Author: anneethompson

Lexus LC 500

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We went to look at sports cars. You can do this sort of thing when you get to a certain age and are bored. When you’re younger, the sales person asks lots of awkward questions about why you want to change your car, and what your job is, so they can check you aren’t just messing about. But at our age, they simply ask what you currently drive (to check, I assume, a certain income level) and then they are happy to let you play, accepting that one of you must be having a mid-life crisis.

We had been out for brunch at Marcos in Sevenoaks (best place locally for brunch) and drove down to the outskirts of Tunbridge Wells, where there is a whole road of car dealerships, so you can walk along comparing cars. We started in the Lexus garage, looking at the LC 500.

It’s a very pretty car. It has nice rounded corners, and lights which are shaped like slitty eyes, assessing the road. It’s very low profile, and hugs the ground (so would probably make it to the end of our driveway before it was stuck in a pothole, but we’ll brush over that detail). It’s a hybrid, which Husband likes.

Inside, the seats were leather, with suede trim. They were very comfy to sit in, though a long way down, so I might need old-person grab handles in a few years to get out of it (if I ever gave my mother a lift, she would need to be hauled out of the seat when we parked). Very pretty, but I wasn’t sure it would be very practical with a dog. In fact, I was a bit unsure about the dog altogether. I checked the boot.

Checking the boot took longer than expected, as we couldn’t work out how to open it. There was no handle or obvious catch, so Husband checked inside the car. No clever levers or buttons there either. Eventually, I found a tiny round button next to the left rear light, which opened the boot. The cover slid elegantly back – and we both laughed! The boot was tiny. Really tiny. There was no way we could squash a German shepherd dog into it, or even a suitcase actually. Husband assured me this wouldn’t be a problem, as when we go away for the weekend, we could pack our clothes straight into the boot. I had visions of sneaking through hotel reception with pockets stuffed with socks and underwear.
 The boot did, to be fair, comfortably fit my handbag.

We were now on a mission – where could the dog travel? There was no room in the passenger footwell, as the dashboard curved over it. Perhaps the back seat would be the best place (if one didn’t think about muddy damp dogs ruining suede). We moved the front passenger seat forwards, with the rather swish mechanism that raised the seat and then slid it forwards while we watched. We stared at the back seat. It didn’t have much (any) in the way of leg room, but dogs don’t exactly put their feet on the floor when they travel, so that wasn’t a problem. However, the height from seat to aerodynamically designed roof seemed quite small. I slid into the back seat (not as smoothly as the mechanics had slid the front seat forwards) and tried to sit upright. I couldn’t, not without bumping my head on the ceiling. An adult would have to travel on the back seat with their neck bent. This is the sort of thing my children make an unreasonable fuss about, so we wouldn’t be giving them a lift anywhere. I wasn’t quite sure of dog’s height when sitting, but I had images of lolling tongue very near the back of my head while we drove.

We gave up on the LC 500 as a viable car, unless we left the dog at home. If you have lots of money to spare and either very small children or a very small dog who never gets dirty, this is the car for you.

We had a quick look at the Lexus RC, which is smaller and cheaper, and has a bigger boot. Then we wandered down the road. We looked at the Nissan sports car, but couldn’t sit in it as the showroom model had been bought. It wasn’t as pretty as the Lexus LC, cost about the same, and had no more boot room. We popped in to Toyota and Mazda too. But to be honest, I’d lost enthusiasm by this point, and all the cars were beginning to merge into one, so we went home.

Thank you for reading. Have a good week.

Take care,
Love,
Anne x

xxxx
Anne E. Thompson has written several novels and one non-fiction book.
You can follow her blog at:
anneethompson.com

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Bill Wilmot 1918 – 2018

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My friend: Bill Wilmot 1918 – 2018

I’ve just come home from the funeral of a friend. Not exactly my favourite thing, but then, most people find funerals difficult. I tend to avoid them if I can, but I couldn’t avoid this one. Bill has been a friend since 1982, when I moved to Surrey with my parents, so I felt I had to go, to pay my respects. He deserved to be honoured, because Bill was special. Let me tell you a little about him.

Now, I wasn’t a relative, so I can only tell you the stories about Bill that I remember. But what anyone who knew Bill will tell you, he loved to tell stories. He had this lovely west country accent, and when he spoke (and he could talk for a very long time, so it was no good being in a hurry) you listened. His best stories were about being a medic in the war. He told me that before he went away, he tried to find someone to care for his dog, but no one would. So one day, he spent his week’s money on meat, gave the dog a feast, and then shot it through the head. Because he said, he loved that dog, and refused to have it suffer when he wasn’t there to care for it. There was a strength to Bill, and a determination to do things right.

