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Bees, Builders and Babies……

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Hi, how was your week?
Now, could you let these babies die? I decided that I could. The mother duck had nested in a particularly hard place to get to, she is not an especially pretty duck, and I have 3 other nests being sat on – I don’t need more ducks. I decided I would, absolutely, let them take their chances. If the mother couldn’t protect them, I would not interfere. Definitely. Except, of course, when I found 3 abandoned ducklings left in the nest, and 2 more frantic on the pond looking for their mother, and another 2 desperately trying to keep up with her as she climbed over tree stumps while the crows circled and the cats moved closer…..well, it was hard to not get involved…. After crawling through hedges and brambles and wading through muddy water, I need a cup of tea. Fraught mother is safely in a cage with 7 ugly ducklings. The mother is completely ungrateful, and makes a sort of hissing noise through her nose whenever I go near. But she is looking after them now, which is a relief as I don’t have to bother with heat lamps.

The bees have decided to nest in the cavity wall, right next to a door. They are surprisingly scary when you want to use the door. They go and in and out of an air-brick, which leads to a grill into the larder (keeps the food cold). My understanding is that we are not meant to kill bees (despite their scariness) and so we are trying to persuade them to move house. I have been playing music to them, via the grill in the larder (Radio Kent, at full full volume – it would make me want to move out). Dog unimpressed. Bees refusing to move.

 Not sure if you can see fuzzy bees waiting outside for queen to emerge.

 

 

 

As I write this, we also have builders here. Can life get more fun? They arrived at 7:50 this morning, van loads of them. They’re building some shelves, replacing a shower screen and tiles, and putting in an extractor fan – I was expecting one bloke (husband organised this, not me – I was completely happy with a slightly dangerous shower door and having to open a window afterwards.) They are now everywhere, they emerge from unexpected places. And leave doors open. All of them. Why is it necessary for the front door to be wide open at all times, even while they’re in the loft, and the bathroom, and bringing mugs back to the kitchen, and eating sandwiches in the garden. The only one who seems to be enjoying them is the dog (so I suspect she may have shared the sandwiches). To be fair, they are doing their best. It is not, I suppose, possible to drill and saw quietly. They also put down dust sheets to protect the carpet when they arrived (though I have a sneaky suspicion that when they leave I will have all the dust from the previous jobs on my carpets – they do not look like they get put in the washing machine overly often.) I do hope they finish soon and aren’t here for days on end. Otherwise I too might start hissing through my nose….

 

Hope you have a good week.
Take care,
Anne x

xxxx

If we can’t see you, you don’t exist.

Thank you for reading. Is it too soon to buy something new to read on holiday?

JOANNA, available from bookshops and Amazon .

 

There seem to be sunflowers growing in the corn field…..!

xxx

 

Letters to an Agent….

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I was pleased with Hidden Faces as a book. It is a ‘gentle’ story, one to make the reader smile, with characters they would recognise. A book you could give to your aunty. JOANNA however is different. It is grittier, faster paced, and delves into how people react in very extreme situations. It will, I hope, have much wider appeal.  So I would like a publisher to take it on. Which means I need an agent to approach one for me (because in the UK, mere writers are unable to speak to publishers, they will only work through an agent). So, I sent my manuscript to a few agents. Not many, because I am fairly fussy still, and if I only ever sell the books I have published myself, it doesn’t really matter.

In October 2016, I posted (yes, posted – they don’t take emailed submissions) my manuscript to David Higham Associates. They are the agents for The Girl on the Train, which is a book very similar in style to JOANNA. So I thought they might be willing to represent me. I read all their submission requirements and sent (by post) everything they required. Which was both costly and a hassle. As they had stipulated that I should include a stamped addressed envelope, I fully expected a reply. Even a standard, thanks but no thanks, reply. But no, nothing. Is this agency running a scam to obtain free postage from desperate authors? These are the actual emails I subsequently sent.

January 2017
Dear David Higham Associates,

I posted a submission to you, as per your instructions, in October 2016. As this included a stamped addressed envelope, and I have not yet heard from you, I wondered if perhaps the manuscript had become separate from the postage (which you said sometimes happens.)

My submission is a thriller, entitled JOANNA, by Anne E Thompson.

Please could you check and let me know if this is still under consideration, or when I might expect to hear from you.

Thank you for your help.

Yours faithfully,
Anne Todd
#

February 2017
Dear David Higham Associates,

I posted a submission for your consideration in October 2016. A novel called JOANNA – the story of a psychopath, by Anne E Thompson. It was written after extensive research on the condition of psychopathy, involving in-depth reading of books and papers by neuroscientists. I interviewed both psychopaths and their families, and spent many hours listening to convicted serial killers. I now consider myself something of an expert on psychopathy. I wrote the novel in the first person, giving the reader insight into how a psychopath views the world. I also showed how her family felt, what it is like to love a psychopath and how one copes with the aftermath of their actions. It is an easy read work of contemporary fiction.

