Department of small hours: what price the persons you would like least to condole? I woke to find my ashes in a casket heading off along the path in Martock churchyard with Nigel Farage, Prince Charles and Anne Widdecombe at the head of a gratifyingly large procession.The former two were wringing their hands and the latter was dancing!! I then returned from London in real life to find an email from Simon Brett asking me to write a chapter for a Detection Club called…but wait! I am not allowed to divulge secrets and the name of the book is a secret. Curses, curses what may or may not have been acceptable in the old days may have been unacceptable but was widespread because, frankly my dear I could not give a damn. Post Parky I could give endless damns. Now just back from France to face dual problem of blogging on trips and about work. I am lucky to have problems like this.
Work overlaps with money, and money is a necessary evil. (Why are all necessities evil, and does this matter and why do tiresome statements become fundamental questions and whatever happened to Montreuil and the money is OKish but I can see that the more one know the less one cares and when does a cliché cease, become interesting and turn into an aphorism?)
Some of the work is therapy. There is alas no money in the Leveller, half a dozen four hundred word Martock generalities already done; nor directly for the publicity attaching to the crime books - Janet Rudolph already done, nor to the monthly blog.
The Mail is another matter – several hundred for an unused piece on suffering from Parky. Should I give them wheelchairs now or wait? And Parkinson’s paradoxically opens up local and national doors. Discuss.
Books and short stories include 13 Rungs, Maud and Sherborne. The last has been successfully aborted and Christopher is in charge. Rupert Heath has been in touch with him over publishing e-book versions of existing titles and we, Christopher and I, meet shortly.Again, much to discuss including 50,000 words plus of Maud and the next royalty based crime novel including the protagonist.
Which leaves speaking. The last Lindblad trip was aborted but Glastonbury and speech looms. Likewise C S-S. Maybe I should talk to them. Or maybe to well-disposed of Seattle. Again plenty of room for chat! It’s September 18, 2014 and the bookman cometh on Monday. Plenty of time for discussion. Maybe I’ll never speak again to an audience. Maybe.
Back to chronology…London, with the pretext a visit on Monday with the Fan Museum to Skinners’ Hall. Shades of a trip to Venice with the fan people. Sure enough there was the dancer, a friend from Blackheath who we had met in la Serenissima and had inveigled to Cipriani’s in the hotel launch. It was at Cipriani’s that her son had his wedding reception and she introduced herself to the porter and seemed happy. Sure enough she was at the Skinner’s and we had our photo taken and lunched together. The beadle was in charge and we met a former mistress/master! Formidable and I negotiated the stairs. The previous day we had dim sum at the Joy Luck with the two sons, their two spouses and their four children. I felt immensely old confronted by duck’s feet and grandchildren but then I AM immensely old. All went well and afterwards we retreated to a local cinema for a film about the boy. I wish I could be more specific and name the director and the star. I can’t but afficionadoes will recognize it; the rest scarcely matter. It was good and so to bed via the ribbon bar.
Back from yet another trip to London basically to go to a lecture on the Chinese Labour Corps in WW1 which went on but was almost unbearably moving. The wife of one of the friends who organized it made the mistake of being friendly and asking what I was doing on the rest of the excursion. I’m afraid I froze, couldn’t tell Turner from Constable , thought Rex Whistler was my literary agent and called out for help. This duly came and I was able to reveal that we were to see the late Turners at the Tate , have lunch in the Whistler room and I was to see my agent on Monday. Suffice it to say that the agent got stood up – not my fault. Really. But the Turners and Sunday lunch were all that I’d hoped for.
In France we stayed with old friends (mine) and had lunch with two lots of friends (Penny’s). The distinction is important for although my friends are now hers and vice versa their origins still matter. Friendship is still vital but… oh dangerous ground…but you know what I mean. Still, the lunches and the overall stay were welcome and we didn’t come to blows. It’s just that when the chips are down my friends remain mine and….but maybe not. Perhaps discuss.
What else? One friend came to stay and has a family wedding to fix in Bridport next year; another old friend has asked me to stay. My wife wants to use the occasion to make a much missed trip to the Potteries. She has never been. Maud is undergoing revision; we are to learn Spanish beginning with the parador near the Galician cathedral this Christmas. So life potters on and we gather dust…must apologise properly to my agent, must do this, must do that. For a busy person there is always a lot to do!