Bill specialised in ‘landings’, and he seemed to have done a lot of them. So when the troops landed on a coast, Bill would be in the next wave of landings, helping anyone who was wounded. He told me that once, he jumped off the boat, and almost immediately, something exploded next to him, and he was completely covered in mud. He thought he’d die, but one of his friends had noticed, and dug him out. Later, when he rejoined his unit, they were surprised to see him. “Oh,” they said, “we thought you were dead, we saw you being blown up”.

As a medic, Bill treated anyone who was injured, irrespective of country. When he was in Burma, he helped both British and Japanese soldiers. He told a story about bending down in the make-shift hospital to help one soldier, and a Japanese patient next to him, slipped Bill’s knife from his kit, and stuck it into his leg. Bill said (and you have to read this in a west country accent):
“I won’t tell you what I said, because it wasn’t suitable for a lady to hear, but I was not very happy.”

When Bill returned from the war, he went straight to where his fiancee lived. But while he was away, she’d died of an illness. Bill never married.

Although a hero, Bill was no saint. He told me that when he later worked in a reform home for boys, teaching them gardening skills, one of the teachers annoyed him. So one evening, when everyone was eating dinner, he went out and slashed all the tyres on his car. Later, Bill worked at Godstone Farm, and was keen that children living in London should have some knowledge of the countryside.

Bill was always interested in boys who were in trouble. I met him long after he’d retired (Bill was always old, even back in 1982). He would talk to the boys in the village, get to know them, and give them advice and help. He told me that once, he was driving a couple of boys into Redhill, and one of them turned to him.

“Bill,” he said, “I could get out a knife right now, and stab you, unless you drive us where we want to go.”

Bill continued driving, and answered: “Yes you could. But before you do, remember that I’m pretty old, and I shall die soon anyway, and I know exactly where I’m going because God has promised me a place in Heaven. But things are a bit more unsure for you. So bear in mind, that if you do get out that knife, I shall drive straight into a wall, and then you’ll be in trouble.”

The boy put away the knife.

I’m not sure that Bill was afraid of anything, even though as he got older, he was very frail. He told me that some men tried to sell him a scam recently, so he told the police. The police went to his flat, and hid in the bathroom, while Bill spoke to the men who’d come back to sell him some dodgy deal. They had to wait until the men actually asked for money, and Bill had actually written the cheque, and then they emerged from the bathroom and arrested them. I asked Bill if he’d been scared, but he said no, it was exciting. He was no fool.

Bill was always willing to help with young people. Whenever Husband was away, and I had breakfast club, Bill would come to help me, just to be the second leader, and to talk to the boys.

When Bill was 98, he asked us if he could pay for the meal at Lunch Club, and if it could be his birthday meal. We said we would do it anyway, but he insisted that he had savings, and he wanted to pay. So we agreed. He chose a roast lamb lunch, with a pudding, and I made a cake and we decorated the hall. Bill arrived with an inflatable hat, which had birthday candles on it and an “I’ve lost count” slogan. We sang happy birthday to him, and he stood, and made a little speech. It was a real honour to be able to help him mark his birthday.

Then after the meal, Bill came into the kitchen to pay. The cook for that week, asked me what she should do. We’d had 40 people that week, and roast lamb for 40 people is expensive, and probably cost much more than Bill realised. I told her to ask him how much money he’d brought, and then to tell him the meal had cost slightly less than that.

I heard her ask him how much money he had, and then tell him an amount which was £20 less.

“Right,” said Bill, “well here’s your money for the food. And here’s a £20 tip for the workers!”

I will miss Bill. The last conversation I had with him, was at Lunch Club. I held open a door for him, and as he walked through, he positioned his walking frame, so I was trapped behind the door.
“Aha! I’ve got you trapped now!” he said. If I’d blown, he’d have fallen over. But that was Bill, he had a wicked twinkle until the end.

I cannot pretend that his body wasn’t ready to die. After 99 years, everything is worn out, and the last year has been very tough for him. He didn’t want to die, he was determined to live until September, when he’d have been a hundred. But he didn’t manage it. He had asked my dad if he would go back to Godstone to do the funeral. But my dad died 10 years ago, so that wasn’t going to happen!

The funeral was very dignified, and Bill had written a letter, which was read out. He told us all about his faith in God, and talked about “agnostics who hide in their foxholes of darkness”. If anyone had the right to give advice about life, it was Bill. He honoured God, and although his life was often not easy, I know he never regretted that decision. I feel privileged to have known him. Though, I was surprised at the funeral to learn that actually, he wasn’t called Bill, his name was Oswald, and all his family called him Uncle Ossie!

