Author: anneethompson

An Hour at Victoria Station

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An hour to wait at Victoria Station. Am lucky enough to find a seat, so I settle down with my M&S sandwiches and watch the world. Take a minute and watch with me (you don’t need to stay for the whole hour).

In the middle, next to the stall selling lurid coloured sweets (unwrapped and unhealthy) is a man speaking on the phone. At least, I’m hoping he’s on his phone – I can’t actually see it but he is wearing ear-plugs. He is also talking very loudly in accented English. He’s the sort of person you want to slap: too loud, too German, too aggressive. He’s talking about, “Five or six billion,” and, “it’s well within my experience.” Like I said, needs a slap.

Then there’s the man who plonks an empty coffee cup next to me and walks away. He needs a slap too.
German man is still talking as I glare after the departing back of coffee trash man.
A group of women arrive in front of me, hugging and kissing good-byes. One is heavily pregnant in a tight striped dress, her shape straining against the fabric.

There are young people with backpacks, and a mother with a pushchair, and men, with pull-along cases, who walk beside them as if they’re walking a dog. A group of teenagers giggles its way across the concourse, and a black girl sits next to me to eat her chips (she has to move trash man’s empty cup first). We exchange a smile, but don’t speak. Speaking might be deemed weird.

There are people hurrying to platforms, and others standing in the way as they stare at departure boards. Heels click past, rushing towards the toilets (they’re free now you know, it used to cost 70p to pee).
An intense young man in a pink shirt speaks into a phone while walking towards the platforms. German man has gone now – I didn’t notice him leave. An old lady with an orange carrier bag walks lopsidedly towards the sandwich shop. Mr Pink Shirt is now standing, still talking, fiddling distractedly with his trouser zipper – not a good habit. Two women walk arm in arm reading a timetable.

There’s a babble of languages, the background drone of engines, the tap of heels on the smooth grey floor. The tannoy, which no one appears to listen to, screeches its announcements, and an orange-lights-flashing vehicle beeps through the crowds.
An old man, flat cap, carrier bag, beard, leans heavily on his stick as he wheezes behind his wife. Or lover. Or work colleague. They are overtaken by a younger couple, both with small efficient cases. Hers has a giant hat box on top, and I wonder if she’s going to a wedding. Perhaps the wedding.

Victoria Station. No one is really here, everyone is passing through, waiting to leave, their mind somewhere else. The workers are invisible, in spite of their orange jackets, their beeping vehicles, their shiny booths. Who could describe the person they bought the panini from? Or the hair of the girl at the information desk? Or the shoes of the man unloading the heap of free newspapers while hands reach out, their attached bodies barely pausing, the commuters not breaking step for a second.

The information board flips, new platforms announced. I fold my sandwich box into my bag, and leave.

***

I wrote this at the station, whilst also chatting to my children on a Facebook group chat. I told them what I was doing, and asked if they thought it would be okay to add photographs of the people I’d mentioned. They replied:
Mark: “No Mum, definitely not.”
Becky: “Mother, I don’t think you should have taken photographs in the first place!”
As I am at the age whereby I have learnt it is best to obey one’s children, I’m afraid there are therefore, no photos.

***
Thank you for reading.
You can follow my blog at: anneethompson.com

Anne E. Thompson has written several novels and one non-fiction book. You can find her work in bookshops and Amazon.

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Agonies in a Craft Tent

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Let me tell you about my weekend – another craft fair. Not my favourite activity. The thing is, writing books, creating a whole world with quirky characters and exciting happenings, is fabulous – best job in the world. However, taking those books, and trying to persuade people to risk a few hours and read one, is very scary. But there is little point in doing one without forcing yourself to do the other. This is how it tends to go.

First of all, is the venue. Usually you’re provided with a space in a marquee, booked at immense cost, which all adds to the pressure of how many books you need to sell to not lose a ton of money. The space can vary in quality. Sometimes you’re placed next to an aggressive seller, who has set her table well over the boundaries, and has squeezed your space to a tiny square. Sometimes the organiser has been more canny, and has marked on the floor exactly where each space begins and ends. There are good pitches – towards the centre of a walkway, and bad pitches – right next to the door (because people entering the tent don’t usually want to stop and listen to your sales pitch as soon as they get inside, and if you are the last stall, they are already thinking about leaving by the time they reach you. Though last is slightly better than first.) If it’s raining, you often get drips of water plopping onto your books. If it’s dry, you sometimes get condensation (see previous sentence). Sometimes it’s really hot, and then the air becomes too thick to breathe and after a couple of hours you are very red-faced and sweaty, and no one wants to approach your stall.

