HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!

I wish all my readers a very Happy Christmas.  Peace and joy to everyone.

I intended writing a post this past week but didn't get around to it. Isn't it amazing how many Christmas things you get involved in? Coffee mornings for charities, quick calls on friends and acquaintances to wish them a happy season and of course those Christmas dinner events which are such fun but so bad for the waistline!

I love everything about Christmas, the Christmas tree, the lights, the presents wrapped up in colourful paper, the general buzz about town. Most of all I love, though, I love being together with my family and watching my grandchildren's excitement on Christmas Eve (which is when the presents are given in Germany, where I shall be visiting my daughter and her family).

Christmas blessings to you all!

Christmas is on the way

I was in Cork city doing a bit of shopping (a very little bit, I might add) and I can tell you that Christmas is well on its way there. Nearly every shop I passed was full of people checking out jewellery, watches, bed linen, furniture, TV sets and mobile phones. The clothes shops were having a field day and there was hardly room to squeeze past those racks with special pre-Christmas offers.

It was a cold afternoon with bright sunshine - ideal for that festive season feel. I have to admit that I bought a few things on the spur of the moment and didn't buy what I actually came for, which was a pair of walking shoes. But it was all fun. In another few weeks, when Christmas is almost here, it will be a different story for a lot of people. Panic will have set in and wild buying sprees will be the order of the day.

What if? I asked myself as I sidestepped a harassed husband whose wife was trying on dresses and trying to elicit an opinion from him of what suited her best. What if we all calmed down, didn't get distracted by all those advertisements portraying snow covered streets, adorable children, roast turkey with all the trimmings, Santa Claus and his reindeer and a family wreathed in smiles of joy?  What if we said not this year, not like that and set out to relax and enjoy rather than running around and trying to ensure that everyone was having Christmas fun? Just supposing we bought all our food ready to eat from the supermarket instead of basting the turkey, glazing the ham and peeling Brussels sprouts on Christmas morning? What if we just heated it all up while we lazed around drinking mulled wine or champagne and chatting to family and friends? What if we said no presents this Christmas? Instead we'll have some family time, play board games? What if we went to church and sang all those half forgotten Christmas carols?

I, for one, am not brave enough but it is what I genuinely would like to do. Christmas time is family time for me and in all the preparations and fuss leading up to it, I sometimes forget that. But if I tried to implement even a quarter of the suggestions in the above paragraph, I am convinced that,courtesy of my family, I would end up in the International Court of Human Rights or be mentioned dishonourably in an Amnesty International bulletin. So I'll be in the thick of it this year as every year. And I will enjoy it. But a little piece of my heart will be saying ever so softly slow down, take it easy, enjoy the spirit of Christmas without all that glitz.

Spending the proverbial penny

 I am one of those unfortunate individuals who have what is sometimes called a "weak bladder". I think that with me at any rate this is partly psychological because if I find myself anywhere where there is no easy access to a toilet, I immediately want to "go" and get into a panic. The knowledge that there are a lot of people like me is cold comfort when I am struggling along the street of an evening when shops are shut and there is no public toilet in sight. So many eateries have those big scary signs which say "for patrons only" and well, when a girl's gotta wee, she's gotta wee somehow or other, even if she doesn't want to buy a coffee which will only make her want to wee again in an hour's time.

I was therefore intrigued to learn what the city of Bremen in North Germany is doing in this regard.  They have a scheme entitled "Nette Toilette" which translated roughly means "nice toilet" and you can use the rest rooms of any restaurant or cafe which has a sticker to this effect in the window. You are not obliged to buy anything. Wow! I wish more cities had this feature, it would save me many a frantic search. Participating restaurants and cafes get paid between €50 and €100 a month for providing this facility. A spokesperson for the city said that Bremen saves around €450,000 per year on the scheme compared to the upkeep of public toilets which were not always as clean as could be desired. From the point of view of the restaurants and cafes, it does direct more traffic to their premises even if not everyone actually sits down for a meal or a coffee. You can even download an app with a map of all the locations! That's what I call public service.

Click here if you understand German or simply want to view the map of free toilets in Bremen.

Bremen's free toilets (in German)
If you scroll down you will find a map giving the locations of the free toilets Nette Toilette.

This would be such a boon to me when I embark on my Christmas shopping next month. It's all psychological, I guess, but the knowledge that there are toilets easily reachable would be one of the main comforts to all that trekking around the shops!

This post is adapted from my original blog post entitled The Smallest Room - Facilitating the Facilities on my blog 
peggyomahonyromanceauthor.blogspot.ie 

Are You Listening?

When I was at school we had to study an essay by Charles Lamb entitled The Two Races of Men. He reckoned that humankind could be divided into two categories: the men who borrow and the men who lend. I remember that I really enjoyed his sense of humour and his remarks on the "despoilers of shelves" and on other borrowers who made notes in the margins so that the book came back with added value.
When it comes to conversation and listening to other people, I am inclined to think that there are two kinds: those who listen and those who do not.
We all know people who listen to what we have to say, are interested in it and in what has been happening to us since we last met. In our turn, we listen to them in the same way. Which means we belong to Those Who Listen. If we don't recognise ourselves in that description, it might be time to analyse our conversations with others.
The art of listening is a major advantage to us writers, because everyone has a story and everyone is interesting. Yes, there are people who will tell you the same thing every time you meet them or who will moan persistently about just everything, but even they can be entertaining if you learn to expect it and not be impatient. Personally, I try heading them off at the pass whenever I see an old story coming down the path at me. Sometimes it works, sometimes I just smile and listen. Mostly, though, I find other people fascinating, even those little quirks which can be irritating at times.
There are others of our acquaintance who if you were to say that you had just received the Breaking News that the moon is in fact just a large chunk of Cheddar cheese, proven by a bunch of renowned scientists, they would merely nod and say "yes, I know" without batting an eyelid and go on to tell you something about a rare cheese they discovered the other day. They are just not going to be surprised because they have most likely only heard "cheese" in what you said.
We all know people who don't wait for you to finish what you are saying because they want to jump right in there with their story. And there are the people who think they know what you are going to say so don't need to listen to you at all and are then amazed when, later on, they discover that you didn't in fact say that you bumped into Mick Jagger fifty years ago.  What you actually said was that you almost bumped into a Mick Jagger lookalike last week and you'd always thought no one made of flesh and blood could ever look like him.....
Humans are so diverse, irritating and likeable at the same time, that I guess we have to take everyone as we find them, mentally earmark the ones worthy telling a story to, and just enjoy everyone's conversation listeners and non-listeners alike.