Thank you for reading.

*******
anneethompson.com

Life has been busy…

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Life has been busy since we arrived home from India. We had barely unpacked before Husband set off again, for Germany. I’m sure this was an essential work trip, and not because I am very irritable when I’m jet-lagged. It took me a few days to readjust my clock, which was fine because waking before the rest of the country is not unpleasant, though I did have a tendency to collapse at about 7pm. I was cooking at lunch club on Friday, so the first couple of days were busy with shopping and making ginger sponges for pudding. I cooked my default meal: roast gammon, roast potatoes, carrots, cauliflower cheese, and sweetcorn. It went okay, and we served 36 dinners.

The following day, we were organising a church social. Well, to be precise, Husband was organising a church social, as when it was planned way back in October, I told him that after Christmas and new year and a trip to India, I would NOT be helping to then arrange an evening of entertainment for the church family. But he didn’t listen. He arrived home from Frankfurt Friday evening, and spent all day Saturday getting things ready.

Due to my refusal to help, he ordered fish and chips for everyone. This worked really well, and the shop delivered 45 portions, all boxed and ready to eat, with tiny sachets of salt and vinegar. All I had to do was hand them out to people. Everyone had brought puddings, and we had a table of drinks.

It was a fun evening. Everyone was put into teams, and each team was given a box of challenges to complete in 45 minutes. These ranged from drawing a portrait of a team member, to building the highest tower with the paper and tape provided. It was an evening for the whole church family, so we had young children and elderly, but there was something for everyone, and lots of opportunities to chat. Which is probably the main purpose. One of the activities was to complete a jigsaw puzzle, which was probably impossible in 45 minutes, but it was rather pleasant to join puzzle pieces while chatting to other people on the table.

On Sunday, daughter and dbf popped home. We went for lunch at The Bell in Godstone, which is the only pub I know which offers a complete alternative menu for vegans. (I pretended I had known this in advance, and chosen it specially, but actually it was a complete fluke!) Then we went for a very wet dog walk and lazed around watching television.

I found an old book about grammar, and read out interesting snippets to people, which I’m sure added to their enjoyment of Lord of the Rings. For example, did you know that you should use ‘was’ for things that are certain (I was at the cinema) and ‘were’ for things that are uncertain (If I were to go to the cinema…)? Or that Samuel Johnson put together the first English dictionary in 1755, and thereby standardised spelling. But Noah Webster found all the silent letters very annoying, so he produced an alternative, American, dictionary in 1828, which spelt words the way they sound: center not centre, and color not colour. Which is why, even today, American spelling is different to English spelling.

I also made a Kindle paperback of JOANNA. I was hoping it would be listed first on Amazon, above all the annoying secondhand copies. But it’s not, it appears to be listed separately. So, if you live in the UK, don’t buy that version – the first edition version can still be bought, which is a nicer quality book. You just need to check you are buying a new copy when you order one. However, the Kindle paperback version does now mean that people in other countries can order physical copies of the book, so I will leave it there. I’ve sold quite a few other books in the US, Australia, and various parts of Europe, and now JOANNA is available in those countries too.

Today, I will try to catch up with life a little. I feel as if I have been running since November, and I have piles of stuff around the house which need to be sorted. I then need to start planning the launch of CLARA, which I’m very excited about. The manuscript is finally with the printer, and the order placed. I had to decide how many copies to print. I was very tempted to print fewer books than previously. I really find the selling bit difficult – since my operation, I find approaching strangers and telling them about my books, to be really scary. On the other hand, I feel that CLARA is a book that should be read. I know it’s controversial, that some people will find it difficult, but it says so much. It tells the story of the women I met in the slums, and it has layers of messages hidden in the depths of the story. It is a gripping story, but I hope it will be more than that. So, I was brave, and have ordered 500 copies. I need to work out the price, as it’s a fatter (and therefore more expensive) book than JOANNA, but I think £12.99 will be about right. I’ll let you know. If you want to preorder a copy, send me a message via my Facebook page.They sent me a copy of the cover to approve, so I’ll let you have a sneaky preview.


Thanks for reading. Have a good week.
Take care,
Anne x

India

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(When I took the above photo, a man appeared from nowhere, and tried to make me pay him. I’m not sure he was even connected to the lorry! I walked away, and let Husband deal with him.)

