Book News:
I'm happy to say that both Vulpes Libris and I have been shortlisted in two separate categories for the Book Blogger Book Awards, and there's still time to vote, so all support greatly appreciated! Vulpes is in the Best Literature Blogger category and you can find me in the Best Author's Blog section. The "submit" button appears at the very bottom of the lists once you've ticked some, just in case you're wondering, as we were. Nice to be in such good company for sure.
Much to my surprise and delight, The Girl in the Painting has received its first official review, with some very thoughtful 4-star comments appearing at Three Dollar Bill Reviews - many thanks indeed, Emily, and I will be writing more of these literary feminist shorts in the future, I hope. Not to be outdone, A Dangerous Man gained a brief 4-star review at Goodreads, so many thanks, Alli, for those comments also.
For today, and possibly tomorrow also, you can get 25% discount off all my Amber Allure books so there's still time for that essential New Year bargain shopping experience. Go on, you know you want to!... And I'm continuing with the publisher edits for The Gifting so hope to get that finished within the next week or so. All things being equal.
Today's meditation is:
Meditation 476
Surely this punishment
will not last
for long
and better days
will rise once more:
may this be
our song.
And the Sunday haiku is:
This winter morning
begin the year with haiku:
my seasonal vow.
Life News:
Frankly I'm very glad to see the back of 2010. The last section of it has on the whole been quite nasty and difficult, and good riddance to it is what I say. I hope 2011 is better, the main thing being getting out of the flat and away from our tricksy middle neighbours. That's my aim for this spring and I really want to be out of it all by Easter or I may well run mad. You have been warned. Anyway, I'm trying not to think of it too much as it just makes me really upset, angry and depressed, and I don't want to go there too ruddy often really, not so early on in the year. Deep sigh.
Nicer news for this week is that K and I enjoyed our trip to Kew Gardens, though the broccoli soup was rather overwhelming, I must say. We left half of it and consoled ourselves with cake. As you do. We've also bought an orchid, a hyacinth and an African violet so at least there's something nice in the flat apart from ourselves.
And today we've had a great time with Peter & Sue (hello, both!) trundling up and down the Watercress Line and indulging ourselves with ham, egg & chips (bliss ...). Great to catch up, though I'm not convinced the photos will show any degree of sanity amongst us. Ah, the slow pace of life is definitely the best one.
Anne Brooke
ANNE BROOKE BOOKS: Independent writer of modern fiction
Showing posts with label trains. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trains. Show all posts
Sunday, January 02, 2011
Thursday, August 21, 2008
An unexpected smile and the shit lorry
Was rather flummoxed yesterday when purchasing my rail ticket at Guildford Station when the woman behind the counter gave me a bright smile, was extremely helpful, smiled again and even wished me a good journey and a pleasant evening in London. Well, gosh! Not something that's ever happened before when travelling on Network South. It really cheered me and set me up for a wonderful evening (thanks, Jane W - lovely to see you as ever!). Though I have to admit my general bonhomie slid down a notch or two when I realised it was Guildford Station Customer Service Week. Ah well - I should have known it couldn't have been my own personal charisma (conspicuous as ever by its absence). Perhaps it could be Customer Service Week every week? It would certainly make travelling by train far more palatable ...
Today, I have scrawled a few meaningless sentences to Hallsfoot's Battle and am just scraping into the 24,000 word zone. Lord alone knows where I'm going now though - it's a mystery. I do hope Annyeke or Simon gets an idea soon - that would help.
This afternoon I have spent a glorious couple of hours having a Clarins massage. Ah, bliss. I think I even nodded off at one point - which is unprecedented. Honestly, this is the most relaxed I've been since 1975. And what a year that was. Thirza (the therapist) was telling me of her recent trip to Cornwall when one of her friends shrieked with delight at the sight of a real farmer on a real tractor. Apparently she'd not seen one before. Ah, the Young People - a marvellous breed, you know. Anyway, they'd had a fabulous time though Thirza did say the villagers did give them some curious looks to start off with. I suspect it's probably because they've not seen a stranger since 1903 (being a country girl born and bred, I'm fully able to say this, so please: no postcards!).
I also suspect it's the traditional countryside envy for those city folk who have (a) mains gas, and (b) mains sewage. I have fond memories (shut your eyes now if you're of a delicate disposition ...) of the quarterly visitations of the "shit lorry" down on the farm where our cesspit in the garden would have to be moved. Not to mention everyone else's cesspit too. And woe betide any unsuspecting gal who came to stay and attempted to dispose of female accessories down the loo. God forbid! Believe me, retrieving them is definitely a man's job. Mind you, it's not so far advanced here in the Godalming twilight zone, where the house's Victorian plumbing means we're strictly rationed to five sheets of loo roll per visit - or risk the downstairs neighbour's wrath. Though, to be fair, Downstairs Neighbour himself does admit that after surviving the WWII Russian Front, anything's a plus ...
