Here are March's efforts for my one-sketch-per-day project, now presented as a short video. Do let me know what you think, or if you've any suggestions or ideas. Actually, the hyacinth you see in one of the watercolour sketches here has now finished flowering so I've planted it in the garden. Hopefully it will come up again next year. It was in our living room, where it filled the air with its delicious, heady perfume. We're living in strange times, hmm? The news is laden with tragic death counts and infection rates and tales of life under the shadow of the coronavirus/COVID 19. The restaurant where my husband works is closed and this is his third week at home. So far he's weeded the garden, washed down all the windows inside and out, spring-cleaned the house and finished reading the entire series of graphic novels of the X-Men. At the time of typing this, he's just come back from walking the dogs and is now listening to Scala Radio while reading a Derek...

Sailing Into the Light; Adele Cosgrove-Bray; watercolour, 2018 I do like a good, old-fashioned ghost story, with a solid plot and a strong atmosphere, and this week I've enjoyed two. The first was Pay the Ghost , a film starring Nicolas Cage, Sarah Wayne Callies and child actor Jack Fulton, who already has an impressive filmography despite his tender age. A quick scan of online reviews show this film earned lukewarm responses at best, but both Richard and I really enjoyed it - which only demonstrates, once again, how totally subjective reviews are anyway. With Pay the Ghost  you get the story of a father doggedly searching for his missing child. His research takes him into the realms of folklore and fictional magic. My other ghostly encounter this week came in the form of Cass Green 's novel, In A Cottage In A Wood. A tale set in a remote Cornish cottage in dense woodland, and a London party girl spooked by strange happenings - sure ingredients for an entertaining pag...

David Bowie died today, aged 69, following an 18-month struggle with cancer. I never met him, not even briefly, but his music has been an important part of my life since he first appeared on "Top of the Pops" as Ziggy Stardust.  I was still a child then, but already into Marc Bolan's music.  David Bowie's music has been on my turntable, then cassette deck, then stack systems, then CD players ever since.  (I can't be bothered with my iPod; it's more trouble than it's worth and so gathers dust in a cupboard drawer.) Who could forget attending those "Bowie Nights" years ago, at Olivers nightclub in Leigh, when a perfectly mundane small-town disco would be transformed largely by an act of imagination into a doorway into another realm dedicated to the creative outpourings of Mr Bowie himself?  Everyday teens and twenties would tog themselves in theatrical replicas of his stage clothes, and dance the night away - or mime the night away, if a person...

As I rapidly head towards my 50th birthday, I'm a tad bewildered by 'How To Wear ...' fashion articles (pun intended).  Are methods of wearing clothes really a mystery, when all any person need do is stick their head through the neck hole, their arms through the arms holes or sleeves, pull the garment into place around the body then use any fasteners supplied.  This season's trending item will be next season's disparaged rag - assuming a person actually cares about such stuff. Thomas Joseph Walton used to say, "When I'm out, the wardrobe is out."  He was referring to his habit of wearing same clothes year in, year out.  When something finally fell into undeniable shabbiness his wife would ensure it vanished into the bin.  I saw him wear the same trousers for seven years, and they were already old when I met him.  Yet he did have better clothes; I once saw him dressed in a very smart evening suit with matching raincoat and trilby hat, when h...

Ed Alleyne-Johnson plays his electric violin. Thursday saw me in Chester, having a day's break from proofreading Tamsin.  After a pleasant lunch of chicken escalopes with prosciutto di Parma and mozzarella, I wandered onto Eastgate Street and immediately recognised the distinctive sounds of Ed Alleyne-Johnson's electric violin.  He was busking by one of the short flights of stone steps leading onto the mews, which are something of a tourist magnet because of their 'olde worlde' charm. So, after enjoying the music for a while, I wandered round the shops.  Why are Xmas decorations up already?  It's November still!  I really dislike the gradual spreading-out of this festival, with all its attendant kitsch.  If it was contained to the main fortnight it would be far less tedious. Each year at Riverside Writers, when we're setting our monthly writing project, someone will try to push for December's story or poem to be on a Xmas theme.  By far...

Chester was lovely yesterday - new jeans for Richard, new summer tops for me.  And as we paused at the Café Rouge, we had the unexpected pleasure of watching Ed Alleyne-Johnson playing his electric violin. When we'd finished our drinks, we strolled over to say hi.  We bought a copy of his latest CD, Argpeggio , which I'm playing right now as I prepare to finish writing another scene in Fabian . The video below will introduce viewers both to Ed's music and to Chester itself, which is easily one of my favourite places.