Still so much that’s new in India. Today I tried ‘Dragon Fruit’ or ‘pitaya’. I’ve seen them in supermarkets in the UK, but never known how to eat them. I asked the man delivering them, and he said to cut it lengthways into quarters, and then gently pull back the peel. I washed it first, just to eliminate chance of eating germs. It looks really amazing. It tastes really disappointing! Is okay, but nowhere near as exciting as it looks. Apparently, they are very good for you, and full of cancer-fighting nutrients. They grow on cacti.

On Monday, Husband had to work. I arranged to meet a friend in the lobby for tea. I asked her if Mumbai was safe for a woman to walk around alone. She assured me that she walks everywhere, and has never had any trouble. The main danger is scams and pick-pockets, so I should be alert, but was unlikely to be attacked, even after dark, and even in poorer areas. Sometimes, being somewhere very different to home can seem scary, but usually it’s safe.

I had previously asked my friend to read through CLARA, to check it was acceptable from an Indian’s point of view. It is very difficult to write about another culture, and I was keen that I shouldn’t write something that seemed offensive to people living in India. There were a few changes she suggested, mainly to names, but mostly it was okay. When we met, I was able to show her the cover photograph. I am just waiting for the cover to arrive for approval, and then the printer can print it. All getting very exciting now. It is, I think, the best book I have written, so I hope you will read a copy.

In the evening we went to the hotel bar. There was also a rooftop bar, but it was shut due to a horrific fire at another hotel, where several people had been killed. I’m not sure whether the government had shut all rooftop bars as a precaution, perhaps to check their safety procedures. This bar was okay, but had the most uncomfortable seats ever. Women over 50 like comfy seats. I also got a lot of feedback from Husband about my cardigan. I ignored him, I’m sure it will start a new trend.

Last breakfast. The breakfast is nice, but the table-setting is a bit random. There should be cutlery, a bottle of water, glass, side-plate and napkin for each place. But there often isn’t. Sometimes things are delivered as you eat. It’s a little odd to be presented with a side-plate and napkin when you’ve nearly finished eating! There are a LOT of staff waiting the tables. I’m guessing each one has a specific role, and they don’t always keep up when new guests arrive to eat. They also have a tendency to come and chat while you’re eating. They hover near the table, and ask if everything is okay (which happens in UK restaurants) but then stay to ask what plans you have for the day, and if you’re enjoying the hotel. I’m not sure whether to pause my eating while they’re there, or carry on chewing whilst they chat.

Arriving home after a holiday is always nice. When you first arrive, there’s a certain novelty to cleaning your teeth in tap water, and being able to eat a bowl of cereal when you’re hungry. You have all your memories and photographs, and it doesn’t matter that you haven’t yet unpacked because you’ve only just arrived home. Then, two weeks later, you feel like you’ve never been away, you’re tired again, and feeling stressed because you still haven’t managed to put away the suitcases! Or perhaps you’re more organised than me.

I do enjoy being in India, even though it’s exhausting. I have visited several times over the last few months, talking to people who live in the poorer areas, learning about their lives, visiting their homes. It has been fascinating. I wonder when I’ll come again.

Thank you for reading.

Why not sign up to follow my blog?
anneethompson.com

xxxx

Don’t forget to look out for my new book: CLARA – A Good Psychopath?
An exciting story that shows what it’s like to be poor in India. It’s nearly ready…

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Dhobi Ghat

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Dhobi Ghat

We decided to walk to Dhobi Ghat, next to Mahalaxmi railway station. This is a laundry, built by the British Raj in 1890, and still in use today. It was easy to find, as it really is right next to the station, and you can see lines of washing as you approach. We stood on the bridge, next to the station, and looked down at the laundry.

There were concrete pools of water, each with a flogging stone (where the laundry is bashed until clean). People stood in the pools, dunking linen, and rinsing it in great vats of water. There were also people washing themselves and cleaning their teeth – it all seemed to happen in the same water, though I could see a narrow gulley that was taking away the dirty water. Hanging above them, were lines and lines of washing.

The laundry is used by hotels and hospitals, and smaller laundries, who send the linen there to be washed, and then iron it before returning it to the customer (for a profit). Clothing manufacturers also send stuff there that they want ‘stone washed’, and we saw lots of jeans hanging to dry. They also dye fabric. The owner’s name is written in the back of garments, so they all get returned to the correct people (though it looked to me as if there might be muddles sometimes).

The people who work there are called ‘dhobis’. They don’t earn much, and many now also double up as tour guides. Some have installed washing machines and dryers, which we could see under awnings, but there was still lots of hand-washing happening.

The laundry is big – I read that 7,000 people work there. There were little pens, and tiny houses, all within the laundry walls, though some people live in the slums outside. Lots of tourists were there, taking photographs. We could see lots from the bridge, though for once I wished I had my big camera and not just a phone to take photos.

