Richard in the street entrance to his tattoo studio in Liverpool. The vertical sign next to Richard is now in the Liverpool Tattoo Museum. Yesterday, my sister Evelyn, Richard and myself stood outside Richard's old tattoo studio and looked up at the few remaining signs, whose paint has now mostly flacked away to reveal bare wood. On the studio's window are stick-on letters which read, "Art", where once it boldly announced his presence as the city's only "Tattoo Artist".  I can remember him buying that simple plastic lettering from an old-fashioned printer's shop. This was in 1993, not long after he'd opened the studio and before he could afford better signs. After he'd patiently stuck them onto the glass we realised that from the outside the sign read "Artist Tattoo", so we had to carefully peel the letters off the window and have another go, laughing over having made such an obvious error yet worried in case we spoiled the letteri...

Here's a photo of me, standing on the old Roman wall in Chester.  Richard and I were there on Tuesday, pottering round the city's various junk shops and art galleries. We went into Alison Bradley 's artist-owned gallery, and enjoyed a pleasant chat with her partner, who told us Alison uses a combination of sketching and photography as a basis for many of her paintings.  We both really liked her work, and it was interesting to see her treatment of the Liverpool waterfront which I've only recently painted.  Her studies of working sheepdogs and the landscapes of Wirral and north Wales are admirable. Later, we had the real pleasure of listening to Ed Alleyne-Johnson busking on his electric violin in the cathedral square, near the bus station. My old pal Sylvia Taylor has been on TV.  As I don't own a television set I've been unable to watch her work as a support artist in Little Boy Blue , a four-part drama about the real-life murder of a Liverpool boy, bu...

Rapid sketch of moorhens; 2016. I'm enjoying a spot of annual leave this week, which began with a lively and well-attended writers' event at Bebington Library on Saturday the 19th.  This featured members of Wirral Writers , Bebington Bards , the 3Ls Creative Writing Group and Riverside Writers .  I'm no longer a member of Riverside Writers due to constraints of time, but I had been invited to join in anyway. Due to there being so many writers and poets wishing to read, a strict time limit was imposed and so the audience only heard half of my 1,600 word story, Fame, which is about an obscure, ageing rock singer who has turned up on Facebook.  It's a story about reminiscing and unachieved ambitions which still tempt. My sister Evelyn came to the library event, and afterwards she and I travelled to my home with my friends Tim and Nigel, where we all socialised for a couple of hours and caught up on news. I've been generally tidying up the house.  It is now ...

In the mid-1980's I was working for South Sefton Health Authority.  Based at Fazakerley Hospital in Liverpool, I was part of a small team of Health Promotion Officers who'd drive around north Liverpool in an old double-decker bus.  The lower deck had been converted into a creche, while the upper deck housed a tiny clinic area and an information resource centre.  For the most part, our team handed out leaflets and played videos  - anti-smoking, healthy nutrition, oral hygiene, etc.  One of the leaflets was the infamous AIDS tombstone leaflet intended to terrify people into using condoms to slow the spread of this rampant disease which would, it seemed at the time, lead to us all having to step round corpses in the streets. And while people certainly have died from AIDS, (or from the treatments given to control it, especially in those early years), many who now live with the HIV virus no longer need fear an automatic death sentence.  Apparently, a...

Frederika I had lunch with an old friend on Thursday.  Freddie and I have known each other since high school days, when we were regular attendees at the Lowton Vortex.  I wonder how many Lowton people remember the youth club being nicknamed that?  Not many, I'm sure.  Anyway, that was a looooooong time ago; mucho aqua under the bridge etc. etc.  Freddie now lives in Nottingham but she was visiting family who still live in Lowton, and as I have family there too we decided to meet for the first time in around twenty years. I recognised her immediately, even though she was standing with her back to me.  As we crossed the road, heading towards The Waterside pub-restaurant in Leigh, who did we see but my neice Vikkey with nine-month old baby Logan.  "Hello Logan, I'm you're Aunt Adele," - and right on cue he began wailing.  I have this effect on kids.  Lunch was good.  Freddie and I had a great time catching up on each other's news, of co...

One of our garden's visitors A friend challenged me to sum up the themes of my novels in just two or three words. After a few moments, I said that Tamsin is about making choices, Rowan is about taking responsibility, Bethany Rose is about overcoming adversity;and Fabian is about taking control. It was an interesting exercise as I'd not consciously thought about it before. Have a go yourself, either with something you've written or with a few favourites novels. If you're wondering what's happening on the writing front: (a) I've nearly finished correcting the proof copy of Bethany Rose ; (b) the Seaside Stories anthology is still receiving a few submissions; (c) I'm selecting and completing work for another short story collection; and (d) there was an article about cryonics in Marie Claire magazine's August issue which featured me and two friends. I hadn't known the relevant magazine issue had come out until Freddie told me. She and I have b...