Tonight, I shall attempt to squeeze out (if I dare use that phrase at this point?) a few more words for Annyeke and Simon to play with, and I really have to watch Boris. Should be good.
I've also finished reading Sophie Hannah's "The Point of Rescue". Amazing. Everyone who loves good crime writing should definitely read this. It got to the point this morning when I had to stop everything, sit down quietly and simply finish it - which rarely happens, as I always read when I'm doing something else. She writes like a dream - even when I'm muddled about the plot, the main female lead irritates the hell out of me and the so-called relationship between the two police officers is frankly ridiculous. I just had to find out what happened - some amazing twists for sure, some of them on the dodgy side of believable, but really it just doesn't matter. Read it - it's worth it.
Today's nice things:
1. Trucking on with Hallsfoot, slowly, slowly
2. Clarins massage
3. TV
4. A good book.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Today, I have scrawled a few meaningless sentences to Hallsfoot's Battle and am just scraping into the 24,000 word zone. Lord alone knows where I'm going now though - it's a mystery. I do hope Annyeke or Simon gets an idea soon - that would help.
This afternoon I have spent a glorious couple of hours having a Clarins massage. Ah, bliss. I think I even nodded off at one point - which is unprecedented. Honestly, this is the most relaxed I've been since 1975. And what a year that was. Thirza (the therapist) was telling me of her recent trip to Cornwall when one of her friends shrieked with delight at the sight of a real farmer on a real tractor. Apparently she'd not seen one before. Ah, the Young People - a marvellous breed, you know. Anyway, they'd had a fabulous time though Thirza did say the villagers did give them some curious looks to start off with. I suspect it's probably because they've not seen a stranger since 1903 (being a country girl born and bred, I'm fully able to say this, so please: no postcards!).
I also suspect it's the traditional countryside envy for those city folk who have (a) mains gas, and (b) mains sewage. I have fond memories (shut your eyes now if you're of a delicate disposition ...) of the quarterly visitations of the "shit lorry" down on the farm where our cesspit in the garden would have to be moved. Not to mention everyone else's cesspit too. And woe betide any unsuspecting gal who came to stay and attempted to dispose of female accessories down the loo. God forbid! Believe me, retrieving them is definitely a man's job. Mind you, it's not so far advanced here in the Godalming twilight zone, where the house's Victorian plumbing means we're strictly rationed to five sheets of loo roll per visit - or risk the downstairs neighbour's wrath. Though, to be fair, Downstairs Neighbour himself does admit that after surviving the WWII Russian Front, anything's a plus ...
Tonight, I shall attempt to squeeze out (if I dare use that phrase at this point?) a few more words for Annyeke and Simon to play with, and I really have to watch Boris. Should be good.
I've also finished reading Sophie Hannah's "The Point of Rescue". Amazing. Everyone who loves good crime writing should definitely read this. It got to the point this morning when I had to stop everything, sit down quietly and simply finish it - which rarely happens, as I always read when I'm doing something else. She writes like a dream - even when I'm muddled about the plot, the main female lead irritates the hell out of me and the so-called relationship between the two police officers is frankly ridiculous. I just had to find out what happened - some amazing twists for sure, some of them on the dodgy side of believable, but really it just doesn't matter. Read it - it's worth it.
Today's nice things:
1. Trucking on with Hallsfoot, slowly, slowly
2. Clarins massage
3. TV
4. A good book.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Friday, December 29, 2006
Velasquez and clotted cream
Yes, the ideal combination. Lord H and I were up at the crack of dawn today in order to get to London on the 9.20 train. I factored in huge amounts of time to drive to Woking during the rush hour, but the rush hour appeared to be inoperative (hey, is nobody at all at work this week? What is the country coming to ...?) and we arrived at the station at 8.55. The car park was virtually empty too - and is now charging a massive £8.30 to park all day. Ye gods, for that price, I'd expect to own the bloody car park. And have it lined with Daniel Craig look-alikes too. Naked ones. Thank goodness the machine accepts credit cards and Lord H was feeling noble. Talking of noble, I lightheartedly waved my railcard at Lord H and said I'd pay for the train. Forgetting of course that the card doesn't work till after 10am, so I had to pay £40 for travel cards for the both of us. £40!! I ask you ... And people wonder why I won't work in London.