We walked down, looking for a way inside. The street was very crowded, with tiny shops and stalls and traffic and people. We passed a stall selling meat – there were chickens wilting in the sunshine behind the stall, struggling to get next to a fan. They were killed to order, which makes for very fresh meat (which is necessary when there’s not refrigeration) but an unhappy life for a chicken. We also passed blocks of public washrooms, when you tried to not breath in as you walked past. They are probably the only facilities available for the people who live there, as there didn’t look like they had any plumbing actually in their houses.

We found a gate into the laundry. There was a faded sign, saying that it was in The Guinness Book of World Records, for the most hand-washing done at once. A man appeared, and offered to give us a tour. But it all looked a bit daunting and ‘unofficial’, so we declined.

It was very interesting. When we got back to the hotel, I read that the local people don’t particularly like the laundry, seeing as a dirty place. Apparently most of the cases of malaria and dengue fever come from the laundry. The slums surrounding the laundry are gradually being cleared away, and replaced with tower blocks for the workers to live in. I hope they are better.

***
I hope you’re enjoying my blogs about India. I have visited several times over the last few months, mainly going into the poorer areas and talking to people, learning about their lives, so I could write my next book.  
CLARA – A Good Psychopath?

Due to be released soon. Don’t miss it. A compelling read with some huge ideas.

 

Thank you for reading.
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
anneethompson.com

 

xxxxxxx

 

Walk to Worli Sea Face

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Walk to Worli Sea Face

Our second day in Mumbai, and we decided to walk a little further than yesterday (it would be hard to walk less far, as we barely left the hotel driveway!)

We set off after breakfast. I was again struck by the contrast between the hotel behind us and the life happening at the end of the driveway. The hotel has large metal gates and guards, to stop the life encroaching on the unreality of the luxurious hotel (though we encroached on the bustle of real life happening on the street). We had a map, and walked for about two miles to the coast. It felt much longer, due to the heat and the noise and the pollution. You can’t walk too fast here, because the air is too thick to want to take deep breaths. I didn’t notice much pollution when we were here before, but we were right on the coast then, so maybe that makes a difference.

India bombards you. You need to be very alert when you walk, as there is lots of potential danger (like the man welding above your head, or the motorbike zooming along the path, or the man carrying a pile of unsecured bricks on his shoulder). The pavement is often rough, with loose paving stones, and there is a whole lot of nasty stuff you need to avoid stepping in. Plus you want to see. There is so much life happening, and you want to notice it all, not miss anything. So you walk slowly, and with care, and you wish you had more than one pair of eyes.

People here live their lives on the street. If you have scissors and a chair, you have a barber’s shop. We passed fruit stalls, and a printer’s shop where machines were spewing out reams of posters, and a laminating shop, and a small unit where they were cutting and polishing granite. A man with a sewing machine was making a suit jacket, and a woman with tweezers was removing a splinter from a child’s foot. A group of women were threading flower heads into garlands outside a temple, and cows were tethered to railings. So much life. I guess, if the weather is dry, and you don’t value privacy, then being outside isn’t unpleasant. It’s hard to evaluate different cultures, and I wonder what those people would think if they visited my home. They would probably think it odd how secluded we are, strange that we should live such isolated lives in our big houses and cars and offices.

I don’t know why I love India. It’s too hot and smoggy and smelly. There is constant noise, and I don’t like eating any of the food because it upsets my tummy. And yet, there is something here that fascinates me and draws me back. Perhaps it’s the people, who are polite and who decorate their clothes and buildings with such lovely patterns. I like the way people are busy, striving to improve, always on the look out for a chance in life.

The sea front was hot, and smoggy. Not particularly beautiful. (The dog in the photo was asleep, not dead.) There was a naked old man bathing, so I had to angle my photographs carefully (didn’t want to shock my mother). Walked back to hotel, and showered. Being outside is fascinating, but I need a safe clean place to escape back to – not sure I would enjoy India if I was back-packing.

When I checked the local news, I read that a boat had sunk just outside Mumbai, carrying a party of school children. And a helicopter had crashed into the bay. And a leopard had wandered into a residential area, mauling people before it could be sedated. (I didn’t even know there were leopards in Mumbai, but it didn’t say it had escaped from anywhere, so maybe there are.) As I said, you need to be careful in India…

Thank you for reading.
Tomorrow we plan to visit an ancient laundry. Why not sign up to follow my blog?
anneethompson.com

xxxx

(A rather hot, wishing I had tied back my hair, photo. Was told I looked ‘Mumsy’. Assume that’s a compliment.)

