A busy day, yesterday. I spent much of it in Liverpool, wandering around the elegant Met Quarter with my mother. It’s not a particularly extensive designer shopping mall but we weren’t in a hurry to brave the sub-zero temperatures outside. We entertained ourselves by poking fun at spectacularly hideous party dresses. I still don’t see why a designer label warrants such silly prices, when the garment doesn’t look much different from high street merchandise. Certainly the quality of sewing or fabrics weren’t noticeably better. It was rather amusing, however, to see an old acquaintance of mine scowling dramatically from a huge photo in Guess ’s window...! We wandered into Mathew Street and had coffee in the John Lennon Café . There was only one other group of customers in there, but the coffee was good.  Mum's flying out to Australia soon where she'll be for three months, visiting various relatives. From there, we headed to the Christmas Market in Williamson Square. The fou

The vet has just phoned me to say Emily's operation went well, and I can collect her at 4pm. This house feels so empty without "Little Mouse" leaping all over the place! (We nicknamed her that when she was a very young puppy, because she wasn't much bigger than a mouse - well, a hamster, perhaps). I can recite all the phrases about responsible pet owners and unwanted puppy litters bla bla bla, but I still feel like a total meanie, booking her in to be spade by the vet. I know she'll be frightened and in pain, and wondering why I've "abandoned" her... Poor little mite. ***   "I don't like Wuthering Heights," Cat said. "It's soppy." Then we coaxed her to watch Ralph Fiennes and Juliette Bi noche in the lead roles. She likes it now. "Isn't he the one who played Voldemort ?" she asked. "Yes," I said. "He looks different with a nose."   ***   4.20pm, and finally I get to re

The electrician was here at 10am, to see if he could discover why the downstairs power kept blowing. Four or five times in the last two weeks, all the electrics for downstairs have blown out, each time when we were right in the middle of cooking dinner. As this hasn’t happened before in all the time we’ve lived here, we figured we had better call in an expert to take a look at it. There are some things you just don’t mess with unless you really, genuinely know what you’re doing. An electrical power supply is one of these. So the electrician deduced that too much power was going through one fuse. How come it hadn’t blown before now? Well, the only thing we can think of is that we have a new deep fat fryer which is more powerful than previous types. Each time the electrics had blown, we’d been using that – at the same time as using the oven, hob rings, kettle, two lots of ceiling lights, the electric fire and running the DVD player and TV, plus the music system which the TV speakers wo

Gardening can be hard work, as Ygraine demonstrates in this photo. Emily has discovered how to jump over the fence. As we'd like to keep our dog (and not be sued) we now need a higher fence. Ygraine has never once escaped. Emily has earned the nickname Houdini, and is currently under house arrest until the fence can be installed. It'll be delivered on Friday. But before it can be errected, the thorny hedge which I've been coaxing to slowly grow since we moved in now needs hacking back again. Now, when I say thorny I mean thorny. Think of 3" needle-thin spines every finger-space along every branch. As a deterent to two-legged pests it's done an excellent job. A certain four-legged scamp, however, just ducks underneath it then scrambles over the old low wire-mesh fence. So we spent part of the weekend pruning back tree branches and branches from a long and towering (not-thorny) hedge. This afternoon I began the task of pruning back the thorny hedge. I've do

Richard is watching the rugby, (England vs. South Africa). At least he says he is. He doesn't generally snore whilst awake. However, the second I switch the vile machine off (or turn it down) he'll open his eyes and insist he's thoroughly enjoying it. I have no idea what these men are doing, other than running after a ball then throwing themselves into a big heap. There seems to be a lot of shoving and pushing, and a fair amount of bellowing - though I have no idea what they're rabbiting on about.... Sport is peculiar. I have never understood it - or wanted to, actually. An awful lot of people disagree with me, obviously. That's ok. If they wish to pay upwards of £50 for a spectacularly ugly t-shirt or a silly foam hat, that is entirely their choice to do so. Imagine if knitting was promoted in a similar way to football or cricket or rubgy. Our city streets might be flooded with drunken grannies chanting, "Knit one, purl one! Knit one, purl one!"