After you’ve set up, you can walk round and have a look at the other stalls. These tend to vary. There is the scowling old man who sits opposite the entrance, surrounded by his wife’s knitted cardigans. There are homemade stands: twigs stuck into flowerpots hanging with necklaces; husband-made constructions that would withstand a nuclear explosion; and the carefully selected textures and colours that make up the artists’ stalls. Most stalls represent hours upon hours of work, and everyone is feeling slighty desperate about trying to sell things, and trying hard not to show it.

There is lots of tension involved with selling books. Unlike jewellery and knitwear and paintings, they aren’t sold by how good they look, so the only way to sell is to tell people what they’re about. Not easy. You sit there, watching for potential customers, hoping for a flicker of eye-contact. It’s very bad form to start speaking while they’re looking at your neighbour’s stall, so you have to wait until they have moved into the space you ‘own’. These are moments of real tension, as you watch a couple meander around the tent, buying trinkets at other stalls (so they’re spending money today), they look intelligent (so sure to be readers); they walk nearer while I wait, ready with my patter, throat dry with nerves, waiting while they examine the stall nearest to me then, at last, they begin to approach, they glance towards my books, they turn to each other to make a comment, I begin to approach them and – they leave the marquee. I breath out, sip some water, wait for the next person.

And then there are the low points. The customer who arrives right after you’ve taken a swig of coke who you greet with a loud belch (she didn’t buy a book). Or the customers who arrive with a football team of uncontrolled kids who touch everything and ruin your display, and probably can’t read anyway. Or the owner of the small dog who lets it wee against your tablecloth. Not to mention the joys of portaloos. Or, depending on the fair, the happiness of sitting right next to where the bagpipes are playing.

However, I survived, and lots of lovely people did buy my books. There were also some interesting chats, like the one with the tiny old woman who told me she used to teach Camilla PE, and the palace have done wonders with her appearance, and she was always a very lazy girl who couldn’t do a handstand properly.

The problem is, selling books is personal. Every rejection feels like a put-down, and every sale brightens my day. So why not take a look at my books today – if you buy one, you’ll cheer me up immensely.

Thank you for reading. All my books are available on Kindle and in bookshops. UK Amazon link below.

 

 

The latest, and best book (in my opinion). An exciting novel written in the first person, which shows how a psychopath views the world. The story encompasses the world of women trafficked in India, and shows how someone very bad, can be used to achieve something amazing.

An exciting novel, set in the near future. One family shows how they cope with driverless cars, new laws, and schools run by computers.

A gritty thriller, which shows what it means to be a psychopath, and how it would feel if someone in your family did something awful. (Because every psychopath has a mother.)

A hilarious romance for when you want to relax.

Hidden Faces by Anne E. Thompson.
An easy read, feel good novel, set in an infant school. An ideal gift, this is a book to make you smile.

Mother Hen

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My broody hen has done rather well. Yesterday, when I went to let out the chickens, I could hear someone cheeping from the nest. I tried to see, but mother hen wasn’t moving, and I am wary of her beak. I checked several times during the day, but although there was often cheeping, there was no sign of any hatchlings. I wondered what it would be.

You might remember me telling you, a few weeks ago, one hen went broody and made a nest. I don’t want any more chickens, especially as at least half are cockerels, so I decided to remove the eggs. But a broody hen gets very upset when you take her eggs, and will sometimes disappear in an attempt to hide a nest. I do want some more ducks, and I had some duck eggs in the fridge, so as I removed the chicken eggs, I replaced with them with duck eggs. Mother hen hissed at me, but continued to sit.

Chicken eggs take exactly 3 weeks to hatch. Duck eggs take exactly 4 weeks to hatch – the cheeps were heard after 3½ weeks. So I had no idea what it was, duckling or chick?

Had the mother laid a sneaky egg after I’d removed them? Or had one of the other hens dumped an egg in the nest? I checked several times, but she wouldn’t budge. A very good mummy, but frustrating for me!

Finally, today, they had emerged from the nest. There were two empty shells, (and two dead eggs). I only saw one hatchling – who was being shy. I still couldn’t be sure if it was a duckling or a chick! 