 

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First Day in Mumbai

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Slept very heavily, but breakfast finishes at 10:30 local time, so had to set alarm for about 4:40am BST. Short night. Dragged myself to restaurant, hoping it would be worth it. It was. There were dozens of counters serving different food, all freshly cooked. Some were ethnic Indian, some more European. It all looked amazing, with a huge choice of fruits and breads and hot food. A man walked around serving tiny glasses of chai (a spicy tea). My stomach is rubbish at accepting strange foods and different bacteria, so I am always extremely cautious when away, and limit myself to only freshly cooked hot vegetarian food. This was not easy here, as everything looked so tempting, but I forced myself to have just pancakes and black coffee. Husband ate everything.

We did almost nothing all day. The hotel is lovely, with a pool area and spa and fitness room. There is constant noise from the street below, but you don’t really notice it. There is some interesting art work.

At 3pm local time, we went to the drawing room, as our room included complimentary afternoon tea. I knew it was unlikely I would eat any (wouldn’t be hot freshly cooked food) but Husband was keen to sample it. A beautiful array of cakes and sandwiches arrived – it was so hard not to forget my ‘rule’ and just gobble it down. But I knew I was bound to be ill, so limited myself to tea. There was a pianist, and it was all very lovely.

We decided to go out for a stroll. Asked various members of staff if the area was safe to walk around. None of them understood, and all asked where we wanted to go, and whether we wanted a hotel car or a taxi. Am guessing most guests don’t walk. We looked online, and it seemed that walking around this area was safe, as long as we were careful of pickpockets and scams. Violent crime against tourists seems rare.

We walked out the driveway, and instantly were plunged into ‘real India’. There were tiny shops and stalls and people working on the street. Men were welding on balconies, there was a laminating factory, a printing works, grocery stores, people cooking. The whole of life happening right there on the street. We didn’t walk far – it was hot and we were tired – but we saw so much in such a short time. That is India. Very poor and very rich all overlap, and you can’t avoid noticing the contrast. I was wearing smart clothes and sunglasses, which felt very out of place as soon as I left the hotel. Next time I’ll wear my old jeans and a tee-shirt, though I will still look like a tourist. I am so big here, I feel like a giant compared to local people.

Ate dinner in hotel restaurant. We both tried to order food that wouldn’t be too spicy. We both failed. I find I eat a lot of shortbread (brought from England) when I’m in India. I think to enjoy the food here, you need a very strong stomach and to enjoy extremely hot food (we eat a lot of curry in the UK, but it’s much milder than here).

Went to bed about 8pm (1.30am local time). Another day I want to walk to the sea front, and maybe go to see Dhobi Ghat, which is an ancient laundry and is near enough to walk to. Today was about resting after Christmas and new year and the journey, but we still managed to dip a toe into India. It’s a fascinating place. Thank you for reading.

Why not sign up to follow my blog? anneethompson.com

 

Setting Off

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Left home at 5.30 am. When I’m travelling with Husband, arriving on time is never a worry. Taxi to Heathrow.

Went through all the airport procedures – luggage-drop, security, passport checks. As Husband travels so often, he knows exactly what to do at each turn, and always seems to be on the next stage. Every time I glanced up from finding my passport, or putting it back into my bag, or reloading liquids into my hand-luggage – he was out of sight and onto the next stage. (To be honest, I am not entirely sure why when you are at the airport 32 hours before your flight leaves, it is necessary to sprint through every stage. Just saying.)

Husband travelling for work, and me using copious amounts of airmiles, so rather nice lounge experience. Though we were travelling with BA, and in my opinion, they are not as nice as Virgin. They had paper towels in the washrooms, for goodness sake! You’ll be pleased to know I coped.

Eventually got onto the plane. Then had usual difficult choice between drinking enough liquid so I don’t get a headache due to dehydration, and drinking so much that I can’t avoid frequent trips to washroom. Which is never pleasant. Scowled at fellow passengers, one of whom was creator of bad smells/tissue on floor/soap smeared on tap.

Time passed slowly. At home, I would love 9 hours of peace to do whatever I pleased. On an aeroplane, it seems never-ending. Bit of reading. Bit of Duolingo (brilliant app – have you seen it?) Bit of watching ‘Filmstars Don’t Die in Liverpool’ (which was too sad, so stopped after an hour). Bit of watching ‘Kingsmen the Golden Circle’ (which was too in-your-face-nasty, so stopped. Which is a shame, as I enjoyed the first film and thought it was rather classy. This was aimed at hormonal boys who can’t cope with subtlety). Watched whole of a documentary about Stephen Spielberg, which was hugely interesting. Did you know he directed Jaws when he was just 25? He even looked a bit like Son 1 – must tell him he needs to do something brilliant soon, he’s getting a bit behind already.