Last night’s premier of The Snow Queen, performed at the Empire Theatre in Liverpool was wonderful! The English National Ballet more than lived up to its reputation for excellence with this new ballet choreographed and directed by Michael Corder . The fairy tale, originally written by Hans Christian Andersen, tells the story of Kay and Gerda, whose love is jeopardised when Kay falls under the evil spell of the Snow Queen. Kay leaves the village and Gerda, and goes to dwell in the Snow Queen’s icy palace. Gerda has other ideas, however, and dances all the way to the North Pole in a tiny pink dress to rescue him. Fernanda Oliveira carried the demanding role of Gerda with seemingly inexhaustible vivaciousness. Daria Klimentova ’s portrayal of the Snow Queen was suitably dramatic and aloof, and her glittering costumes must have been a delight to design. The Snow Queen had two rather cute pet wolves. Every home should have one. Really, it should. So long as they didn’t eat my other

Ooow, what a gorgeous Autumn day it's been here! Walking along the beach without need for a jacket, enjoying the amber sunshine with my two dogs, my feet drenched from having performed an impersonation of Dr Faustus as we meandered through a glittering pool of sea water... Now that's what I call a good break from the computer! Yesterday afternoon saw me taking part in a Poetry Marathon hosted by Central Library in Liverpool, and organised by Pauline Rowe of North End Writers as their contribution to National Poetry Day . It was a free all-day event, with a continual stream of poets (known and unknown all being treated alike) performing their work for the public. The audience was a respectable size. People wandered in and out, of course, and the poets’ styles were as diverse as could possibly be hoped for. Everyone had been previously allocated ten minutes each, which gives some indication of the large volume of poets taking part – plus some people came along on the day an

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

Hubby hits the Big Four-Oh today! He's hiding in his den at the moment, playing a Rolling Stones concert at full blast. He's probably trying to hear them over the booming jets of The Red Arrows , who've been terrorising the local heron population. Emily and I were watching the planes zooming around, trailing red and blue smoke and making big synchronised loops, etc. A flock of five grumpy herons from the nearby nature reserve came flapping overhead, trying to hide. Ten second later they frantically flew back again, chased by a red jet. I spent the morning up a step-ladder, painting primer and undercoat onto the new plaster walls in the bathroom. I probably spent more time trying to fit the ladders round the basin and toilet bowl, so I could reach into awkward corners, than actually doing any painting.

If you feel inclined to wander into a newsagent's shop any time soon, take a peek at the September 2007 edition of Prediction , which is the UK's main New Age magazine. I've a non-fiction folklore article on page 37. This publication can be purchased on-line also, at http://www.predictionmagazine.co.uk/ Did anyone see the asteroids zooming overhead on Sunday night? I sat on my patio, with Emily on my knee, to view the sky-sparklies scooting by. Fun!

I finished chapter 3 of Rowan today. I'm trying out a new-to-me method of writing. Actually it's a pretty standard process which is used by many. My working week runs from Tuesday-Saturday, and I'm aiming to write a minimum of 1,000 words of Rowan on each of those days. Any extra is a bonus. I'm not going to give myself earache if I can't keep to this 100%, but certainly I intend to try. Also, I'll be writing this first draft without labouring over any revision. That will be tackled in the second and subsequent drafts. I began Rowan on Monday while Richard was in bed sleeping off the awful migraine which kept him awake and in pain for much of Sunday night. He spent most of Monday asleep and took Tuesday off work as he still looked pale and felt lethargic. The dogs took him for a walk on Tuesday afteroon, and clearly he survived that.