 

 

 

 

Eventually, they started to move around. The duckling watched the mother, copying what she did. She learned how to eat the chick crumb, and drink from the water pot. I’m still not sure if there’s a second duckling – if not, I’ve no idea what happened to the other hatchling (perhaps they ate it!) I will let you know if it turns up (the hen hasn’t actually left the cage, so it could be hiding underneath her).

 

The mother hen was a bit perturbed when her ‘chick’ insisted on climbing into the water drinker, rather than just drinking from it. I fear she has a few water related surprises ahead. And she’s going to be very disappointed when her chick can’t fly this time next week. But so far, she’s doing brilliantly.

Thank you for reading. I hope your day is full of happy surprises.

Take care,

Love,
Anne x

xxxxxxx

You can follow my blog at: anneethompson.com

Anne E. Thompson has written several novels and one non-fiction book. You can find her work in bookshops and Amazon.

Does God Care About the Children in Syria?

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Does God care about the children in Syria?
Does he even see them?

Photo: AFP rudaw.net

The other day, I was half watching the News, half eating my lunch, when they broadcast a report from Syria. I was suddenly faced with a little boy. He’d been sat on a chair, under the television lights, and he was bleeding – wounded from yet another attack in Syria. He had a cut on his head, and when he put his hands up to feel, he got blood on his fingers. He then didn’t know what to do. I watched as he instinctively went to wipe them on the chair, realised he was being watched, so instead slowly wiped them on his trousers. I nearly cried. He was a little boy, just the same as my sons were, as every little boy I have taught. I could see what he was thinking, that as he sat there, he was worrying about the blood on his hands and he didn’t know what to do. I wanted to tell him it didn’t matter, to take him to a sink and wash him and bandage him. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that this war – which is full of complex politics – was the fault of grown-ups. That he deserved better.

So, as my heart ached for this one child, I wondered – does God care? Does he even see? And if so, why doesn’t he act?

The reason I’m writing this, is because I have just listened to a talk about God seeing. (I tend to miss the talks at my church because I’m usually with the children, so I catch up online later.) The talk (which was brilliant) is too long to tell you completely, but it made one point I will share with you.

Imagine you are waiting for someone, and she is late. If they are a stranger to you, you might be irritated, or angry that they are wasting your time and not bothering to let you know. You might even decide to get up and leave, they have messed you around and missed their chance. But if you know that person, if they are a close friend or relative, and someone who has always been reliable in the past, who has always been on time, never let you down, then your reaction would be different. You might be concerned that something had happened to them. You would be confident that they are late because there is a valid reason.

The same is true with God. We may not understand why bad things are happening, but if we know him, if we have experienced his love in our own lives, if we are confident that he is truly good, truly God, then we can trust him with this too.

Sometimes we don’t know why. Sometimes things are too sad, too horrible, too painful to comprehend. In those times, all we can do is trust. The God who we know to be loving and faithful and right, the God who is God, does care. And he does see. And when the time is right, he will sort it.

Photo: Unicef

The link for the talk is below. It lasts about 40 minutes, and is worth finding the time to listen.

El Roi: The God Who Sees

Thank you for reading.
Have a good week.
Love, Anne x

*****
You can follow my blog at: anneethompson.com

Anne E. Thompson has written several novels and one non-fiction book. You can find her work in bookshops and Amazon.

(I took the photographs from Google. They are possibly copyrighted, so I have tried to credit them accordingly.)

Getting Old…

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The painter man has left. My house is now smarter, though still untidy. It has been quite a good opportunity to have a sort out, and I have been ruthless with old ornaments and broken pottery that I should have thrown away years ago.

We also sorted out the DVD collection. Husband and I spent a cheery evening wading through the heap, deciding which ones we were likely to rewatch and which ones could be recycled. I was surprised by just how many DVDs we have managed to accumulate, and most of them I can’t remember watching. There was of course, some denial over who had actually ever bought some of them. All the Disney ones we blamed the children for (though there are a few that I’m suspicious may have been ordered by Husband). All the religious ones we blamed my mother for. Both of us were certain we never bought the dodgy film about a Ukrainian prostitute.

The sort out was such a success that Husband decided we should also sort out our CD collection. This was more difficult, as I never know the names of artists or albums, and needed to be reminded what the songs actually were. There were also a surprising number of CDs which were in the wrong boxes (must be the boys’ fault) and it was impossible to correct this as it seems to be trendy to produce black CDs with no discernible writing on them. Husband spotted that they all had a tiny symbol, which matched with a symbol on the box. Seems a very stupid idea to me. Felt very old.

