laughter and memories we have.

No matter how old we grown up children are, there are always times when you wish your mother was still there.  They are the anchor of any family, the role model, the care giver.  Aunty Daisy is finding it hard to accept receiving care now as she has nurtured, loved and cared for so many in her lifetime.

Time is precious.  Tell those in your life what they mean to you because you never know what life has in store.  Happy Mothers Day to mother's everywhere, to those who are like a mother to others, and to those who are not mother's through choice or circumstances - may you be blessed with such good friends that you feel grateful, loved and secure anyway.   

Book Review II - The Cake Shop in the Garden

As an avid Carole Matthews' fan when I saw the launch for this book I just new I would be reading it, isn't the cover delightful - who doesn't like cake?  The launch saw Carole and friends enjoying cake from an actual cake garden - yes a garden made of cake.  Here is the proof!  Wow, what a stunning way to launch a book.  I wish I could have been part of it. Nom Nom Nom

Mary Berry, the Cake Queen, has endorsed this author announcing publicly her addition to Carole's books (there are 29 of them to date).  What an accolade for Carole.

Well, Carole had written one or two more books before I got around to reading this paperback.  It seems that books 'come out' in digital form first and then perhaps some six months later they hit the shop shelves as paperbacks.   So my list of 'books I want to read' gets longer and preferring a 'book in hand' I have to wait for sometime to get one ticked off my list.

The first few chapters for me evoked a sad feeling as it hooked into a place in my own situation I didn't want reminding of, but I soon divided fiction from reality and engaged with the protagonist and her everyday life.

I was also reading this gripping novel whilst preparing for a #timeforacuppa event - raising funds for Dementia UK, so all the cakey references, together with the many cupcakes, Victoria sandwich and tray bakes I was making had me working alongside Fay and her Latvian assistant.  Needless to say I went off cake rapidly as I felt a cake overdose, both mentally and physically.  This only made me read quicker than normal heading and hoping for a happily ever after ending.  I was not disappointed and soon returned to eating cake!

There were lots of laugh out loud moments as well as shedding tears of joy and sadness as I read this book.  Fay's life of boredom, routine, caring and an ordinary life turns to excitement, shocks and discomfort.  Life can sometimes be turned upside down when circumstances dictate change.  There is triumph in the face of adversity; love over feelings of hurt and disappointment; and good times over bad.  It left me hoping for a sequel (Please note Carole Matthews). 

The lovely Carole Matthews eating a plant pot cake.

Book Review - Wickham Hall

This is my first ever book review.  I enjoy reading novels and have 'pinned' a few of my favourite reads onto 'A Good Read' board on Pinterest.  I have left a few words on Amazon when I have had a book from that source but it was Carole Matthews who got me thinking that the Author appreciates feedback and other readers like to know how you experienced any particular book.  No doubt I will review one of Carole Matthews' 29 novels next, but I have just finished this one.  Isn't the cover appealing?  This is what I found when I delved inside and read the story.

It is about an ordinary village girl who enters the world of a well-to-do upper class family who inherited the stately home she and her mother visited every year and so begins a journey of discovery.  Holly Swift is a friend to all and helpful to all she comes into contact with.  Those of you who visit National Trust homes and grounds will be delighted with the wonderfully descriptive picture Cathy Bramley gives of Wickham Hall but you will also feel that Holly is your friend too.

The Hall and grounds holds secrets of the protagonist's family line which is uncovered when Holly Swift takes on the job of Events Manager.  Holly lives in a small cluttered cottage in the village near to Wickham Hall where there are acres of grounds and grand historic rooms.  Holly's two worlds collide bringing thrills, dreams and heartache.  She gradually changes from planning everything to learning to live in the moment and appeals to both sides of our psyche - organised -v- spontaneous.

Fashion, art, gardens and cooking all have a place in this dreamland world where Christmas glistens with snow, where love blossoms and she experiences magical starry nights.

It is every girls fantasy of a knight in shining armour being the character who leads you through tears and laughter, suspense and predictability, hope and surprises.  It will appeal to all of your emotions.