Getting What You Want - Memories of My Time in Dublin

I came back from Germany on Tuesday this week and took the airport link bus to the train station. Passing through once-familiar streets and catching sight of the Custom House, brought back lots of memories of the time I spent in Dublin. I had to smile when I remembered my struggle to buy contact lenses.

A long time ago, just before Noah beached the Ark, there was a slogan (of sorts) which went "guys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses".  Nowadays, this would elicit little more than a snort of derision, but this was long before laser operations, nifty easy-to-wear contact lenses and female self-confidence which said "I'm wearing specs, so what?". And even longer before guys making passes would be blown out of the water by the feminists.

So now you get the picture. Girls were supposed to have good eyesight among all the other attributes. I was short-sighted and hated wearing glasses. Most of the time, I didn't wear my specs. After getting on the wrong bus several times, missing a date simply because I couldn't see him in the crowd under Clerys clock (a favourite meeting place in Dublin in those days!) I came to a decision. Although I could not afford it, I had to have contact lenses, and I had to find a way to pay for them. I worked in the civil service at the time and the pay wasn't anything to write home about even if you could afford the stamp.
I started looking for a part time job. I applied for a job serving teas at a greyhound racing stadium. The lady who interviewed me smiled politely, told me that as an office worker, I wouldn't be able for all the standing around, hauling heavy teapots and fending off unwelcome attention by some of the punters. I did get a job working in the bar area of a classy restaurant without anyone querying my ability to stay on my feet all night. It was a busy place but I might have coped except for two things: I didn't have a clue about alcoholic drinks and my mental arithmetic was abysmal. The barman poured the drinks and put them on my tray. He also rattled off the prices and took the money the customer had given me, handing me back the change. Half the time I couldn't hear what he said, so gave the customers the wrong change which they were understandably not too happy about, unless it was in their favour. As well as that, I sometimes had difficulty in deciphering what they'd ordered - I can't even recall all the strange orders I got, except that one old guy asked for "a bottle of Guinness with a collar on it" - the barman didn't know what he wanted either! I didn't last long there, as you can imagine.
 I had holidays coming up so went to stay with an aunt in London and applied for a temporary job with an agency in the West End. What could I do for two short weeks, they asked? I could type I assured them and I could read bad handwriting. The reason I said that was to save myself having to take shorthand or trying to decipher an English accent on the dictaphone - yes, I know, these skills are obsolete nowadays. My luck was in, they told me. That very morning a firm of solicitors had inquired about engaging the services of a typist who could read atrocious handwriting - they'd tried a number of typists who had all given up. Of course I jumped at the chance - did I have a choice if I wanted to pay for contact lenses? I remember that the offices were in one of those venerable old buildings off Piccadilly. The job entailed typing up a thesis on newspapers which the owner's son had to submit for a PhD the following week. I was given an office of my own and reams of notepaper covered with the hieroglyphics of this young man. This was where my writer's imagination came in handy because although I couldn't read everything, I managed to make an educated guess and spun a story around the theme. Bless the young man's heart, he was impressed!  We worked hard but time was speeding by at a great rate. The deadline approached and we still were not finished so he asked me if I would mind working late, I'd get paid double the hourly rate. With visions of myself in those contact lenses, looking like Mata Hari and Marilyn Monroe all in one, I didn't raise one single objection. We worked and worked. At around one a.m, he raided the bar in his father's office and we both drank a few glasses of excellent brandy. Bashing away on the typewriter, I was so tired I didn't know if I was seeing double or not, but we did finally finish at around three in the morning. I arrived home to my aunt, who had kindly waited up for me, smelling of alcohol and telling her I'd been working. I think she doubted the truth of my story and thought I'd become a fallen woman although she kept her opinion to herself.


By now I nearly had enough money. Back in Dublin I took on my last part time work. While walking down Grafton Street to put my hard-earned money onto my bank account, I ran into a student friend who came from India and who worked as a waiter in an Indian restaurant. The owner was Irish and had lived in India for long enough to learn how to make curry. They were short of a washer-upper, he told me and promised to put in a good word for me with the boss. I felt I couldn't really go wrong washing plates and glasses. It was hard work, let me tell you. I ended up being potato peeler as well as dishwasher. But the money was good and I was at last able to buy the all-important contact lenses. The improvement in my eyesight had one big advantage for the restaurant. They closed around one a.m. (in those far off days, diners came in around 9.30 or 10p.m. and weren't in any hurry to go home) but no one had a watch or a timepiece of any sort so we were never sure when to shut the doors. There was a laneway visible from the kitchen if you stood on a chair and at the end of this laneway was a laundry with a clock over its entrance. Every night I climbed onto the chair in order to see if we could close up for the night. I can still see that clock with its startling white face and thick black hands although both it and the laundry are long gone.

Writing this reminds me of how much things have changed. Two years ago my daughter lost a contact lens while we were on holiday and she simply went to a drugstore and bought a replacement set to tide her over until she got her prescription ones. No saving up and counting the pennies to be able to afford it. And it was easy to get part time work, too. In London I simply had to walk into an employment office and explain what I could do and how long I was able to work. No work permit needed – they didn’t even ask for references. Hard to imagine now, isn’t it?
Looking back, I have to say that in addition to buying the coveted contact lenses, I learned a lot from my sortie into part time work and met a lot of interesting people into the bargain. That’s grist to the mill for an author!