It’s strange to realise that we’re only eleven days from the summer solstice and yet spring blossom lingers on the trees here. How are you planning to spend the solstice? Do you do anything to celebrate the year’s longest day? Many people assume I’ll be heading off to Stonehenge. They’re wrong. I much prefer to visit such places when I’m the only person around, so that means out-of-season and usually in weather which deters everyone else. I have my reasons. In all truth, I’ve never once been to Stonehenge. When I was a child, my parents tried visiting it but couldn’t find it. I kept insisting they were walking in the wrong direction…. Speaking of amusing visits, much fun was had during a recent weekend break with friends. Topics for discussion were kittens, pregnancy, the whereabouts of food deliveries and the mysteries of the universe - all splendid stuff! Returning home, chaos awaited. Can’t I leave this house for a few days without mayhem erupting?!! The dogs had sulked, t...

It has been a busy week in hubby’s studio, and a fun week also - which began with Chris coming in with his bongos and entertaining clients while they waited to be tattooed. Chris is a really cool guy, heavily into Native American shamanism and philosophy. Everyone loved listening to him play his bongos, and a few clients were tempted to have a go themselves. Later in the week, a lady told a hilarious story about her three West Highland White Terriers. Her father is looking after them for a while, and as he’s a barber he thought he’d save her some money by trimming their coats himself. So he whipped out the electric trimmers and gave each of them a No.1 haircut. When she saw what he’d done, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry! Crufts would not approve. Meanwhile, I was talking to Tim - who is recuperating after an operation - and learned that he has had a life-long interest in model-making which began when his father used to bring home sheets of white card (which had been used...

Wrote 1,850 words this morning, which takes the total word-count for Bethany Rose up to 23,250 so far. Writing the spooky bits is such fun...! Warm spring sunshine yesterday enabled me to get some weeding done. Today's torrential rain has forced me to postpone further efforts. We have three yellow crocus and a patch of snowdrops in bloom. What happened to the rest of my crocus though? I planted heaps of them four years ago, and there has been less each year. Anyway, yesterday I had no sooner finished weeding a stretch of one border when a cute little robin came to investigate. I was looking out of the kitchen window as I was washing my hands, and saw a wren on the fence. Bathed the dogs yesterday. I managed to capture them in the bathroom by stealth. Otherwise if they hear the 'B' word they hide under the bed and will not come out! I bathed Emily first as she was the cleanest. I'd no sooner towelled her dry than she jumped back in the bath to torment Ygraine. So th...

Richard has the bubonic plague a headcold. 2am saw me padding around the living room, wide awake. Hubby was snoring like a jammed lawnmower, which is not conducive to restful meditations.  So I'd come down here, lit some incense and read for a while. Mum's not feeling too well. She had food poisoning after eating out, followed by a cold, and now her balance has gone haywire again. She's had inner ear infections before, several times that I can remember. Evelyn stayed the first night with her and took her to the doctor's in the morning. When I spoke to her, Mum said she was feeling better but the Stenetil tablets make her very sleepy. Cat is now an official university student! Yaay!!! And she's bought a pet snake named Havok.... Two friends were caught up in the recent airline collapse. Lynn and Lee had only three days left of their Greek island holiday when their hotel manager told them their room had not been paid for. They were given the choice of paying...

Saturday saw me in Manchester, when I met with two friends. When burgers were suggested for lunch I hesitated. Regular readers of my scribblings will know I avoid junk food like the plague. However, my two friends hold similar leanings regards health and aesthetics and they said this restaurant made its own burgers from 100% Aberdeen Angus beef. We just made it before a monsoon drenched the city! http://thatsfoodanddrink.blogspot.com/2007/07/gourmet-burger-kitchen-opens-in.html  offers a fair description of GBK. So, yes, if you’re in Manchester and are feeling hungry, I can recommend the place – pleasant surroundings, reasonably priced and excellent food. The milk shakes were yummy, too. Sunday saw Emily waiting for Cat to arrive. That puppy explodes into happy yipping-yapping when my niece’s arrival makes the front gate squeak. The poor girl can hardly get through the door for our two dogs excitedly greeting her. She was wearing black jeans. Oh dear. When will she learn? Bl...

"T" Saturday March 8th, 2008. Fly free, old friend.  