Learn more:  http://www.leruedelashay.com/

Ah, yes, every rainy Sunday afternoon when I was a child, my father's vinyl record collection would emerge from the gargantuan radiogram - a prized object the size of a sideboard, with a radio and record player built into it. A crackly loudspeaker was at either end, and inside was a slot intended to house the average person’s entire record collection, (probably around twenty LPs at the most.)   So the rain would fall, and the house would smell of the remains of Sunday dinner - a traditional roast, followed by a somewhat solid rice pudding - and rolling out of the prized loudspeakers would come such ‘delights’ as Delaney’s Donkey (as in the YouTube vid above) and Paddy McGuinty’s Goat , the theme music to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang or Paint Your Wagon and, just when it seemed things could not get worse, the dreaded James Last Orchestra. Ah, yes, the trials of youth…

I sat beside a big cannon on Monday. This was not my intention, as I rather like having ear-drums. However, Richard and I arrived late at the Echo Arena due to a heavy traffic jam through Liverpool, and someone else had whizzed our seats. Rather than struggle to find a staff member in the dark, and consequently miss even more of Raymond Gubbay’s Classical Spectacular, we simply helped ourselves to seats elsewhere. Hence our proximity to the cannon. We weren’t the only late arrivals. At least 200 people entered the Arena after us. And we didn’t notice the canon until we’d sat down. How do you miss a whopping great canon? Two, even. It’s a fair question. We were too busy muttering about the traffic jam and uncomfortable seats with stupid plastic arm-rests which are either set too high so your elbow starts aching or else they poke you in the back if you push them into their vertical position. And we were watching the light show. Hmm, Hawkwind could teach their techie team a thing or...

Sunday was fun. My sister Evelyn was here, then Lee arrived, and then Cat came round after she’d finished work. It’s not often that Evelyn is able to see her niece, so they enjoyed getting to know each other a little better over dinner. Earlier in the morning, Richard had cooked the roast lamb with honey and rosemary, and I did the rest of the meal. Cat’s vegetarian, so she peered at our lamb as if it was infected with Ebola. Monday night saw Richard and Lee at the Pacific Road Arts Theatre in Birkenhead, for a Chris Rea concert. Meanwhile, I was at Riverside Writers’ latest meeting, when Tim and I planned the performance programme for Words from Wordsmiths, (which is our contribution to the Wirral Bookfest )  next Monday, on April 7th. Nine members of the group will be taking part, and there will be a variety of fiction genres and poetry on the night. Thanks to West Kirby Library’s staff, we’ll be able to offer tea and coffee. And we’ve been given the use of a microphone, wh...

On Friday 4th, I attended a supporters' event at the new Echo Arena in Liverpool. Due to my role as an ambassador for the city throughout its status as the European Capital of Culture 2008 , I had been invited, along with other ambassadors and volunteers, for a preview of the building. Several local bands, including Major Major, Forsaken and The Farm, performed on stage, with local radio DJ Pete Price introducing both them and braving the mic to sing When you Walk Through a Storm – a rather clichéd choice, in my opinion. This event enabled the arena staff to have a dry run prior to its official opening celebrations. While the plain interior is entirely utilitarian, this new arena can seat 10,000 people, and will herald a new era of entertainment in Liverpool, which apparently boasts the fastest growing economy of any other British city. However, a cardinal crime was committed by the catering, which ran out of milk. No milk for my cup of tea? Bah! Sooooo, what else is new…....

Saw three great films this weekend – the first being Half Light , with Demi Moore in the well-played lead role as a writer grieving for her son. She goes to live on a remote Scottish island to write her book, only to be drawn into quite another kind of story when she learns that the dark and tastefully dishevelled lighthouse keeper she’s been spending time with has been dead for seven years. The film wasn’t shot in Scotland at all, actually, but in Anglesey and Gwynedd in Wales, and in Cornwall. The lighting and use of colour throughout was beautifully done, and the story held my interest completely. The Illusionist tells a clever tale of a stage entertainer. It’s a wonderful example of how people see what they want to see, and believe what they want to believe, and how the magician skilfully pulled the wool over their eyes whilst never telling even one lie. I won’t spoil the plot by saying more. This was an elegant and intelligent film, and if you’ve not seen it already then I re...

My feet are still sore! Great concert, awful venue - standing up from before 7pm, when the doors opened, till almost 11pm, followed by a hike from Liverpool University Guild of Students' hall across the city to the train station, in three-inch heels (with pointy toes) is not a recipe for happy feet. Marillion were excellent, as expected. I would have liked to have been able to see more of them, however. The venue had no seating available, which meant everyone was stood on a level floor trying to peer at a fairly low stage. As I’m 5' 2" tall, this means I mostly saw people's backs. Why is that, no matter where I stand, some half-man-half-giraffe manages to park himself in front of me? If I had wanted to merely hear the band I could have stayed at home and played a CD rather than have paid £20 per ticket. Instead, I got a great view of the top half of the curtained backdrop. Trying to catch a glimpse of one of my favourite singers was akin to watching a beach ball ad...