As I said, I now consider myself to be something of an expert. In fact, I was interviewed this week by a journalist from the local newspaper, and have been asked if I would be able to speak on both Meridian Fm and BBC Radio Surrey. People are very interested in psychopaths – and I hope JOANNA will be a popular novel. Which brings me to my reason for emailing. When I submitted my manuscript, I included a stamped addressed envelope, as per your instructions. I assumed this meant you would be posting, at the very least, a standard reply. But alas, no such letter has been forthcoming. I am hoping that by now you have managed to read my submission, have loved it, and are in the process of making an offer to represent me. I am assuming this meant you were too busy to reply to my email of January 2017. I trust therefore, that I will soon receive my letter, in the envelope provided.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Yours sincerely,
Anne Todd
#

1st March 2017
Dear David Higham Associate,

Every day when the post arrives, I rush to inspect the envelopes, which lie in a muddle of dirty shoes and discarded socks (I have sons). I am searching for a slim white envelope. The white envelope which I stamped and addressed myself, one day way back in October. Actually, I know the exact date – I posted it to you on 26th October 2016 – but I’m trying to appear casual. I sent it with the first few pages of JOANNA, which were double spaced as requested, a synopsis of the novel (which is very similar in style to The Girl on the Train) a CV, and a covering letter. You see, I had read your instructions very carefully, I am that kind of person. Thorough.

However, every day I search to no avail. Your reply has not arrived. I have since sent you a few emails, hoping to jog your memory, to perhaps spur you into action. But no, it seems I am destined to remain ignored. Not even a standard letter has been forthcoming. I admit, I am no longer expecting a response from you, and my reason for writing is to ask for your permission to use these emails on my blog. They illustrate so wonderfully the sort of things – or rather, lack of things – that a new author can expect when struggling to find their way into the world of publishing. Given your inability to reply thus far, I will assume that unless I hear otherwise, I have your full permission to use my emails to you, on my blog, and in other areas of social media. I will publish them, probably at the end of March.

March will be a good time to publish them, as it will coincide rather nicely with the launch of JOANNA. Whilst waiting for you to not reply, I have not been idle. My manuscript has been edited, and was then passed to a typesetter, who prepared a file for the printer. I commissioned a talented young photographer to produce a cover (see below) and now have a book. It will appear in bookshops shortly, and these emails can become part of my advertising on social media. Should you have a change of heart, I would still love to hear from you. I very much hope that people will enjoy JOANNA, and that my sales figures will rise accordingly. As I discovered with my previous books, the supplying of books to shops is time-consuming. I am currently writing my next book, and if you felt able to represent me, to find a mainstream publisher who could reprint JOANNA and make it available to a wider audience, that would be wonderful.

I have of course, pondered on the reasons for your lack of reply. Possibly, you lost the envelope. More likely, you have sufficient clients already, and simply ignore all new submissions. There is also the slim possibility that you are running a postal scam. My research for JOANNA has involved many hours studying the behaviour of psychopaths. To manipulate vulnerable people (new authors) into certain actions (sending you stamps) for your own gain (selling said postage for a profit) would of course, fit the psychopathic profile rather well. However, if I’m honest, the thought of David Higham being a mere front for a little man in an office steaming stamps from the front of envelopes, seems unlikely. I will therefore assume you are simply too busy to reply.

It has been lovely chatting with you.

Yours, ever hopeful for a reply,

Anne

PS. I attach the planned cover of JOANNA, to help you to consider the possibilities awaiting.

cover-sample

xxxxx

The agent has missed out on JOANNA, but you don’t have to!

xxx

Going to Seed at the Chelsea Flower Show

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Husband works with the husband of someone who organises the Chelsea Flower Show, who kindly gave us tickets. Very exciting! I have always wanted to go, the weather was perfect, so off we set. Some worry over the dress code – looked at Google images and everyone seemed smart, so we decided jeans were probs not the thing to wear. (Actually, it wouldn’t have mattered, there were a whole range of outfits.)

The tube station was shut, so we walked from Victoria station. I wondered if there’d be loads of security, as the Manchester bombing was so recent, but it was fairly low key, and certainly didn’t spoil anything. Nor did we get attacked (which would have spoiled it more).

The show was good – but not what I was expecting. I have seen telly programmes about some of the gardens, and I thought we would walk past about 40 little gardens, all with different themes. There were actually very few. Not sure if this is because we didn’t pay £10 for a map, and so we missed them, or if there are only about 10 gardens each year. The event is sponsored by M&G Investments, and their garden won (which I thought was rather funny!)