Riverside Writers met last night and we had two new people join us, which is always nice. Last month’s writing project was to create a poem or short story with the title of The Killing Tale , and all but one person had produced work for that. We were joined by John Gorman of the Wirral Academy of Arts, which has just been granted charitable status. He was able to tell us that the public performance (by professional actors) of submitted work for Wirral Writers Inc has been postponed until April 2008, in order to combine this event with another literary festival and so make promotion more effective. The bad news is that the Hallowe’en ghost tour has also been postponed until next year, because apparently I’m the only writer who’s produced any work for it! What happened to everyone else?!! Ah well, c’est la vive… I’ll use my work elsewhere in the meantime. *** It looks like there’s a storm blowing in for this evening. I’m having to keep an eye out for raindrops while I’m typing t...

Revealed - the mystery behind the poem (mistakenly attributed to me) which appeared on Terry Wogan's radio show:  SylviaTaylor  - actress, playwright, stalwart of medieval battle re-enactments, and soon-to-be film director (shooting starts this spring) - and old school pal. We were reminding each other of the dubious delights of our old school days just recently. Sylvia volunteered the information that it was she who had caught me when I passed into blissful unconsciousness during The Human Biology Film. You know, the one with some brave woman howling, "Oooooww!!! Arrrrrrgh!" rather a lot. How could I resist reminiscing about the day Sylvia fell into a cesspit during a cross-country run? Ah, the joys of youth. Well, our builders have finished plastering the bathroom walls, the new bath is plumbed in and some of the floorboards have been repaired. If any of you would like some dust, we have plenty going spare.

What exactly is the point of Christmas cards? Why do people who've not picked up the phone to say hi once during the last twelve months suddenly feel compelled to mail me images of bloated snowmen? One card arrived with "write soon" scribbled in one corner. Hmm, if memory serves me well, this same person had written a similar message on the card she sent last year, and when I did write a letter no reply was forthcoming. I won’t be bothering again. Bah humbug. Certainly we’ve had no real snowmen here this year. In fact, we’ve not even had an overnight frost. It’s so mild that I’ve got roses coming into full bloom in the garden, and around the village are cherry trees in flower. This is not normal winter weather! Anyway, half of the seasonal nonsense is now over, and the shops are desperately trying to sell us the same junk which we didn’t want before the 25th. We had to brave the insanity of Birkenhead on the 24th, unfortunately, as my digital camera isn’t working pr...

When the conversation you’re having is destined to become a blog post, you know you’ve been on-line too long…. Me: Remember Sylvia? Well, she’s teaching drama at our old school now. Slightly Dippy Relative (SDR): Does she do demonstrations? Me: I expect so. SDR: Karma – that’s that Chinese thing where they move slowly. Me: Huh? No, that’s Tai Chi! SDR: What’s karma, then? Me: That’s the philosophy of how you reap what you sow. SDR: (mumbles) Me: Anyway, she’s teaching drama, not karma. SDR: Oh, that’s no good, then. *** I have just learned that a friend of mine, who is in her eighties, is recovering from a stroke which temporarily rendered her unable to speak. Peggy’s doctor has told her that her heart could give up at any time, but then she’s already been living with that idea for the two decades that I’ve known her. Her speech seemed fully recovered when we were talking over the telephone. The stroke has damaged one arm and one side of her face, she told me. ...

...Just as Mishima 's "angel" was first encountered glowing with promise before the slow slide into decay, this armchair was once a normal shape. The rear cushion has certainly fallen into a form of decay - or at least something of a structural re-shaping due to the regular attentions of various sleepy four-footed members of this household. This photo explains everything. My computer is three years old tomorrow. You really wanted to know that, didn’t you! It’s Tristan ’s birthday on the 9th, too. The age of the now-defunct Brotherhood of the Jacuzzi almost corresponds to the age of my computer. I say almost, because… Oh never mind; that glorious episode of cyber-history is over now and 95% of you haven’t a clue what I’m reminiscing about anyway! My poor mother is going through the mill right now, what with my father’s slowly deteriorating condition, her brother having recently died, one of her sisters having recently had a mastectomy, and now she’s learned that a clos...

Despite appearances, our dog does have two ears. Her penchant for rolly-pollies on a freshly-mowed lawn is, however, self-evident. Conversation with a neighbour’s five-year-old: Boy: Is your dad a pirate? Me: My father? Boy: That man who lives there… (points to our house) …Is he a pirate? Me: No – whatever gives you that idea? Boy: We call him Pirate Man. Me: Why? (trying not to laugh) Boy: ‘Cause he looks like Captain Hook. Reading Living to Tell the Tale , it was heartening to see Gabriel Garcia Marquez state, at the end of chapter two, that “the first royalties that allowed me to live on my stories and novels were paid to me when I was in my forties, after I had published four books with the most abject earnings.” So many successful writers have similar tales. Most seem to plod away for years, getting sporadic pieces published here and there, until it’s as if they’ve undergone some kind of metamorphosis, like a moth struggling out of a chrysalis formed out of scaveng...