Very well written, thoroughly enjoyed and highly recommended.

Me and my shadow....

I posted this picture on Facebook and a friend took me down memory lane.  I vaguely remembered acting on stage in High School, a double act with a bowler hat, black trousers and tie and singing a song entitled 'Me and My Shadow'.  My friend added the next lines of the song on Facebook and then later, posted the You Tube version - Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jnr on FB too.  It was lovely to hear it again.

Our fun didn't stop there.  She had taken me back over 50 years and the next sketch I remembered from those school days was 'Island of Dreams' when, at an early age, I was dressed in a coloured grass skirt, white t-shirt, a big necklace of flowers and a halo of smaller flowers on my head.  I was a background dancer along with other classmates!  I looked 'Island of Dreams' up on You Tube.  There it was sung by The Springfields (filmed in black and white as colour vision had not been invented then!)

Lastly, I was the driver on stage when we did 'Seven Little Girls sitting in the back seat, hugging and a kissing with Fred'.  I could remember most of these words and enjoyed singing along with The Avons, again courtesy of YouTube.

If I was younger I feel sure I would know how to upload these YouTube videos onto this Blog page but alas I have tried and failed.  However, I hope I have sparked off some of your memories and you will visit YouTube and singalong to your long forgotten favourite songs.  I have stored them on my tablet, no not my blood pressure tablet, the electronic device.  Oh dear, I fear I am really an old person now - black and white tv, songs my offspring will never have heard of, and getting mixed up with the meaning of words.  Oh well, fun of the past can still be fun of the present thanks to the progress of time and inventions.

But, have you heard, these are coming back into fashion and I have one!  Get those old records out.

Never judge a book....

by its cover is a metaphorical phrase meaning 'don't prejudge by outward appearance alone'.  Good advice you may think, except that I wonder how many of us do precisely that when choosing our next read?

There are some fabulous covers on novels and children's books that draw you to pick them up and perhaps read the synopsis on the back cover to see what they are about and whether they appeal to your 'type' of reading matter.  It is only when I have read a book because I feel I 'should' that I am disappointed, not necessarily with the content but with myself for not enjoying it, learning from it or persevering to the end of it.  I do, mostly, probably, judge a book by its cover.  Please tell me I am not alone in this?

Or perhaps I read a book because I like the author, or of recent years, know the author.  They are good reasons not to take much notice of the cover.  Knowing the writer's style of writing or who the person writing the novel is, makes choosing a book to read so much easier when there are thousands out there to chose from.

Like a good film or television programme you enter the story and get lost in the characters and theme.  I am a slow reader and like to savour the story, not wanting it to end.  The protagonist has become my best friend and family member in my home.  Picking a book off the shelf or downloading one onto a kindle often is the start of a journey.  Company for the weeks ahead as you read, an imaginary world to enter, discover, feel, and love. 

We all have our favourite genres: crime, love story, thriller, action packed, historical etc.  But what happens when we reach the end?  I have come to appreciate that the author likes feedback and Amazon have a quick and easy way to share your thoughts about the book you have just read.  Just click on the 'review' and leave a few words of appreciation a) for the author and b) for other readers to judge whether this book might appeal to them also.  There is always word of mouth reviews as we tell our friends about our latest book, or passing the book on to someone who likes the same sort of story as you do.  I am finding there are many, many Book Bloggers out there that write extensively about books they have read, some read so quickly that it makes me feel quite dizzy. 

I can only read one book at a time, at my pace and of my choice.  I can't remember a time where I didn't read, I have been a library member all my life, had bookshelves full of paperbacks and study books and find parting with some of the most precious ones quite difficult.  But now, in this digital age, I take a photo of the cover and pin it on Pinterest with a little reminder of the story.  I write reviews to and for the author.  I move onto the next book more easily.

Now, if you imply the saying to people rather than books, that is a whole new subject to blog about as I am sure I am not the only person to have fell into that trap!