A big thank you goes to everyone who made the inaugural scheduled chat in the Circle of Hands chat room such fun! Who would have thought the gathering would have lasted for over three hours? It was a pleasure to chat with such eloquent and creative people.  Another will be scheduled in a few weeks time. I’ll let you know the date and time in due course. Meanwhile, sometime today my niece is due to arrive! Tomorrow, she has to attend an induction day and her parental home is too far from the venue to enable her to arrive on time. So she’ll be travelling from here instead, which will make things easier for her. And then she’ll be back at her own home to finalise her plans to move into The Big Wide World and university life. When I left home, my worldly possessions consisted of two small pans, one kitchen knife, a pile of books and cassette tapes, an acoustic guitar (which I never did learn to play), six cups, six plates, zealously guarded sheets of poetry, a spider plant, an alar

Heidi Ruby Miller has been running a series of interviews with authors. From the list of fifteen questions, the subject is asked to pick six to reply to. Her website lists the authors - 56 to date - who have taken part in her project. See this here:- http://www.moonstonewritings.com/interviews.html Or for the latest one (with me as the subject) you could just scoot over to:- http://ambasadora.livejournal.com/129800.html?view=520456#t520456 *** Yesterday afternoon found us sitting in a solicitor’s office, drawing up details to be included in our updated Will, such as our desire for a Living Will and for certain specific funeral arrangements. We’ve been meaning to update these documents for ages. Enough of procrastination! There’s no point in waiting for one of us to drop dead and then go, “Oops, we really needed to update our legal stuff! Quick, reanimate him/her and wheel us off to the lawyer’s office!” And today we have glorious sunshine! That’s a rarity this summer. Mos

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

Today it isn't raining. This may seem like a trite observation, but for the last month this occurrence has been rare. And so my two adorable little monsters are currently sitting on the step to enjoy the…. Well, the insipid greyness could hardly be described as sunshine, but it’s more cheerful than the recent monsoon conditions. You’ve heard of the usefulness of chocolate frying pans, no doubt. But have you heard about vacuum cleaners that can’t cope with fluff? Well, you have now. We, unfortunately, are the “proud” owners of one such gadget. To be fair, maybe it was never designed to tackle the kapok innards of toy fluffy zebras. And no doubt toy fluffy zebras were never intended to be disembowelled and trampled into rugs by an enthusiastic puppy. I even picked up the bigger clumps of kapok by hand, but the pesky vacuum still jammed. So there it was, upside down on the operating table – I mean “dining table” – so I could unscrew its various bits in the hope of hooking out the bl

The leg fell off the ironing board. There is no alternative purpose for a monopod ironing board incapable of defying gravity, so the rickety old contraption is now propped outside in the rain, next to the recycling bin. This happened on Sunday morning, when we were trying to leave the house for a set time. Two thick bath towels doubled over and spread across a kitchen work top proved themselves to be a serviceable stand-in to the ironing board, and we even congratulated ourselves at how smartly dressed we were as we locked the front door. Big mistake. Five minutes later, it began to rain. Ten minutes later, despite huddling under umbrellas, we were drenched from the thighs down. We managed to dry out during the forty-five minute bus journey. Most of the sand brushed off, too. Yes, sand; we live by the sea, remember. Each time a storm blows in from the west, it carries half of the beach with it. Our bus arrived in Liverpool city centre at the same time as the thunder storm which

Remember that Warholian line about everyone having fifteen minutes of fame? Well, in this age of supposed equality, this seems to have been extended to spiders - the one living in our bird house, to be exact. Yup, dear ol' Incey Wincey made page two of the Wirral Globe this week. On the TV news, there was a brief piece which announced that British fruit growers have lost up to two-thirds of their crops due to the wet weather. Apparently this has been the wettest June since records began. (This in itself doesn’t mean much, as the records only go back around 150 years which, in the life of this planet, is like a blink to you and me.) The bulk of my raspberry crop has been ruined. The fruits are rotting on the canes, which renders them absolutely useless. But that’s nothing compared to the problems other people are having right now. Read this:- http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/news/article-23402936-details/'We've+all+been+forgotten'+say+30,000+UK+flood+victims/articl