Writing my Novel Spate of Violence

 One of my readers asked me the other day if I intended writing a sequel to my novel Spate of Violence. I must admit that I had not intended doing so. It was always meant to be a stand-alone novel. Something I wanted to get out of my system and onto paper. Although it is not based directly on my experiences nor on people I encountered during my voluntary work in a crime victim support organisation, like most writers, I do draw on those experiences to a certain extent. Writing it was a painful process in many ways.
I had the idea in my head for several months before I got down to writing it. Although it is set in a small town in Germany, it could really have played out almost anywhere in the world. Set in Bitterfeld, a fictitious town near Frankfurt, it tells the story of Karen and Sebastian and their two children - a family whose lives are changed forever when they move to Bitterfeld, a town beset by petty crime.
At first they try to establish themselves and make friends but they become slowly aware of the dark undercurrents. The town is divided into those living in the high-rise apartment blocks in what is euphemistically called The Park and the wealthy "what can you expect from them" factions.  Karen becomes involved in a community scheme to assist disadvantaged women much to her husband's disapproval. She cannot know that this will ultimately cause her much heartache. Sebastian is determined not to get involved until their daughter is viciously attacked. He agrees to join the Citizens for Bitterfeld which has vowed to clean up the town. 
As the violence escalates, the ultimate tragedy can no longer be prevented.
Available as a Kindle or in paperback

Spate of Violence

Stating the Obvious

In every writing course I attended we were told to write clearly and not to use too many fancy words. That wasn't all we were told, of course. Have something to say and write it in such a way that your readers will understand was the message. Sometimes easier said than done but practice makes for reasonable performance.
I was reminded of this the other day when the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge announced they are expecting their third child. Prince Harry was asked by a reporter how he felt and later several newspapers carried the headline "Prince Harry delighted with the news" or words to that effect. I have to ask: did the reporter who asked him how he felt expect him to say "how awful"? And do I really need to see a headline saying he is delighted to learn how he feels?
If I were to write a novel along those lines: main character's brother (or brother-in-law depending on which point of view you want to take) is delighted at prospect of the arrival of third child, I would not have much of a plot. Almost without exception every piece of fiction requires conflict of some kind  to make it interesting to the reader. I wouldn't know what to write if everything was going smoothly in my novels.
We are overloaded with useless - and some useful - information these days. The battle to fill space is a tough one. The news has to be sold instead of being told. 
Having said all that, what can writers learn? What can they avoid? There is so much advice out there for writers that we tend to get lost in it. However, from my own personal experience, I love to read novels which are well-written, have interesting characters that I can relate to, and have a story that grips me from the first page or at least the second chapter at the latest. That's a lot to ask of other writers - and of myself. For me, it means many hours of revision and editing to ensure the story is looking its best. I wouldn't give it up for all the printer ink in the world.

Cherishing Your Books - Dog-ears and Bookmarks and things that might go bump

I recently read a debate about people who dog-ear books they are reading and how some readers (the ones who use book-marks) find this so hard to understand.
I must confess that I do both. I use book-marks but not the kind you buy. Currently I am using an old suburban rail ticket from my last train ride in Germany. At some point it will be discarded because it will simply get too tatty. I don't do this to all my bookmarks. I have a cherished bookmark from my visit to the Mauritshuis museum in The Hague around fifteen years or so ago. It reminds me of that wonderful weekend there with my daughter. She was a little dubious about going there, not being an "art freak" as she put it, but she really loved it. I just use it as a bookmark in books that I cherish - not the novels I read and then give to the charity shop. And every time I see this entrance ticket for the Mauritshuis, I remember that when we arrived in The Hague that morning there had been a power cut, the shops were without lighting and we couldn't get a hot drink anywhere. One of the many "adventures" I shared with my daughter and which will always be precious to me.

So, yes, I am a fan of bookmarks but if I'm travelling, I will usually just dog-ear the page. In fact, when I browse the secondhand bookshops, it can be very interesting to see what has been dog-eared by previous readers. Some novels are marked and abandoned, as you can tell by just one dog-ear, while others have been read all the way through (several dog-eared pages).

But, you know what? It hardly matters, does it? Either you find a book you just love to read or you put it away after a number of chapters as being not your kind of novel. That's the world of variety we enjoy.
I am currently reading John Simpson's "We Chose to Speak of War and Strife - the World of the Foreign Correspondent". It is a fascinating read and yes, I'm using that suburban rail ticket to mark where I left off reading.

Return from the Continent

It's great to get away and visit family but it is also wonderful to arrive home safe and sound.
I am just back from nearly a month in Germany. It was very hot - too hot for my liking - most of the time. Lots of thunderstorms, which I enjoy. 
The journey there and back always involves a day's travel. I suppose I shouldn't complain (well actually I'm not complaining, just commenting) because in the days of Jane Austen, the trip would have taken nearly a week. And - staying with Jane Austen, in her novel Persuasion, the heroine notes that matters which were of first importance in one village are of little interest in the neighbouring one, remarking that we should know our own insignificance beyond our own circle. I find this to be the case when I travel from one country to another (perhaps not surprisingly).
My return journey made me think about what travel would have been like two hundred years ago. Boarding in Frankfurt was nearly an hour before scheduled take-off. Once the information on the departure gate was up, off I went. I half expected to see the lights of Dublin since I must have walked miles. I survived the passport check and the hand luggage scrutiny, and even though the scanner did not even so much as hiccup, the grim faced lady on the other side still patted me down, or maybe she liked my capri pants and wanted to check what the material was.... Everyone squeezed onto an airport bus which drove us out to the aircraft. I always maintain that the Aer Lingus airplanes are parked out near the refuse bins. The journey out there is interesting if you like observing traffic at airports. I had had the presence of mind to claim a seat near the rear of the aircraft so managed to get to it without having to wait for those wonderful passengers who root around in their carry-on bags and hold everyone up.The flight was fine. When we got to Dublin, it was another long walk to get to the exit with lots of stairs, which made me wonder what happens if you are a bit shaky on your feet but not ready for wheelchair transport. Next, I took a bus to the railway station (one hour) and from there a train (nearly three hours) and then another bus which should have taken fifty minutes but took well over an hour because of traffic.
Home never looked so good when I finally closed the door behind me. But it was worth it all and anyway, I enjoy travelling. There is the whiff of adventure and glamour, despite all the checks and delays. No matter how often I travel, I still find something new to surprise me.
If you are travelling for your holidays, I hope you have fun!