Now sitting on duck eggs – but don’t tell her!

Other news: All my female ducks have gone. Not sure if they’ve flown away to find mates (it’s that time of year) or if the fox got them, or if they are hidden somewhere on nests. If it’s the last choice, I will find out in four weeks, when they appear with ducklings. I would like some more females, but don’t have time to hatch any eggs this year. I had a few duck eggs in the fridge still, and a chicken has gone broody, so I removed the single egg she was sitting on and replaced it with 5 duck eggs. She hissed at me, but is still sitting. We shall see what happens. It’s easier if she hatches them, as she’ll then raise the hatchlings for me.

I have also been invited to preach at a church near Bluewater. When the call came, I had gone to bed, so told Husband no, I don’t preach any more (I used to, several years ago, before I was ill). But then, when I woke the following morning, I thought that actually, although I’m not sure if I can still ‘preach’, I would really love to give a talk about all I learnt recently about the Prodigal Son. So I phoned the person who asked me, and said that I would come, but could I talk on the Prodigal Son? There was a long pause. He then said, rather hesitantly, that actually it was Pentecost Sunday. I said that was fine – please could I speak on the Prodigal Son? He agreed. He has now sent through the programme for their services, and they will be doing a series on ‘lost things’, so my talk will fit rather well. I hope I manage to do it okay. It is quite a test for me, to see if I can still do it. I will let you know how it goes.

Now selling copies of Hidden Faces, JOANNA and CLARA.

In Author World, I am still not managing to write very much of the new book. I simply cannot see the characters clearly enough yet. Never mind, they will appear eventually, and there’s no hurry, because I hate having to sell the books when they’re finished anyway! The selling bit is pootling along. Mum had a stall at a local fair for me, and sold a few books. There is also a little community shop that has opened in a nearby village, and they’ve sold a few copies too. Plus all the normal outlets. I have sold a little over 100 copies of Clara since the launch at the end of February.

I have also – finally – submitted some blurb for an author page on Amazon. I’m not sure what, if anything, it will achieve, and I had no idea what to write, so I spent some time reading other people’s author pages. Some were very personal, some said nothing except blurb about their books. I decided to go for something in between. I also had to submit a photo. Struggled hard with the ethics of submitting photo of daughter instead (she’s prettier than me). Decided she might be cross.

Have a look if you have time, the link is:

 

Hope you have a good week. Thanks for reading.

Take care.
Love,
Anne x

******

You can follow my blog at: anneethompson.com

Anne E. Thompson has written several novels and one non-fiction book. You can find her work in bookshops and Amazon.

 

Feeling Frazzled

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Feeling rather frazzled as I write this. There are several reasons, but the main one is a mouse, in the house, which is never a welcome adventure. Now, I am quite good with animals in general, and I think that other than spiders, I could sensibly handle any animal, big or small, that I needed to – if it was contained. But there is something about rodents, especially mice and rats, which, when I encounter them running around freely, makes me scream like a girl. Not really sure why.

We still have the painter/decorator in the house (possibly another reason for feeling frazzled) and he had just started to prepare the recently emptied lounge, when he mentioned that a mouse had run the length of the hall and disappeared under the study door. Super news, just what I was hoping to hear.

Old incontinent cat.

I collected old incontinent cat from her new home in the garage (she can’t live in the utility room while the painter is here) and dumped her in the study. Felt she might need back-up, so went into the garden and whistled for the outside cats. They are very good at coming when I whistle. Unfortunately, so is the dog and all the chickens (note to self:learn how to do two different whistles). Separated the cats from the general group of random animals, and took them into the study.

By this time, old incontinent cat had managed to catch the mouse, whilst also leaping over all the stuff recently removed from other rooms ready for the painter, and managing to break an assortment of complicated lego models. (Do not ask me why, when we have no children in the house, it is necessary to keep aforementioned lego models, but apparently it is.) Old incontinent stupid cat had then put down mouse to play, and mouse had run into fireplace.

We could see it, sitting there, completely still. The cats, however, seemed completely blind to all things rodent, and were busy exploring the shelves and desk.

Tried waving various cats in general direction of mouse. Mouse remained still, cats disliked being waved and struggled to be free.

Decided we needed to catch mouse ourselves. Managed to trap mouse in a plastic cup, and slide coal shovel underneath to contain it. Not sure what to do next.