Lord H had decided to make the most of the train journey to package his theology essay & questionnaires into the appropriate envelopes (proofread and printed off late last night - Good Wife points all round ...) - so as soon as he sat down, he unbuttoned his coat, scrabbled at chest level inside his jumper and produced a paperclip. Then he did it again. And I'd been wondering what men's nipples were for. Now I know ... When I voiced this in my usual dulcet (not) tones, his response was that I should wait to see where he'd stored the rubber bands. At which point, the tannoy announcement asked us to let the train staff know if we saw anything suspicious and the family the other side of the aisle moved seats.
Which brings me to the National Gallery Velasquez exhibition. Wonderful. I can highly recommend it. Best of all, there are only four rooms so you don't have to have art (oh Lord, where's the chocolate, please give it to me now) overload syndrome. And there's a free micro-booklet which tells you just enough about each picture to keep your interest. Bliss. My favourites? - rather surprisingly, the portraits of men at court whom Velasquez knew. Very realistic and humane stuff. Moving too. Lord H's favourite? - the Rokeby Venus (the naked lady with her back to us and gazing in the mirror). Need you ask? However, Lord H did comment that her bottom was in sharp focus but the rest of her was very soft and almost impressionistic. He was right too - the photographer's eye, eh? Not, of course, the half-hour he spent staring at it and salivating ... So the good Velasquez is a bottom man. You heard it here first.
Post-art, we dropped into Fortnum & Mason to (a) check out the sales - rather like an art gallery but with food instead of paint - and (b) have a snack - which turned out to be tea & scones, replete with clotted cream buckets x2. Heaven. As always, and in true Essex Girl fashion, I'd saved a large teaspoon of cream and jam in the buckets to lap up sans scone at the end. But the moment I'd got rid of the bun, the waitress made a foolhardy attempt to whisk my plate away. I fought bravely to retain my clotted cream orgasm rights and, after a brief tussle, I won. Lord H said the look on my face as my plate was almost removed was Munch-like in its expression of raw terror. Hell, I got the cream though. Ha!
And so, home. Tonight, I need to make a token cleaning gesture and then slump in front of the TV again. Hey, it's good to have an exercise plan.
Today's nice things:
1. Velasquez
2. Clotted cream
3. An evening in.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Lord H had decided to make the most of the train journey to package his theology essay & questionnaires into the appropriate envelopes (proofread and printed off late last night - Good Wife points all round ...) - so as soon as he sat down, he unbuttoned his coat, scrabbled at chest level inside his jumper and produced a paperclip. Then he did it again. And I'd been wondering what men's nipples were for. Now I know ... When I voiced this in my usual dulcet (not) tones, his response was that I should wait to see where he'd stored the rubber bands. At which point, the tannoy announcement asked us to let the train staff know if we saw anything suspicious and the family the other side of the aisle moved seats.
Which brings me to the National Gallery Velasquez exhibition. Wonderful. I can highly recommend it. Best of all, there are only four rooms so you don't have to have art (oh Lord, where's the chocolate, please give it to me now) overload syndrome. And there's a free micro-booklet which tells you just enough about each picture to keep your interest. Bliss. My favourites? - rather surprisingly, the portraits of men at court whom Velasquez knew. Very realistic and humane stuff. Moving too. Lord H's favourite? - the Rokeby Venus (the naked lady with her back to us and gazing in the mirror). Need you ask? However, Lord H did comment that her bottom was in sharp focus but the rest of her was very soft and almost impressionistic. He was right too - the photographer's eye, eh? Not, of course, the half-hour he spent staring at it and salivating ... So the good Velasquez is a bottom man. You heard it here first.
Post-art, we dropped into Fortnum & Mason to (a) check out the sales - rather like an art gallery but with food instead of paint - and (b) have a snack - which turned out to be tea & scones, replete with clotted cream buckets x2. Heaven. As always, and in true Essex Girl fashion, I'd saved a large teaspoon of cream and jam in the buckets to lap up sans scone at the end. But the moment I'd got rid of the bun, the waitress made a foolhardy attempt to whisk my plate away. I fought bravely to retain my clotted cream orgasm rights and, after a brief tussle, I won. Lord H said the look on my face as my plate was almost removed was Munch-like in its expression of raw terror. Hell, I got the cream though. Ha!
And so, home. Tonight, I need to make a token cleaning gesture and then slump in front of the TV again. Hey, it's good to have an exercise plan.
Today's nice things:
1. Velasquez
2. Clotted cream
3. An evening in.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
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