Summertime and the living is pretty easy

Summer. Sunshine. Sea breezes. Watching the sailing boats. Walking on the sand. How I love it all!
It would be nice if we could keep memories stored in a bottle and be able to let them out whenever we liked. The feel of sunshine on your skin in the middle of a cold, grey November day would be something, wouldn't it?
We have a mini heatwave here in Ireland two weeks ago. At the weekend everyone took off for the beach. People had barbecues in their gardens. We all walked around in shorts and t-shirts and summer dresses. It was wonderful while it lasted!
I'm not a dedicated hot weather fan. I'm inclined to wilt if the mercury gets above 24C here in Ireland where it is humid or 27C on the continent. I will be off to Germany later on this summer to look after my grandchildren. Currently the temperature there is around the 37C mark, falling to 32C or so after a thunderstorm. It is a dry heat, which makes it slightly more bearable, but when you have thundery weather it does get humid. So I'll be travelling light. It always seems strange to me that a short journey by airplane takes you into a completely different atmosphere both from a weather and a current affairs point of view..
To everyone who's looking forward to their annual summer holiday:  Have fun, don't get sunburned, and come back fit and relaxed!
If you want a feel-good family romance to read, try my novels:

The Romance of Travel

I have just finished reading They Came to Baghdad by Agatha Christie. It is one of the few novels of hers that I have not read. As always with Christie, it is an entertaining read. It did make me smile to realize how very different modes of travel were in her day. She wrote this around 1950 when air travel was not as common as it is now.  It got me thinking.

Sixty years or more ago, travel was a leisurely affair. People packed hampers with turkey and ham sandwiches, flasks of tea and bottles of milk, to take with them on train journeys because it took hours to get anywhere. Race-goers at Ascot and other racecourses around the country added wine and champagne to the hampers (as some do even to this day) and made a big day out of it. It was all fun. When you set out on a journey by train you felt you were taking part in an adventure. There was the sleeping car, the dining car, the carriage proper where you sat and watched the countryside roll by and very often you met interesting fellow travellers. You could have fun when the train stopped at railway stations along the way and you watched passengers embark and disembark

Nowadays, it is all rush, rush. We don't have time to wait or to watch other people, so many of us are glued to our mobiles that we bump into people rather than looking at them. At airports, we have to get through security, find the departure gate, find our seat on the plane (squeezing past those fellow passengers who suddenly remember they need something out of their hand baggage about one minute after they stow it in the locker), remember to put our phones in flight mode, pay attention to the safety drill, wave away the offers of duty free stuff we don't want.
Train journeys are only slightly less of a scramble. In the old days, a friendly porter would carry your luggage and see you safely ensconced in your seat. Nowadays you have to find the right platform, find a seat if you haven't booked one or even if you have and stow your luggage yourself. Oh, and keep an ear open for announcements in case the train you wanted to get has been cancelled or delayed. There isn't really an ounce of excitement or pleasure in it all.

When I was at school, many years ago now, we read some of  Robert Louis Stevenson's essays. The one that appealed to me most was his An Apology for Idlers, which is against very many principles which are held dear by so many today.  Stevenson maintained that "extreme busyness" was a "symptom of defective vitality" and complained that when waiting for a train, the "busy man" had a wooden expression because he did not know what to do with the time on his hands. Stevenson advocated being idle, by which he meant taking in our surroundings and, like the poet William Henry Davis in his poem Leisure watching Nature's feet "how they can dance".
Let's start doing this from now on.Every day will be a big adventure.

The Sweetest Words for an Author's Ear

The sweetest words that an author hears are when someone says "oh, you write those Romance novels I'm so fond of" or "Just read your crime novel and loved it" or anything in a similar vein. It just makes all the hours of hard work, editing, re-editing the editing, struggling with the plot, having a really bad day - or days - and having a really good day - or days, when all goes right and the writing flows.
These -ahem - deep thoughts cross my mind recently when I met two readers who had read both my Sergeant Murray crime fiction books (written under my pen name P.B. Barry) and my Sunshine Cafe Romance novels which I wrote as Peggy O'Mahony. It really did give me a lift, especially as I was having a hard time getting part of the plot of my third Sergeant Murray mystery to gel into a suitable shape.
Authors are very sensitive creatures, I think. We constantly need encouragement, we need to know that yes, there are people out there who enjoy reading what we write. It's the human condition, isn't it? the need for reassurance, even if, like me, I write for the fun of it and not for fame or fortune. Of course it would be nice to have a list of best-sellers to my name and to appear at book launches and sign my name on my books for all the adoring fans, but that isn't going to happen and I'm not sure if it would suit me if it did. Being a self-published author, I can choose my own time to write (no pressure!) or not to write. I am not tied to any deadline. I do work hard to make my novels as good as possible and I am a very harsh critic of my own work, but aside from that, I don't let it dominate who I am or what I do. It's just great fun to spin these tales and invent this little world inside my head.

But when someone comes up to me and says they loved my novel, well, that's a very special feeling and one I wouldn't swap for anything.

Love at First Sight - Believing in the magical things

It's OK to be realistic, practical, down-to-earth. I'd like to think that is what I am most of the time. But there are things I like to believe. Take love at first sight, for example. It's the theme of so many romance novels and most of us have fallen in love with someone the first time we've seen them. Scientists and researchers would have us believe that it is not love at all but an innate desire for survival. We estimate that this person would make a good mate, would provide for us and together we would produce strong healthy children. Apparently this all goes back to caveman times and the survival gene we are all supposed to possess...
There goes your romantic dreams! But only if you believe the scientists.

Vincent van Gogh is one of my favourite painters and I love his "starry nights". I have a copy of his painting of The Cafe Terrace on the Place du Forum at Arles hanging in my living room and love to look at it. It is so atmospheric, bringing memories of long summer evenings. Again, I recently read somewhere that the reason he painted those glorious starry skies was because he was taking some kind of medication at the time which produced a halo around lamps or stars when he viewed them.
Do I really want to believe that? No, I do not. I like to think that he looked up at the night sky and felt that awe we all feel on a cloudless night when the stars are twinkling and oh so far away and you wonder what it would be like to be up there....