Mouse sat there, looking quite cute, with big round ears and beady eyes. I think it was a baby one. Did not feel I could kill it, nor did I trust the cats to do the job for me if I released it. Nor did I want it to breed a whole family of new mice in my house.

Sent Husband down the lane, with mouse in plastic cup with shovel underneath to contain it. He complained a bit, but I coped. Opened window so incompetent cats could join chickens and dog in garden.

Now, I do know, that the mouse will probably walk back to my house. Though it was injured, so it might not make it. Plus, I am assuming that should it return, it will be slightly more careful to not be seen again. I also know that a quick killing would’ve been the most sensible course of action. But sometimes, there are some things, which I simply cannot manage to do.

Hope you have a rodent free week. Thank you for reading.

Take care,
Love,
Anne x

*********

Anne E. Thompson has written several novels and one non-fiction book. They are available from book shops and Amazon. She writes a weekly blog at: anneethompson.com

The latest, and best book (in my opinion). An exciting novel written in the first person, which shows how a psychopath views the world. The story encompasses the world of women trafficked in India, and shows how someone very bad, can be used to achieve something amazing.

A hilarious romance for when you want to relax.

An exciting novel, set in the near future. One family shows how they cope with driverless cars, new laws, and schools run by computers.

A gritty thriller, which shows what it means to be a psychopath, and how it would feel if someone in your family did something awful. (Because every psychopath has a mother.)

Hidden Faces by Anne E. Thompson.
An easy read, feel good novel, set in an infant school. An ideal gift, this is a book to make you smile.

Psalms – Next book in my Bible Blog

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In my read through the Bible I have reached Psalms. I didn’t find it a very easy book to read through, as each Psalm is like a poem, and if I wasn’t in the right mood, it was hard to connect with what the psalmist was writing. Lots were written by David, when he was fighting for his life, so he was in a different situation to most of us. It’s quite difficult to hope all your enemies will die horrible deaths, if you don’t feel you actually have any enemies. However, there is still lots to glean from reading them.

This book is made up of songs, which we tend to read as poems (and is actually divided into five separate books). I used the books by Michael Wilcock to help me understand them, and if you want to study individual psalms in detail, I would recommend it. (It’s part of The Bible Speaks Today series, ISBN 9780851115061) He describes the Psalms as being like “a photograph album, full of pictures that show us a variety of places in a land of spiritual experience.” I rather like that description.

As I read through, there were three main themes which struck me: The absolute power and sovereignty of God, the importance of remembering what God has done in the past, and the realisation that we are very temporary. These themes are repeated and intermingled throughout the Psalms, and I think they’re important. (There is also a lot of poetry, but I’m not a great appreciator of poetry, so that side was a bit lost on me.)

If you have ever faced a potentially terminal illness, you will have faced the fact that you might die soon. This is probably not a bad thing to realise, especially in our culture, which tends to hide away from death. We need to acknowledge that we have a ‘use-by’ date, and that our life is relatively fleeting. I guess for the psalmists, who lived in an age when dying in battle was likely, when diseases were mostly incurable, and when life expectancy was short, knowing that you would die one day was much more relevant. But it’s something we all need to consider. Not because we want to be gloomy, but because then we will have some urgency to how we choose to live our lives. What exactly is important? What really matters? (Probably not the designer handbag, nor being a best-selling novelist, or the CEO of a major company!) In Clara – A Good Psychopath? Clara makes the observation that all the writers of the Bible were pretty weak people, who made lots of mistakes, and they’re all dead now anyway. And yet, their lives had meaning and significance, simply because they followed God and HE gave their lives significance. Their lives were worth something, because HE was worth something. I think this is what the Psalms remind us. Unless we look to God, it’s all pretty meaningless in the long term.

Which leads on to the importance of remembering. I don’t know about you, but I am fairly fickle when it comes to praise and worship. I remember, right after I had brain surgery, when I was so grateful to God for his support, that I wanted to tell everyone I met about it. Talking about how great God was, happened naturally, it was sort of bubbling up inside of me. But I’m not like that now. Most days I’m a grumpy middle aged woman who has a crisis when the cat brings in a mouse. Therefore, remembering is important. We need to stop, regularly, and remember what God has done. The Israelites were told to remember being rescued from Egypt, long, long afterwards – in fact, generations afterwards. Remembering what God has done for us is important, especially when life is tough. If life is like a series of mountain peaks and valleys, then remembering how we felt on the mountain will help us to get through the valley.