Have you encountered any faeries while wandering the ancient woods and heathery moor of Caldy Hill? While sitting by a dark and peaty pool cradled by mighty oaks and rustling rowans, were you startled by a sudden hush, when all the birds ceased singing and even the restless breezes from the yawning mouth of the Dee fell still? It is just possible that a faerie may have been passing by. I don’t mean the kind of cartoon “fairy” with a sparkly tutu and gossamer wings. They’re just make-believe. I mean the real, ancient kind of faerie; the kind who can enchant with a glance and whose beauty might steal your heart, if not your soul. Did you know that the seals which congregate on Hoyle Bank beyond Hilbre Island have a secret other-life? And do you know the real reason why the sea never returned to Parkgate harbour? Further clarification can be obtained by reading A Wirral Otherkin Trilogy , which was published this week by Amazon. This trio of Dark Fantasy stories consist of Frog

On Friday, I attended a talk by author Katie Fforde , who read aloud from her thirteenth novel, Going Dutch , before discussing her writing and freely answering questions from her audience at West Kirby Library. Katie came across as a warm and likeable lady, and told us that while she sometimes bases her fictional characters on people she knows, even family members, she’s always careful to make sure she writes nothing unpleasant about them! It’s always heartening to hear an author describe how they struggled to get published for ten years before being successful, as Katie apparently did. I’ve heard it said that, on average, an author experiences seven years’ worth of rejection slips. The topic of the practical benefits of developing a writing routine was discussed at some length during Saturday’s meeting of Wirral Writers Inc., organised by John Gorman .   Everyone seems to have their own quirks and methods. For example, I write (virtually) every morning until around 2pm. Some peop

There I was, nervously perched on the top of a step-ladder whilst painting the bathroom ceiling, when peculiar soft ripping sounds emerged from the bedroom. Was my darling puppy entertaining herself by dismantling another stolen sock? Hmm, no - the noises seemed too industrious for that. So I carefully set down my sticky paintbrush and went to investigate. The duvet had been dragged to one side. A doggy-sized hole had been torn through the sheet, and half of my puppy was buried inside the mattress while plumes of shredded stuffing flew over her happily wagging tail.

Forty-seven people attended the second meeting of Wirral Writers Inc, including six members of Riverside Writers . Once again, John Gorman ran through the list of proposed events, and then those writers interested in specific projects made arrangements to meet as smaller groups in order to start moving those projects along. Some time later this month, a permanent office will be established in the rather grand Birkenhead Park gates. Fear not, there will be no need to impale office equipment upon an iron railing. The park gates consist of a tall sandstone building with the gate itself set into its middle, rather like a portcullis. If you visit:- http://cmsen.eghn.org/etfg-birkenhead-garten and scroll to the second horizontal trio of photos, the park gates are the pseudo-Grecian building in the middle image. Apparently, this office is going to be named the Wirral Academy of Arts. I wonder if the doorbell will play the theme tune from Fame ? *evil chuckles* Anyway, it’s not too late

At Riverside Writers , we set a monthly writing challenge which encourages participants to create a new poem or short story to a set theme. This theme might be inspired by a curious photograph, (such as a recent one which depicted a woodland tree with a large collection of ladies' shoes nailed to it). Or the theme might be generated by each participant writing a random word, (such as piano, marshmallow, axe, tutu, gorilla), on a scrap of paper, and the resulting group of words all have to be used within the new piece of writing. You could do something similar by yourself, just by opening a dictionary or a child’s alphabet book at random and using the first word your finger lands on, then repeating this process several times. Another method is to present the group with a sentence which must be used to start or finish the new piece. The results of these exercises can be fun to hear, certainly. Everyone always comes up with something which is unique. Also, imagination and innovation

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

for Dad Just the other side of yesterday the heat of a Cornish beach caused you to roll your trousers to your knees and walk beside me through flowing waters. Letting go of my child-sized hand must have been the hardest thing. Watchfulness half-hidden in oak brown eyes, not wanting to withhold fun but, like a trapeze artist’s net, waiting in readiness. Just the other side of yesterday you smiled as I closed the door on a life you wanted forever, but wider worlds call every child. Amidst the guests your face shone, one ambition of yours attained – my hand safely in another’s – and how you smiled to hear I could visit the sea every day. Just the other side of yesterday your bone-thin hand stroked mine. grey-rimmed eyes already sinking into the other side of time. © Adele Cosgrove-Bray, 2007.