Last weekend the dawn chorus was transmitted by multiple radio stations around the world until 6 a.m.GMT. I must admit that I did not sit up all night to hear it but did listen in to snatches during the night. It must have been a pretty awesome experience to anyone who did listen the whole time.
Next day I read a report which said that the male birds sing at dawn to declare their territorial rights and attract females. There was I, thinking birds sang to welcome the sunrise after a long night perched in a tree. Naive, perhaps? But I prefer my version. The dawn chorus, birdsong in the spring, are all delights of Nature and we should listen and be glad and not pay too much attention to all that scientific stuff. Life is for living and enjoying, after all.

The Shopping Demon bit me

I went to Cork today. It wasn't exactly planned. I needed ink for my printer and when I tried to buy it locally, it was no longer available. No joy in asking in the store. No, we don't have it in stock was all the answer I got. So, off to the big city to get some.

It is a cold day with a North wind that would take your eyebrows off but the sun is shining and I saw a solitary swallow this morning, so summer is hovering out there somewhere. Therefore, an enjoyable trip on the bus.

I still had a bit of trouble getting the ink for my printer but finally found a supermarket which stocks it and which shall be nameless but it starts with the letter "T", and I bought two double packs (black and colour), so I should be ok for a while now.  Why is it, that if you have something for a couple of years, it becomes nearly impossible to get the "bits" such as ink for my printer?  Sigh, sigh.

I had a cup of tea and a scone at the Roundy Bar which is a great place to go if you are on your own, or even if you are not. You can sit outside on the pavement or inside where the furniture is scuffed and worn. There is a nice relaxed atmosphere and I enjoyed the break. The tea was good, too.

From the Roundy Bar I went to the Franciscan church to thank St. Anthony for all manner of things lost and found and to increase my store of goodwill with him in case anything else gets lost and needs to be found in the future. I love that church, it is so peaceful.

Of course I should have gone home after that but I didn't. Instead I bought a lip brush, new make up, a new shoulder bag which is just what I need when I am at the races tomorrow, earrings and a matching necklace (also what I need for the races...), a special patchy thing for my sore toe (well it was half price - the patchy thing, not my toe!), two regional newspapers just to see if I can write an article for them about my novels; oh, and I stopped off at the Cancer Charity Shop and bought a Len Deighton book London Match (I read it years ago, it is third in his Game,Set and Match trilogy which I really enjoyed). Finally, my bank account caved in and I got the bus home.

Altogether an enjoyable day! Shopping is such fun when you don't actually have to do any.

Earth Day - is anyone in?

Today has been designated Earth Day. What does that mean, exactly?  This is where we live, on this planet revolving in outer space with all the stars and satellites. There are other worlds out there at an unimaginable distance from our own planet. When I am house-sitting in the country I love to go out on the lawn and look up at the stars of a summer's night. There they are, glittering away, keeping their orbits, as they have been doing for time immemorial. Gives you goosebumps, if you think about it, doesn't it?

We miss so many things simply because we don't take any notice of them. The poets have been pointing this out to us for centuries. We inhabit this planet and we should treat it like our own living room. Somewhere to welcome visitors, to relax in, somewhere we cherish.  Now, that is a sobering thought.

Let's go for a walk today and see what new things we can discover. If we live in a city, we can watch for the signs of spring in the trees (every street has a few trees) or we can visit a park and smell the warmth of the grass growing in the sun.  Or we can watch a cat sleeping in someone's garden (there's one tortoiseshell one which I see on my walks). If we go shopping and pass a florists, we can breathe in that heady scent of all the flowers on offer. There is so much to be thankful for and today, on Earth Day, is a good time to recall it.

Things you never needed to know (probably)

To misquote Shakespeare : I am a snapper up of unconsidered bits of information which no one needs to know. It's just a habit I picked up I know not where. For example, this morning I learned that scientists may have discovered why shoelaces come undone. If you pull on your sneakers of a morning and prepare for your jog, you might find that, along the way, the laces open and passers by will call your attention to this or you'll stand on the trailing bit of shoe lace and nearly trip up.
Apparently the scientists at California Berkeley University looked into this "shoelace knot failure". And now you want to know the answer, right? It's what keeps you awake at night. Well, the answer is interesting: the forces of a foot striking the ground stretches and then relaxes the knot, while a second force caused by the leg swinging, acts on the ends of the laces like an invisible hand. The expression "may the force be with you" has even more intriguing possibilities than I ever imagined.

Here's another bit of riveting stuff - and then I'm done, promise! Researchers at the University of Sussex and University College London found that the word "please" was used nearly twice as much by the British compared to Americans. Not surprising from a nation which likes to form orderly queues or lines to use the American term. I have my doubts, though. Let's face it, if you travel on the Underground in London, the word "please" is used countless times as in "Please mind the gap!"

There is nothing like dropping one or two of these bits of information into your conversation the next time you are stuck for small talk. I remember telling someone that, according to statistics, it rains in England on Fridays more than any other day of the week. I was actually escorting this person from Reception to my (big) boss's office and was a bit desperate how to keep the conversation flowing and it was a Friday and it was raining...  Anyway, he was so amused that he repeated it to my boss who thought it showed remarkable intelligence on my part - but I won't go in to that.

Happy Easter / Happy Holidays to all my readers.

🐇🐑

Toddlers and Travels

I read somewhere that the new airline regulation banning laptops and large smart phones etc. from cabin luggage on some flights was causing consternation with parents travelling with small children.
What can you do with a toddler on a 3-hour flight, say? There have been a lot of suggestions and tips and I would like to add my - not to be taken too seriously - three ideas to mitigate the situation.
Having been on flights with truculent three-year-olds before toddlers were au fait with laptops and tablets, believe me, I feel for the lone parent on such journeys. Kids never sleep when you want them to. I recall my daughter fretting all the way to Frankfurt and then falling into the Land of Nod as we circled the airport for landing, and being extremely irritated at being woken up.

Anyway, for what they are worth, here are my three little tips for the journey: Tongue in cheek everyone!