Finally, the Psalms deal with the absolute power and sovereignty of God. The God who created the heavens, who formed the mountains, the power of the waves – there is no other. When we’re in the doldrums, it’s good to lift our thoughts upwards, to think about who God is, to remember to worship him. Which challenges us to think about how we do that. Do we make time to pray regularly? Do we bother to kneel down when we pray? Do we make space for the God we claim to worship in the busyness of life?

So, Psalms was not a favourite book of mine, and is one I would rather dip into when I’m in the mood, than to read from beginning to end. But reading it has, I think, helped to change me, just a little.

*****
anneethompson.com

Thank you for reading. The UK Amazon links for the books mentioned are below.

Psalms by Michael Wilcock:

Clara by Anne E. Thompson:

A Low Cholesterol Diet…(sort of)

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The low cholesterol diet is not going as planned. You may remember that the doctor (who I will never visit again) did some blood tests, and when I phoned for the results, they said my cholesterol was too high. Which was a major blow.

At first, I wondered if there was a mistake. I eat very little processed food, and have a fairly active life-style, and am not (I think) over weight for my age. So I decided to ignore it. But it did make me more aware, and I began to notice that I do eat rather a lot of chocolate, and cakes, and cheese sauce, and crisps, and so on. All of which are very high in saturated fat. The trouble is, everything that is nice seems to be high in saturated fat. But I decided to try and cut down, a little bit. So far, it’s not going very well.

I started by switching from semi-skimmed milk to skimmed (yes, I know that won’t make much difference, but I figured I would edge into healthy eating rather than give my metabolism a big shock and spiral down into depression because food had become awful overnight). This is fine for tea and coffee, but when I made a sauce for the cauliflower, it just seemed thin and horrid. So I added a dash of single cream that was left over from the lemon meringue pie. There wasn’t any lemon meringue pie left, because I’d already finished that.

I also tried having less cheese on my bolognese, so decided to grate a tiny amount to serve with dinner, and keep the rest in the fridge. But it was near the end of the block, so after I had grated a portion for the meals, there was only a tiny bit left. Not enough to be worth keeping. So I ate it.

Daughter did her best to help, and gave me some healthy snacks from M&S. They were surprisingly tasty. But Son told me that eating several packets at a time negated the low fat of each individual pack. I did though decide to buy them instead of crisps, for when I need a snack after a dog walk. I bought some from the supermarket (we don’t live near an M&S). They tasted like cardboard, so are now in the bin (not even the dog would eat them).

On the positive side, I find that if I don’t have any chocolate anywhere in the house, I eat less. Also, popcorn is a nice snack and will be healthy once I have gradually cut down the amount of salt and sugar I add. Porridge, made with skimmed milk, is not completely disgusting, and again, if I gradually cut down on the amount of sugar I add, it should be healthy.

To conclude, I’m not sure that I am presently eating less saturated fat than before, but I am more aware of it, and that has to be a good start. Plus, usually at Easter everyone gives me chocolate, and I would have eaten it all by now, and this year I received flowers and healthy snacks instead, so that must have made some difference. I will let you know how things progress.

Thank you for reading. Hope you have a healthy week. Take care.

Love,
Anne x

PS. Another learning point this week was whilst putting on make-up and chatting to Husband. I discovered that I tend to wave my hands around when chatting. I also discovered that ‘liquid eye-liner’ really IS liquid, and if you tip it upside-down it pours out onto the duvet. This does not wash off. I also discovered that if you turn stained duvet cover upside-down, Husband doesn’t notice. Or at least, he hasn’t so far…

 

*****

You can follow my blog at: anneethompson.com

Why not sign up today?

 Anne E. Thompson has written several novels and one non-fiction book. You can buy her books from book shops and Amazon. She lives in Kent, with her husband, several chickens and many ducks, plus a dog and a bunch of cats. She writes a weekly blog.

 

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I know that some of my followers are also authors. I spent some time this week trying to find Christian publishers who accept submissions from authors. It took ages, so I wrote a post and included the links. Hopefully it will save you some time. The link to the page is below:

Publishers Who Accept Submissions From Authors

Breakfasts and Dummies

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6:30 am. Husband kindly woke me with coffee and cake. He was clearly worried that I might cause him to miss his train. It was also clear that I had not been clear that my event in London started with a breakfast.

8:30am. Arrived in London. My event didn’t start until 9:30, so I followed Husband into Pret (for another breakfast).