Picture the scene – modern hairdressing salon, people having stuff done to their heads while other people keep asking where they’re going for their holidays etc., and a little white reception desk staffed by a pretty girl confronted with an Adele. Me: I’d like to make an appointment for a cut and blow-dry. Girl: Which of our stylists would you like to see? Me: I don’t know; I haven’t been here before, but I want a senior stylist. We then sort out the day and time for the appointment. Girl: What name is it, please? Me: Adele Cosgrove-Bray. Girl: Picks up a pencil and writes Edel Cosg… Me: Don’t worry, everyone gets it wrong. That’s A-d-e-l-e C-o-s-g-r-o-v-e hyphen B-r-a-y. Girl: Writes Adele Cosgrove’Bray. Me: Oh, that’s an apostrophe. You need a hyphen. Girl: Giggles, uses an eraser and writes Cosgrove,Bray. Me: Smiling politely That’s a comma. You need a hyphen – like a little dash which joins up two words? Girl: Oh, sorry! Giggles, uses the eraser again and

Riverside Writers met last night, and we had the pleasure of John Gorman ’s company as he had joined us to describe the proposed series of arts and literary events for the Wirral Writers Inc festival next year. Tim Hulme , (who’s stories have been featured on Radio Merseyside), and I had attended the inaugural meeting of Wirral Writers Inc. recently, and it was encouraging to see the enthusiastic reactions of Riverside Writers’ other members when they learned about how they could get involved. The most popular ideas proved to be the 15-20 minute monologues and dialogues, which will be written by writers local to Wirral, and then performed by professional actors on stage before an audience. There may well be a series of these performances, depending on the quantity of manuscripts and public response. To get things moving, Riverside Writers’ latest monthly writing project is to create a five-minute monologue on any subject. These will be read at our next meeting, on June 25th. Mea

The inaugural meeting of Wirral Writers Inc took place this morning, at the Masque Theatre in Birkenhead. The idea is to use this as a launch for what is intended to become an annual event, according to organiser John Gorman , who said he hopes to, “Raise the profile of Wirral through the arts.” There was a huge list of proposed events to coincide with Liverpool’s Capital of Culture in 2008. Musicals, monologues performed by actors before live audiences, poetry slams, an extensive Shakespeare Festival, art exhibitions, the first Wirral Young Poet Laureate competition, performances of classical and contemporary dance, new operas, new music of any genre, plays to be written and performed, ‘ghosts’ taking people on story tours of Wirral…. These are only proposals as yet. But it sounds rather exciting, don’t you think? And you don’t have to be living in Wirral to take part, either – though all events will be staged here, obviously. Interested?

Conversation between two toddlers, overheard when walking past with my dogs:- Boy: What are you doing? Girl: Going shopping. Boy: Can I come too? Girl: Ok. (Steps to one side and looks determinedly at the garden hedge.) Boy: What are you doing now? Girl: Now we’re at the mall and we’re going to buy baby girl clothes. Boy: ( Looks at the teddy in a toy pram and seems puzzled.) How do you know it’s a girl teddy? Girl: Because her name’s Susan.