Just before we arrived, the steward gave us landing cards for immigration. Why do they do that? Why wait until you have a completely numb brain and can’t remember your own name, and then ask you to fill tiny boxes with your passport number and the phone number of your hotel? Maybe it’s how they get their own back on the smelly bowelled washroom spoiler.

Immigration, in any country, is always torture. We, of course, had to sprint there, which meant we managed to catch up with all the queues from the flight before us. So worth doing. Then we had a very scary time of separation, when Husband joined the ‘working visa’ line, and I had to find the correct line for a holiday visa. Which actually did not exist, so I joined the ‘e-visa, re-entry to country’ line (which seemed a slightly better option than the ‘e-visa, Japanese nationals’ line, which was my second choice. No idea why Japanese nationals need their own line – do you know? I am sometimes mistaken for being Chinese, so I thought I could wing it, but felt European passport might be a weakness). Made it into country.

Found Husband. Found suitcases. Found hotel car. Arrived at St Regis Hotel, Mumbai, India, about 9pm BST. Long day.

Husband’s I have to travel with work too often Starwood Hotels card meant we got a free upgrade to a suite. All very plush and exciting (no paper handtowels here!) Felt very fortunate and went to bed. Will tell you more tomorrow, though actually, I intend to do nothing this trip. I need a rest.

Thanks for reading. Take care.

Love,
Anne x

 

 

xxxx

anneethompson.com
Why not sign up to follow my bog?

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If you enjoyed this, you will love my new book: The Sarcastic Mother’s Holiday Diary.
I have always written a diary on holiday, so last Christmas, I decided to find all my old diaries and blogs, and make a book for my children. However, several other people also asked for a copy, so I have written a public version – it’s available on Amazon and has been described as “The Durrells meet Bill Bryson”!

Why not buy a copy today? I think it will make you laugh.

The US link is here:

https://www.amazon.com/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1549015525&sr=8-1&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

The India link is here:

https://www.amazon.in/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1549015429&sr=8-1&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

The UK link is here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1549014970&sr=8-2&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

 

Bible Blog 12 – I Finished Chronicles

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I have now read to the end of 2 Chronicles. Some bits were boring, but I’m glad I did it, as it gave me a real overview of that period of Jewish history, and also an insight into the character of God. The books are basically lists of kings, giving their name, who their father was, and any major events. They finish each brief biography by saying that everything else the king did is recorded in different books. (We have some of the other reference books, in Kings and some of the prophets – like Isaiah. Others are lost.)

The thing is, as you read, you see how the kings kept on ignoring God. There would be a good king, the temple would be repaired, the laws upheld – and then his son would take over and we would read, “… who did evil in the sight of God”. It was a recurring theme. A king would take over, he would introduce new ideas about where/how to worship God and introduce other gods, the people would follow his lead, God would allow bad things to happen (like defeats in battle or famine or illness). Over, and over, it kept happening. Then, at last, there would be a king who tried to return to the rules God had given in the past, he would rebuild the temple, get rid of foreign gods, tell the people to observe the Passover. And God would forgive the people. Over, and over, whenever they returned to him, God gave them another chance.

This was interesting. As a mere reader, an unattached observer, I became fed up with the Jewish people. When, yet again, a bad king took over and the people followed him and ignored God, I was very irritated with them. As I read those words, “who did evil in the sight of God,” I found I was groaning. Oh no, surely not again. Then, when after a few generations, someone turned back to God, realised things were wrong, tried to do the right thing, I kind of wanted God to say no, stuff it, you didn’t learn last time, now it’s too late. Because that’s what I would do, after so much deliberate wrong-doing, after they continued to ignore what they knew from the past, after they stopped following God yet again. I would run out of kindness, tell them they’d blown it. But God didn’t. Every single time they came back to him, whatever had gone before, God accepted them.

You really have to read the whole of 1 and 2 Chronicles to get a feel of what I’m saying, which takes some discipline, but at the end, you are slightly amazed by the patience of God. It’s like a pre-runner to the story of The Prodigal Son, where a boy is shockingly rude to his father, shames him publicly, messes up big time – and then the father takes him back as soon as he returns. Such love. Love way beyond what I am capable of, almost beyond what we can even understand. This is my God.