Jubilee Line had problems, so I walked with Husband to Bank, and caught the DLR to Canary Wharf. It was very crowded. Tried hard to behave like a seasoned commuter and avoided all eye contact. At next station about 50 extra people rammed themselves onto train. I was now completely squeezed on all sides, broke commuter rule and shared a joke with the woman pressed into my right armpit. Everyone else pretended they were deaf/blind/hadn’t noticed that we were close enough to be sharing the same coat.

Arrived in Canary Wharf. Still too early, so wandered around. Lots of tall glass buildings, steel tubs of tidy flowers – no spaceships, but they wouldn’t have looked out of place. All sides of one building had signs warning that smoking there was illegal. All sides of the same building had groups of men avoiding eye contact and smoking. Thought about taking a photo – decided I might get shouted at.

9:30 am. Arrived for breakfast. Breakfast was delicious coffee and tiny pastries. Was glad I’d already eaten two breakfasts. Discussed ethics of eating more than one pastry with another guest, who assured me she didn’t want one, so I ate hers. Noticed that most of the women were better dressed than me, and very manicured. Hoped they would think scuffed trainers were a fashion statement.

Taken downstairs to a room filled with dummies. Listened to a short, sad talk, from a man whose friend had died suddenly from a heart attack. The company are now running CPR courses in memory of him.

Watched a film, which showed how to give CPR, then practised on a dummy. Noticed that several women now looked less well manicured, and several dummies were now wearing smeared lipstick.

I’ve done CPR training before, because when I was teaching, we were sent on regular first aid courses. However, this one was better, as the dummies had a device embedded which clicked when the chest was sufficiently depressed. It was quite hard to make it click – I must’ve not pressed hard enough on previous courses. Basic principle remains unchanged – add air and move it around the body – but details have altered. You now don’t bother to waste time checking for a pulse – if someone isn’t breathing, you do CPR. 30 hard pushes on centre of chest (right between the nipples) at the speed you would sing “Nellie the Elephant packed her trunk…” followed by 2 big breaths into the mouth (with nose squeezed shut and head tilted back. The patient’s, not yours). You keep doing this until help arrives (or you have a heart attack yourself, as it’s quite hard work!)

We also learned how to use a defibrillator. This was incredibly easy, because when it’s turned on a voice tells you exactly what to do. It even checks for a heart beat, and tells you when/if to zap the person, so there’s no danger you might give someone an unnecessary shock. I think I’ll suggest we buy one for lunch club – seems like a good thing to keep in a church.

Had lunch. This was a buffet, with tall round tables to stand around. I hate to stand while eating, so asked if I could take my plate to the seats in the lobby. They didn’t say no (when you’re a partner’s wife, people rarely say no). Was joined by all the other middle aged spouses who like to sit while they eat.

Coffee and chocolate brownies, then caught the train home. Less crowded thankfully. I did check all the other passengers carefully, in case anyone needed CPR, but all seemed healthy.

Thank you for reading. Have a good week.

Take care,
Love,
Anne x

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You can follow my blog at: anneethompson.com

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Anne E. Thompson is an author. She writes a regular blog and has written several novels and one non-fiction book. You can find her books in bookshops and on Amazon.

 

Email from a stranger

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I received this message, which was lovely, so I thought I would share it with you:

Comment: Dear Anne
I just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed reading “Clara”. I was very much taken by the explanation you gave when you told me about your book at the East Grinstead book shop.
Some books stay with you when you have read them, and Clara was one of those for me.
I found Clara fascinating. I think there is a little bit of Clara in all of us, particularly in the way we all do try and manipulate others. However, unlike Clara, we will feel remorse for doing so.
At first I found the character of Clara intriguing as to how her mind worked. Then, the further she went, the more I started to feel uneasy about what she was doing. However, that then changed again when she went to India where she became a bit of an anti-heroine. I wondered what it would be like to try and communicate with her; knowing that would never be possible with someone like her. As soon as you were of no use she would just drop you.
Some books I buy to stretch the mind, others simply for the enjoyment as “page turners”. Clara was one of those books that did both for me. Thank you.
I went back to the bookshop today and purchased Joanna and Hidden Faces, and will continue to look out for your work.

Kind regards

Philip

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 Clara – A Good Psychopath? by Anne E. Thompson
ISBN 9780995463257
Published by The Cobweb Press
Available from book shops and Amazon.

Have you bought a copy yet?