On Monday, a party of us enjoyed a very good dinner at The Wheatsheaf in Neston. Richard and my mother had the Barbary duck, my sister Evelyn chose lasagne, and I had the chicken curry served with Basmati rice. Everyone enjoyed their meals, and the place itself is spacious, contemporary country in style. We’ve dined there before and have always been pleased. Just a few minutes along the narrow country lane is Ness Gardens . My mother had last been there when Eric was still in a pushchair, and Evelyn had never visited Ness before. They both thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon. The gardens offer so much contrast, from shady, hilly woodland glades to rambling meadows, to ponds and tidy flower beds, to jagged rockeries and glasshouses.   See photos of Ness Gardens here: http://hubpages.com/hub/Ness-Gardens

I’ve been busy (noooooo!), as my niece came to stay with us for four days. The dogs did so enjoy taking her for walks. In fact, Ygraine was so eager to show her the ponds beside the boardwalk along West Kirby beach that the poor girl narrowly missed being dragged face-first into the water. Having strolled the length of Meols Drive, my niece decided that being a multi-millionaire offers certain advantages when it comes to house-buying. We have chosen the ones we want, once we’ve made our fortunes. Forward planning is always advisable, don’t you think?!! And we discovered that Wirral has totem poles. Well, one, anyway. This was within the enclosed Walled Garden at Royden Hall. (If you wish to read about that, scoot over to my spot on the Wirral Globe.) There were numerous other sculptures too, and if you wish to see more photos just click on one of the images here and view the Wirral photo set on my Flickr site which you’ll be automatically taken to. Oh, and we watched a few fil

“Let’s go for a day out,” said hubby, gazing expectantly at Monday’s clear blue sky. Off we went, evidently having missed one Chester bus but we happily waited for the next, scheduled for half-an-hour later. By the time we accepted that this bus was never going to materialise, we resigned ourselves to waiting for the next one. Finally, we settled down to the enjoyable journey through the western towns and villages of the Wirral peninsula until, when just beyond Neston, the driver yelled, “No brakes!” I thought his driving had been getting a little hairy. Fortunately, he stopped the vehicle safely then radioed for help. Another bus would come for us all, he said. So we waited. And we waited. One little old lady loudly grumbled about her missed appointment. No doubt this was inconvenient to her, but rather less so than crashing upside-down into a ditch, surely! Not to be consoled, she declared she was going to write to the council about it. Perhaps they might consider passing a byl

I’m still recovering from the biggest chocolate and vanilla ice-cream sundae, with chopped nuts and brandy snaps and runny chocolate drizzles that I’ve ever encountered! Slimming it wasn’t, but scrumptious it most definitely was. Neither I nor Mum could finish the entire dessert. Poor Richard could only look on, over the expanse of plain apple pie which he’d chosen. This was yesterday, in the Waterside Inn in Leigh , which stands beside the Manchester Ship Canal, the historical waterway which joins Manchester to Liverpool and the Irish Sea. Back in the Victorian era of wealthy cotton mills and coal mines, this canal provided a vital route for import and export. Now it’s used mainly for tourism. The mills stand empty, unless they’ve already been converted into luxury apartments. The coal mines were closed during the Thatcher years. And Leigh, like many mining towns, never really recovered from the loss of traditional industries. Many shops are empty or derelict – yet the entrance to

This advert (reproduced word-for-word here) might appeal:- "Stay at our hotel for a 7 day holiday you will receive: GLASS OF WINE WITH EVENING MEAL EACH DAY, FREE PACKED LUNCH, WHICH INCLUDES CRISPS, BISCUITS, DRINK, PIECE OF FRUIT AND A SAUSAGE ROLL (sandwich option extra cost of £1.80) 1 NEWSPAPER (PER ROOM). HAPPY HOUR TWICE A WEEK 9-10pm ALL HALF PRICE. Our famous 5 Course Hot Buffet, Good food with En-suite, Colour TV, Telephone Dancing, and Entertainment each night.” I wonder how telephone dancing works? Is it a bit like telephone sex, in that you don’t actually do anything but talk about it? Picture the scene, with some weary holiday-maker perched on the edge of their hotel bed, furtively whispering into the handset: “I’m waving my arms now. Ooow, and just look at those tapping toes, and that dodgy wiggly-shuffle thingy that I always do….” Who checks to make sure guests only have “1 NEWSPAPER PER ROOM”? What happens if you sneak in another, or – oow, the thrill – seve