1. Remember when you said you'd never ask your mother-in-law for a favour and you could get along just fine without her help/interference?  Now might be the time to re-think that rash statement, review your opinion of her parental skills (maybe your husband would have been like that anyway regardless of his upbringing) and ask if she'd take the kids while you fly off to wherever.
2. Keep your little darlings up late the night before the trip. Oh, once on the airplane, they'll fight off sleep/drowsiness as if it were the plague and their voices will get really shrill but if you hang on to your patience they will eventually doze off, especially if you read them a story in a monotonous voice.  If this is the first time you have read them a story, of course, they might be so excited/enthralled that they stay awake and insist on more. Which is another way of keeping them quiet, so worth a try.
3. Lastly - and this worked remarkably well for me - stuff as many colouring books and crayons as you can into your hand luggage along with a pack of cards and a few board games suitable for toddlers. They won't want to colour in pictures or learn anything but by the time you have exhausted your efforts to get them interested, you will have either a) engaged the attention of another adult who might help in diverting them or b) you will have arrived at your destination.

 Safe journey if you are travelling!

Getting along with the Brits

I saw a headline on the BBC website this morning entitled "How to Survive the British Workplace". Apparently researchers are examining the culture of politeness. They found, for example, that the British use the word "please" nearly twice as much as their American counterparts. Advice on the BBC website said newcomers at work should "be on time, go for a pint after work with colleagues, and be polite". Not too difficult, eh?

Be that as it may, the subject made me remember my first introduction to working in London - too many years ago to tell you exactly when that was!  I came from friendly Ireland, where newcomers at work are questioned about their origins, are shown where the tea and coffee are kept, where the bathroom is, the closing times of all the local shops and the best place to buy your cheese sandwich. I started off in the typing pool of a big advertising agency in Green Park where my job was to type invoices (ah, yes, in those pre-computer days, invoices were typed up and offices resounded to the friendly clack of typewriters). No one spoke to me (except the supervisor, a lovely motherly lady who had lived in Kenya). I found it hard to understand the English accents and they found it hard to understand my Irish brogue. There was a shop on the premises and everyone cleared off at lunch time and bought their sandwiches there without telling me. I thought they all hated me. To be fair, I must admit that I was very shy and completely over-awed at working in such a glamorous place in London's West End. Which didn't help!
Resigned to my fate, I crept to my desk every morning and pretended to be invisible. Then, when I had been there about a week, the girl at the desk next to mine passed some comment to me about the group Fleetwood Mac. At that time, Fleetwood Mac had a huge hit with "Albatross" and I was an out and out fan. Which I told my companion. It turned out she was dating the drummer, I think it was the drummer but can't be sure after all these years. This chance remark sealed my fate and suddenly all of the girls were chatting away and including me in their conversation and telling me their life stories. It was like being back in Dublin!
When I had changed jobs a few times, I discovered that the British are simply reserved, not to say shy, in many cases. They like to eye you up before trying to get to know you. It's just the first week that can be a bit quiet. After that they are great fun to work with and I certainly enjoyed my working years in London.

Carnival in Germany

I think it is a shame that Ireland is not into carnival. We celebrate St. Patrick's Day with parades and  drowning the shamrock. We celebrate winning at International Rugby, Football (in season) and Horse Racing. Cheltenham is coming up and already there is a fever in the air at the prospect of spending a few days away and maybe, just maybe, having the winner of the Gold Cup. Yes, I'll be putting some money on and watching it on television. My point is, we are good at celebrating and holding parades so I wonder why carnival never caught on either in Ireland or England. All we end up doing is eating pancakes on Shrove Tuesday. Sounds a bit tame in comparison, doesn't it?
When I lived in Germany I was amazed when someone explained about "Fasching" which is their word for carnival. I would never have thought that the somewhat stiff and formal Germans would indulge in such frivolities. They do, and they really let themselves go. The carnival season starts at 11 minutes past 11 on the morning of the 11th day of the 11th month, that's 11 a.m. on November 11th in case you're lost. A king and queen of carnival is chosen for each town and village and they attend all the balls and other events which are held.  They dress up with crowns and sumptious gear, too. My neighbours took it very seriously and had a different costume for each of the balls they went to.
The last three days before Ash Wednesday, when Lent begins, are the wildest part. In the town where I lived there was a parade on Rose Monday (Rosenmontag) which ended in the storming of the town hall. We had a real cannon which shot confetti into the air and onto the balcony of the town hall until the mayor came out with his staff and "surrendered". We all then rushed inside where food and music and drinks were provided. Everyone danced. My children loved it.
I would like to attend the carnival in Venice with its masked balls but I have a sneaking suspicion that although very elegant, it wouldn't be half the fun. Now, the mardi gras in New Orleans or a trip to Rio where no one sleeps for the three days before Ash Wednesday (or so I'm told) would be certainly unforgettable - in more ways than one.
Failing that, I might try to be in Germany or Austria come to that, which also celebrates carnival, for next year's season. To my readers in Germany a big : Helau!

Reading the Right Stuff

There is nothing more pleasurable than relaxing with a good book - at least from my point of view. To pour that cup of tea and snuggle down among the cushions, knowing that you are going to be entertained, is one of the nicest things in a sometimes scary world. 
I read Icarus by Deon Meyer and loved every twist and turn in the plot. Not for the plot itself, maybe, although that was interesting, but for the characters within the novel's pages and the description of the area around South Africa's Cape Town. I felt like an insider in the Police Department. I browsed through the glossary of Afrikaans terms at the back of the novel and smiled at more than one. And I learned enough about wine growing to make my next purchase a South African wine. Really great stuff. Deon Meyer writes the Benny Griesel series and this was one of the novels in that series.

