Golf, writing and a disappointing Phoenix

Early golf today as Marian had another appointment at 12noon, but it was actually fairly quiet as we hacked our way around. No great scores, though I wasn't bad off the tee and Marian's putting was top-notch. We've found out that if I stand behind the hole and shout aim at me legs, missus! then her putts are straighter and tend to go in. It's all psychological, you know - though neither of us were sure whether we should count the ball that rebounded off my foot and only then went in the hole. It's not quite golf as the PGA would have it, I fear ...

Afterward, I tackled the delights of Godalming and managed to stock up on my Christmas present supplies. Now I just have to wrap the buggers. Sigh, how I hate wrapping. It's really a job for SuperHusband, who is far tidier than I am and tends not to lose the Sellotape and burst into tears quite as much. Hell, somebody in a relationship has to be the drama queen, don't they? And wouldn't you know it had to be me!

Back home, I have got to the end of a chapter with The Bones of Summer and have discovered a surprising new development. Plus two new minor cast characters. Hey ho, well I suppose Craig knows what he's doing. Somebody has to. And I now have a total of 44,243 words (or worms, as Lord H likes to call them - funny wiggly lines that go across a page towards some unknown destination. Hell, he might be right ...), which surely has to be positive.

Tonight, it's TV heaven, though I think I shall have to video "Ugly Betty" and "My Name is Earl" to watch in secret later, as they're not Lord H's favourites. And I've just finished reading Ruth Sims' The Phoenix. Hey ho. It wasn't my favourite either really. It looked good - gay Victorian love story, thus making me think of the male equivalent of a Sarah Waters' special. But it didn't do it for me, I have to say. There's nothing wrong with the story per se - though way too many things were happening all in a flurry - but it was just so deeply unengaging, and one of the main characters had an NVQ Level 5 in Irritating Wimpiness which made me want to put a pillow over his head and push very, very hard. Sigh. I think one of the problems was the old-fashioned all-seeing narrator viewpoint - so you never actually got into the minds of any of the characters, and you were constantly swopping from one person to the other even in the middle of scenes, which was highly disruptive and made me want to scream. I also found myself losing the will to live when I was being told about Mr Wimpy taking his O and A levels. In Victorian times?? Am I in a time warp or is my own understanding of history completely up the creek?? I do realise that I make clunky mistakes too (trust me, I know them and they cause me great traumas in the middle of dark nights, no matter how old the novel!!) and I accept, nay rejoice, that no book is perfect and we're all human. But even I at least attempt every now and then to do a bit of pertinent research. Ah well. Anyway, I skim-read most of it and I'm glad it's done. The trouble is: I think she can write and she obviously does love the era. Maybe the next one will be better? I hope so.

Today's nice things:

1. Golf
2. Writing
3. TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Goldenford Publishers