90 mph gales and flurries of hail-stones encouraged me to curl up with the book I’m reading now, which is about a gang of feral cats who live in a forest shared with three other gangs. Ok, they’re children’s books and I’m old enough to be reading them to kids of my own (not that I have any, if you discount the furry four-footed sort). But who cares? They’re fun! The author, Erin Hunter , is the pen name of two writers who have a website at: http://www.warriorcats.com/ which is a cuuuuuuuute website!!!! For reasons known only to herself, Emily has lifted all of her toys from the toy box and carried them to the patio doors in the other room. At the moment, she’s busily trying to make a nest of toys and curtain. So what’s new, hmm? Our lawns had their first mow of the year – which only highlighted the poor state of the front lawns. On either side of the path, there are two half-moons of lawn. These have become clogged with moss which has killed off most of the grass. I suspect it mig

Emily has just eaten another garden gnome. I kid you not. His head has been completely torn off, and so have his feet. She was energetically chomping his watering can when I caught her. Not for nothing is she also known as Beelzepup. Snow White now has only five companions. Anyone wishing to apply for either of these posts should do so in writing. An ability to look ornamental in a knee-length beard and funny hat is desirable. Life insurance not included. A spot of news: I now have a small column on the Wirral Globe ’s on-line newspaper, which I aim to update each Wednesday. This local free newspaper is delivered throughout the Wirral peninsula. Take a peek at:- http://www.wirralglobe.co.uk/ and then click on ‘Eblogs’ then on ‘Your Blogs’.

Our two dogs took us for an enjoyable woodland walk around Frankby at the weekend. (Yes, I know it’s now nearly next weekend but I’ve been busy, ok?!!) There were carpets of snowdrops under the trees. A friendly pony came to say hello when we trudged along the muddy path beside his field. Emily was terrified of the bewildered creature, and hid behind Richard’s feet. Emily is still learning to walk on the lead properly. She’s got the general idea but is distracted by scents very easily, and noisy traffic unnerves her. She has a habit of stopping dead, which consequently means that whoever’s walking her has to be ready to do likewise or else nearly fall over her. We called in to The Farmer’s Arms , but escaped to the garden rather than struggle to talk over the exuberant crowd of football enthusiasts who were happily yelping and yowling at the big TV screen. (Fear not, I’ll resist the temptation to launch into one of my diatribes about boring sport!) I’ve now finished the first dra

Think of your absolute favourite literary or film heroes/heroines – which characteristics caused them to fire your imagination? Was it looks, wealth, lifestyle, personality – or a combination of all of these?  Was your favourite, perhaps, not even a main character but a minor role which grabbed your attention? I was thinking about this yesterday, while hubby was contentedly glued to another viewing of The Magnificent Seven . I strongly suspect that, in my opinion at least, Yul Brynner was the only bald-headed man to look sexy. The rest just look like they can’t grow hair. This reminds me of a friend who has recently embarked on a moustache-growing competition. Now, personally I think that the right facial hair on the right man can look incredibly sexy. (A bedraggled, untrimmed hedge-like beard looks scruffy and unhygienic, however.) When I mentioned this, I was met with surprise. Surely I can’t be the only female to like facial hair on a man? Would your chosen fictional hero eve

Emily is peering over the edge of the extensive boardwalk, which runs along part of West Kirby beach towards Red Rocks at Hoylake, (by the houses you can see on the horizon. The beach continues behind these buildings). On one side is the golf course, on the other lie tall sand dunes, reed beds and ponds. Natterjack toads breed here, along with newts and tiny lizards which look like jewels. There are masses of wetland and shoreline birds, too, of course; the Dee Estuary is one of Britain's premier sites for migrating birds. The weather is rather grey and choppy today. You'll be able to see this for yourself if you take a peek through the Wirral webcam. I've just added this to my links list on my page. If you're patient, you might be able to watch the seals. http://www.camserv.co.uk/wirralcam/home.shtml Last night saw another gathering of Riverside Writers . This month's writing project had been set on the theme of The Missing Chai r inspired, apparently, by my