I have just finished reading Land of Shadows by Rachel Howzell Hall. Hall is a black American writer who lives in Los Angeles where the story is set. Again, this was a terrific read and I enjoyed every minute. And again, this was largely due to the characters and Hall's mastery of the writing craft. She pulled me into the story in the first few pages. I was inside The Jungle, and The Jungle represents every failed inner city housing programme in every country around the world. Here are two sentences which size up the book and Hall's wonderful style of writing: "The neighborhood was bad when I was a kid, but in a candy-is-bad-for-you kind of way. Now, though, it was bad for you like swallowing Drano followed by rat poison chaser".  Need I say more?  Rachel Howzell Hall writes the Detective Elouise Norton series and this novel was one in that series. I had not heard of her before and am very grateful to my local library that this novel was among some of their recommended reads.

Currently I am reading A Question of Faith by Donna Leon, set in Venice, it is a Commisario Brunetti story. I have to admit that I tried reading Donna Leon several years ago but gave up as I couldn't warm up to her style. This is my second time around and I am enjoying it. Last month I picked up Through a Glass Darkly by Leon at the library, though feeling somewhat sceptical about it. However, it grew on me.  I have been to Venice a number of times: once during a bad storm in late October when the city felt eerie and mysterious after dark and a few years later in the middle of a heatwave in July.  Having wandered the city on my own, stood on the Rialto bridge in the pouring rain and bargained for sweatshirts with Venezia emblazoned across them for my kids (who weren't remotely impressed), I feel I know the city in the novels.  Leon writes in a very different style than Meyer or Hall. Although we read about the corruption and the frustrations of some of the city's inhabitants, I don't think we feel it too deeply, at least I did not. Not like Hall's depiction of The Jungle in her novel, at any rate. But perhaps that's a good thing. It does make for pleasant reading and mild curiosity about how the story is going to pan out. Donna Leon is a very popular writer and she deserves it. Her prose is elegant, her characters are attractive.
I am not a fan of violent graphic crime novels, although I do like them to be realistic. Above all, I like good prose and that is what I have found in all three of the above novels - and hats off to Deon Meyer's translator, whose name escapes me at the moment.

Print and Be Happy - an indie author explains how she converted to Print on Demand

Probably every writer wants to see their book in print and I include myself in that number.  People who didn't own a Kindle would raise their eyebrows and, from their expressions, I gathered that some of them didn't actually believe I had written anything in the nature of a novel. If you can't hold it in your hand, it doesn't exist. But many others were disappointed because they couldn't get into the idea of reading a novel on a device.  It was high time I looked into printing on paper.

However, as an indie author, I deemed it much too daunting an enterprise to start. Then I read an article in the UK's Writing Magazine  with a step-by-step guide on how to publish with Amazon's CreateSpace and decided to give it a go.  I'm glad I did. For one thing, it was easy once I got the hang of it - Writing Magazine did a fantastic job of explaining it all. You don't need to be a super-techie, you are guided every step of the way. And I love a challenge!

My five novels are now all available as POD (print on demand) paperbacks and can be purchased in most online bookstores, including Amazon of course. Print on Demand means that a book is only printed when it is purchased. In the case of print books, the bookstore agrees to buy so many copies from the publisher and can return unsold copies. With POD there is no such agreement since only items ordered are actually printed and supplied.  I think this could be regarded as part of a "save the planet" project. It reduces the amount of paper used on publishing.

Are there down sides?  Yes, of course. If you are at an airport and looking for a novel to read on your travels, POD isn't going to be much help. Besides, we all love browsing in book stores. Printed novels and POD novels can live happily together. Long may they prosper.

A Random Saturday

I have lived most of my life in big cities and big towns, so despite having spent my childhood on a farm, I occasionally get the itch to leave the sleepy seaside town I now live in and pay a visit to the nearest city, which is Cork city.
So, this morning, with no plan as to what I intended doing in Cork, I hopped on the bus at 10:25 and arrived in the city a bit after 11:30 with the whole day in front of me. To be absolutely truthful, I did bring some books which I had read and did not want to keep. I intended dropping them off at the Oxfam shop near Paul Street shopping centre. Among them was Whiskey Tango Foxtrot which I have just finished reading. However, when I got there, I discovered that the Oxfam shop had closed. I trotted up to Vibes and Scribes and sold two of the newly published books to them for €2.20. From there I went to the Cancer Support Shop and donated the remainder. Which just goes to show how resourceful I am!
I felt good about that and decided I would get my hair cut. I had noticed a salon near where the Oxfam Shop used to be where you didn't have to have an appointment.  Now, my hair has never properly grown back since chemotherapy some 9 years ago so it is always a bit hit or miss with hairdressers, especially young ones who are timid about cutting off most of my hair, seeing as how I have so little in the first place. I am forever pointing out that a lot less looks better than the wide open space on my crown where hair is pretty sparse, to put it mildly.  Just Cuts, as the place is called, were very welcoming. Lorraine snipped and chatted and I was very pleased with the end result. Getting your hair done always makes a woman feel special, I think. So, another good feeling when I left the salon.
I had decided I would pop out to Mahon shopping centre where I had not been for nearly a year. I missed the bus and was absolutely starving, so decided I would get a takeaway burger from The Fish Wife which, incidentally is ranked around #10 from 400 or more Cork eateries. Just as I emerged with my purchase the next bus pulled in (never trust that timetable, folks!) and I got on board bearing this absolutely ravishingly smelling burger. No eating on the bus, or at least I didn't feel like eating because I tried this once and when the driver braked - well I'll leave to your imagination and only say I looked like a vampire after its first kill. The rumblings of my stomach must have been heard at Blarney Castle and I lit into that burger as soon as I was off the bus.
I wandered around Mahon Point, bought two t-shirts for my grandsons, had a latte and a pecan and walnut muffin, then got the bus back to the city centre. Dropped into the English Market to get sweet potatoes and a big bag of apples and yes, some dates as well and only just made the return bus home.

It was a great day and I really enjoyed my clash with the big world of cities. Tomorrow I'll walk to the beach and enjoy the quieter pace of things here. In the meantime, here is a picture of the stormy tide at the end of my street a few days ago when we had a gale force wind. Enjoy your Sunday, everyone!