*****

anneethompson.com

xxx

Being Shameless (further confessions of an author)

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As it’s a new year, I thought I’d give you an update on the whole ‘being an author’ game/business/nightmare (delete as applicable). Actually, to be honest, the last few months have at times felt like a nightmare – but I’ll come to that in a minute.

First, I’ll tell you about Christmas. For a self-published author, Christmas is busy. There seem to be sales everywhere, and if you’ve been organised a few months ahead of time, booking a table is relatively easy. Prices for a table tend to vary, so it’s worth researching which fairs are likely to give enough sales to recoup your costs. But selling at fairs is okay, all you need is a good patter, and people will buy a signed book for their son, aunty or bookclub friend. Actually fitting in time to properly celebrate Christmas with your family is more difficult. I did rather struggle through Christmas this year in a state of disorganised exhaustion – so perhaps I need to have a rethink for next year.

Regarding Christmas, I must confess, I was shameless, and did a terrible thing. You see, when you’re an author, it is very difficult to advertise your products. They are books. Unless you talk to people, they don’t really sell themselves. So, how to raise awareness? How to best remind people that my books exist, and they said that they intend to buy another one, but they haven’t yet got round to it? How to avoid being that boring person at dinner parties who always talks about her books? Marketing. The big companies do it, so why not self-published authors who are struggling to be seen? You often see massive posters at stations and bus stops, advertising the next blockbuster by Lee Child or Stephen King – why not by Anne E. Thompson?

 Now, I wasn’t sure if Husband would be happy to finance a thousand-pound advertising spree, but I thought it unlikely, so I didn’t ask him. Instead, I looked for something cheaper than a couple of posters at Victoria Station. My solution was photo-gifts. You know the ones? Those mugs, and coasters where you can have a picture of your puppy on the front. Well, why not books? I have photos of each cover, why not produce some merchandise? So I did. I went online, found some that weren’t too expensive, and had some things made with the cover photos of my books on the front. They looked okay. But then I needed to distribute them, so they were seen in public – which is where the shameless bit comes in. I decided that my family would all like to walk around, advertising my books on a bag, so they all received one for Christmas. (Okay, so actually I knew they’d be slightly horrified, but I did it anyway.) They were polite.

 I rather like the mugs, which are a decent size and a nice shape. So I had a few made. I’ll see if I can sell any when I’m next selling books, which won’t make me any money, because they’re quite expensive for me to buy, but they will help to advertise my books. I have this image, of someone drinking coffee, and being asked, “What is that picture on your mug?” “Ah,” they will reply, “that is the cover of a book I read recently. It was really good, you should buy a copy.” I tried this out on the man who came to service the boiler, and gave him his coffee in a Joanna mug. He didn’t comment.

The nightmare bit of my job is publishing Clara. As it’s my sixth book, I thought I had the publishing bit sorted. The book was finished in the summer. But everything since has been hard work. My editor suggested I rewrote lots of it, which took me months. Then the cover photo was later arriving than I’d hoped, which meant the typesetter didn’t get everything before Christmas. Then there was a strange glitch on the computers, which changed some, but not all, of the curly quotation marks to ‘smart quotes’, which look odd in a book, so I had to read through and find them all. Which took hours and hours. Plus some words were hyphenated, which always irritates me when I’m reading books, so they had to be found and corrected, because for some reason the auto-correct function only worked on some chapters. I felt like everything was against this book being published. As I write, we are negotiating with the printer, and hopefully, Clara will go to them this week. I hope so. I am worn out with things going wrong, especially as I find the IT side of publishing to be beyond my ability level.

I need to decide soon if I am going to have another book launch. They are a bit scary, but they do make it easy for friends to buy the book. If I do, I need to decide when. I want to avoid holiday seasons, but have it in time for people to buy the book for the summer (when most people read at least one book). I will let you know.

I also need to do something about Amazon. They have changed their listing policy, so cheaper books always appear first. Which means people selling secondhand copies of my books show ahead of me, and those are the copies people are buying. So I don’t receive any money. I am thinking that I might make Kindle paperback copies of all my books, and only sell my self-published ones directly. The Kindle paperbacks are less nice, they’re heavier and not of the same quality as my self-published books. But they are okay, and customers can avoid paying postage, and I don’t have to physically send them out, AND they would be listed ahead of all the other copies (because most of the money goes to Amazon, so they want to sell them). I’ll try to do it in February, at the moment I’m still trying to catch up with life.

Thanks for reading. Take care.
Love,
Anne x

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You can follow my blog at : anneethompson.com

 Anne E. Thompson is the author of five novels and one non-fiction book. Her latest novel, CLARA – A Good Psychopath? is due to be released soon. You can find her books in bookshops or Amazon.

Which book will you read next?