Note: This post was originally in the form of a clickable poll, published on LiveJournal. Having spent the better part of today trying to settle on a name for a young male character in a short story, I have finally come to a decision. I’ll sign off and do something else! PS. Baby name dictionaries make for very boring reading. Poll #936357 name a character Which of these is your favourite name? Oliver Dominick Elisha Tavion Rowan

My low opinion of television has been echoed in a recent study, which has called for a total ban on TV for all children under the age of three, for a maximum of one hour per day for the three-to-fives age group, and for severe restrictions on time spent in front of the screen for older children. Psychologist Dr Aric Sigman has published a report analysing thirty-five scientific studies about television's effects on viewers, which has identified fifteen negative effects. These include obesity, damage to the immune system due to reduced melatonin levels, eyesight problems, an increased likelihood of Alzheimer's, Autism, diabetes and attention disorders. Read the full article here:- http://news.scotsman.com/uk.cfm?id=265852007 To these disorders, I would propose that of decreased imagination, as all any television viewer is required to do is to stare mindlessly at the contraption while a constant stream of mediocrity and trash (and who-knows-what subliminal messages) pour into

Mutley Cuddles Incarnate c. 1993 - February 18th, 2007. Early this morning, my adorable tom cat succumbed to old age.

Art in Liverpool http://www.artinliverpool.com/blog/blogarch/literature/  and Nerve Magazine http://www.catalystmedia.org.uk/issues/misc/articles/word_is.htm  both carry write-ups of the recent Word Is They Say (WITS) literary festival in Liverpool, which I took part in. One of the funniest films I've watched in a long time is Jake West 's Evil Aliens , produced by Tim Dennison . The blurb on the back of the DVD box says, "Michelle Fox (Emily Booth) takes a film crew to deepest, darkest Wales to investigate claims of alien abduction. The television crew don't believe a word of the story until the real stars arrive. They're aliens and they're not friendly." What follows is a hilarious spoof splatter/gore film - hardly my usual preferred choice of genre, but this truly was so funny. Suffice to say that I'll never see a combine harvester again without remembering this film. Recommended! In contrast, one of the most boring films I've seen in m

Thank you, everyone, for all the messages of condolence. These have been shared with my family, who were all touched by the responses left in the LiveJournal post. Yesterday morning, the day of my father’s funeral, began with a snow blizzard. It is still lightly snowing now, as I type this. Ah, how like us Brits to chatter on about the weather…. The catering company had already delivered the cold buffet before Richard and I arrived at my mother's house. Several people had travelled considerable distances to be there. My father’s nephew Philip and his wife Kelly had driven up from Lincoln and had added on quite a detour to collect my father’s eighty-one year-old sister Elsie and her son Clifford. My sister Evelyn and her husband Andrew were there, of course, as was my brother Eric. My sister Hazel , her husband Tony and their two daughters were waiting at Howe Bridge Crematorium when we arrived in the limosine behind the hearse which bore my father's coffin. A number of othe

10 November 1927 - 1 February 2007. My father, John Eric Bray, died at 5pm tonight after a long and cruel battle with Parkinson's and Alzheimer's diseases.

“Taste this,” he said, poking the thin drizzle of sauce zigzagging over his plate. He did not look happy. “Hmm, apple pie and cough medicine. Interesting combination.” “What’s yours like?” He peered across the table, over the top of the tea pot. I scowled at the ugly square white plate sat before me, on which rested a thin, sunken floppy brown wedge. “Stale chocolate cake softened with cheap diluted sherry then warmed up.” I, too, had been presented with a miserable whisker of zigzagging cream. Look, chefs, if I order pudding I want pudding , and not someone else’s idea of a break in an anorexic’s diet, ok? And what’s with the miserly drizzles? Humph! The main meal had been pleasant but the portions meagre. I’d had to paddle through my korma to find any chicken, and I’d seen bigger stock cubes than his salmon steak. To top this, the place possessed all the aesthetic charm of a school dining hall – think N-O-I-S-E plus a constant flow of people pushing past us. So, having