Not to be taken seriously

I sat in the doctor's waiting room this morning and leafed through a "psychology" magazine. It had all sorts of articles and statistics. Now I must admit, I adore statistics, and the more off beat the better.
This morning I learned that you are 15% more inclined to feel cheerful if you speak to a cheerful person. Makes sense, doesn't it? Then I started to wonder how they worked that out. How many people had to speak to cheerful people and what was their frame of mind beforehand and how could you measure it even if you knew? And what about the cheerful people? Were they cheerful beforehand or had they met someone who was cheerful thus making them 15% more cheerful?

I learned that 75% of American children over the age of 25 still live at home. At least 75% of social media users make their lives more exciting than they really are. 75% more millenials listen to music compared to baby boomers. 70% of people tested ate when not hungry if the food was placed in front of them and around 20% if food was on display.

I learned that married men had at least two affairs, married women three.(What, everyone's cheating?). I learned that two out of five children drop out of college or refuse to take a career path favoured by their parents. The trick here, obviously, is to have only the three children who don't create any hassle.

Like Alice in Wonderland, I came back to the present fighting off the questions and meekly followed the nurse into her den to get my blood test done.

Nothing lost in translation

Did I mention that I'm not the most disciplined person on the planet? In my last post I said I had Whiskey Tango Foxtrot lined up to read next. In fact, when I went to the library to change books that were within a whisker of being overdue, I picked up Icarus by Deon Meyer.  I am a huge fan of this South African writer and so I have settled down most happily every evening to read this Benny Griesel novel. The story is set in the Cape region. It is translated from the Afrikaans and the translator has left in a lot of Afrikaans expressions which contributes much to the atmosphere of the story.  As I speak German I can get the gist of some of them, i.e lekker which means good, delicious or tasty, and the word lecker in German which means tasty. We get a wonderful insight into the workings of the police and all the tension caused by the various cultures. I love the place names, too: Melkbosstrand, Brackenfell, Buitenkant Street, Table View.  Great writing!
All of which almost makes me want to close the lid of my laptop -  the modern equivalent of putting the quill back in the goose.  Still, I shall persevere.

I am currently working on the conversion of my two crime novels Death in a Lonely Place and Ending in Death, both of which will soon be available as paperbacks. If you like Agatha Christie, Ruth Rendell, Deon Meyer - mystery without too much violence - you will enjoy these tales.

I now have three novels available as paperbacks on Amazon and I note with much pride that one of them, Spate of Violence, has sold in the United States. This is a story of urban problems which could take place anywhere. I have set it in Germany because I was living in that country when I wrote it a few years ago. I think its theme is still very relevant today.
The other two novels which can now be purchased as paperback are my Romance novels: Love at a Later Date and Love at Close Range, both of which follow the stories of friends Ginny and Deirdre in the first novel and of Deirdre and Chloe in Love at Close Range. They are "feel good" stories but they do touch on modern themes.

And now, I am going to call it a day.  Outside dusk is falling and it is time to think about preparing supper. Happy Reading everyone!

What are you reading?

At Christmas we all get books as presents.  I, for one, feel almost an obligation to read them all whether I like them or not.  Or that was what I felt in the past.  Nowadays I think life is much too short and there are too many other books out there for me to persevere with a novel which, although highly rated by the critics, does not interest me enough to keep turning the pages.  This is no reflection on the author, I hasten to add. It is solely about taste in reading.

I do not like depressing books of terrible childhoods, nor do I like gruesome murder stories. In fiction, I like mysteries and spy stories and some adventure stories.  I read biographies rather than autobiographies (which tend to be prejudiced naturally enough).

What am I reading this minute?  I am nearly finished Road Rage by Ruth Rendell written in 1997 about a proposed bypass and a group of people who want to save the woods it will impinge on. Still very topical today.  She is one of my favourite authors although here and there she has disappointed me.  Overall though, her earlier novels especially, are brilliant. There is an "everyday-ness" about the way she writes, and her command of language is excellent. Inspector Wexford appears as a very human police officer. I am enjoying every minute of this novel.
Next on my list is Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, originally called The Taliban Shuffle, by Kim Barker, a rookie reporter sent to Afghanistan. I bought this one myself, having read a review of it. I have not seen the film.

As for books I have put aside after a couple of attempts at reading them, well I won't name them here but the saying "don't judge a book by the cover" is more apt than we are inclined to think. By "cover" in this case I mean all that hype by other authors and critics from some of the Press on the back cover.
One of the novels given to me as a present had won a prize for its "feisty, glowing prose".  I'm afraid I couldn't discover this aspect of the story which was as dreary and depressing as could be. So I closed it after struggling through three chapters or more and skimming through a few pages in the middle. As I said, life is too short....

We are nearly halfway through the working week, so enjoy whatever you are doing, it's not long until Friday!

New Beginnings

We are already 6 days in to the New Year and although I struggle with writing the year as 2017, I know that in a very short time it will become automatic.
I have had an interesting start to 2017 (there! I've written it without any problems!). On Tuesday I had my problem tooth checked by the orthodontic surgeon and all was well so I do not have to have another check up until next year which, his Receptionist reminded me, will be January 2018. Three cheers for that!  I would hate to start off on the root canal saga of last year.  A tick beside the "Positive" box.
On Thursday I had a small lesion removed from the lower lid of my right eye. The surgeon assured me it looked harmless, they would do a biopsy and he would only contact me if there was a problem.
The only unpleasant thing about this operation was getting the injections to deaden the area.  Eeek!
I now somewhat resemble a panda when seen face on, there is a great big black bruise below my eye. It is a bit tender but not half as bad as it looks. I am doing my best to be nonchalant about it and act as if this is the latest fashion for January 2017 - despite people asking me in gentle tones if I'm all right.

Apart from that I have been busy converting my e-books into paperback. This means editing them again and it is amazing what needs to be done on this score, despite all the editing I did before publishing as an e-book. There is always room for improvement.

I have changed the wallpaper on my laptop to a shot of Frankfurt in late summer which I took last year and which sort of compensates for the grey foggy day which I can see outside my window.
Oh well, back to editing now - and I must really start on my third Sergeant Alan Murray mystery, the characters inside my head are waving at me and insisting on being transferred to paper.  A cup of coffee and here goes.  Oh, and here is the picture of Frankfurt flower stalls:

Hope you like it.  Roll on Spring!