The main impression is clever. The gardening is very very clever. Each one looks as if it has been established for several years, with mature trees, wild flowers growing between paving stones, everything carefully planned. There are also lots of people. Millions of them. It’s hard to get photos of the gardens without several stray arms and ears in the frame. After a while, I stopped photographing flowers and started to photograph the people. I could make up whole stories for some of them. Most women wore flowers: flowery skirts, flowers in hats, flowers attached to hair combs. If you stood still and listened, there was a whole symphony of sneezing.

We didn’t see many gardens, but we did see lots of stands selling interesting garden related stuff. If you like garden centres, Chelsea Flower Show will be paradise for you. Husband got rather side tracked and somehow managed to buy a shed when I wasn’t looking. He kept wandering off and talking to people – there were lots of people to talk to, guides who could tell you about the gardens or direct you to the pimms stall.

I liked the inside arrangements. We found the dahlia stand (my Dad grew dahlias) and they were all perfect. We found a display of potatoes, and a stand with carnivore plants. All the flowers were straight stemmed, fresh blooms, bright colours. Not a nibbled leaf in sight.

It was all very clever. But it wasn’t very real. I guess people don’t want to pay to see real English gardens. Next year, Husband is going to pay (£8,000) for a stand (apparently). He is going to represent a real garden – with weeds and slugs and flowers that are a bit squashed. He will sit in the middle in a deckchair with a handkerchief on his head. Perhaps I will incorporate a dead bag of decapitated birds to complete the image. We’ll call it “Gone to Seed”. Do look out for us if you visit….

Okay, brace yourself for a few fuzzy photos taken on ancient phone:

This is my favourite garden. 

 Some cool sculptures you could buy. If you are rich enough.

 

 

 

 

 

 Animals, which looked cute, but were just covered in fake grass, so I didn’t really see the point of them.

 

 

 

 

 People

 More people

 Indoor displays

 Parking was a problem.

 

 

 

 More gardens.

 

 

 

 Arty stuff.

  Mostly, lots of people….

 Dahlias – some of which were as good as the ones my Dad used to grow.

Thank you for reading.

anneethompson.com

xxxx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Red Light District of Mumbai

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So, deciding to be brave, I went to the red-light district of a Mumbai slum. Husband was working, so I contacted Tearfund, and they arranged for me to visit one of their projects. Beforehand, I was very nervous about going on my own, but I am so glad I did it.

I was met by Max, who is the director of Sahaara. We’ve never met, so it was a little like a spy story -“I will be under the arch with a pink carnation in my buttonhole” (Well, actually, he just told reception who he was and we met in the hotel lobby, but you get the idea.) We then got a taxi to Turbhe, the area of the slum he works in. We chatted in the car, and I could check on a few things I’ve included in my latest novel (which is set partly in the slums of Delhi).

As we walked through the slums, it was all very similar to places I saw in Delhi: homes made from scavenged materials, uneven walls, unglazed windows, corrugated iron roofs. The hard mud paths were litter strewn – in a couple of weeks they’ll be quagmires of wet mud.

 

 

Roads were pot holed, narrow, stalls and heaps of rubbish making obstacles for vehicles to inch around. At one point the road was blocked as a lorry driver was asleep, curled up over the steering wheel, oblivious to the honking from other drivers who were unable to pass.

 

 

We first went to a building (actually, it was really just a narrow room) which is a feeding centre/education room. In May, everything closes (due to the heat) but they were still providing a mid-day meal. They had two gas burners, one with a pressure cooker of dhal, one with a vat of rice.

 

 

 

 

image

There was a bowl of hard boiled eggs, which they must’ve cooked earlier. No work-surface (no idea how they chop vegetables – they must do it in their hand, on a plate balanced somewhere). No sink, no running water. There were cupboards, some of them very high. At one point a woman climbed, a foot on a shelf, other foot on the top of a cupboard door, to reach plates from a top cupboard. Metal plates were stacked on a drainer.

 

image

They were washed in a bucket on the floor, the water carried in from an outside water butt.
Water is piped into the slum once in the morning, once in the evening, and people fill containers to use throughout the day.

The children arrived. Black-eyed, smiling, interested to see a big white woman sitting in their room (I feel huge in India. Everyone is smaller than me. Husband is a giant here.) I took lots of photos, but I’m uncomfortable about publishing them here, as most of the children had mothers who were sex workers. I will include fuzzy ones of backs, but not include faces, and hope that preserves their anonymity (we were on the edge of the red light district, I could photograph houses on the left, not on the right.)

These children were growing up in an environment where prostitution is the norm. Sahaara is educating them, so they don’t follow their mothers into the same profession, so they will have choices in life.
Previously, they found that some children arrived only for the food. Sahaara therefore made a rule: if the kids don’t attend lessons, they can’t eat. People complained, but now they all come to lessons. Seems a wise decision to me – if we just feed the poor, they will always be poor. (This is why I like Tearfund/Sahaara – they sometimes make unpopular decisions if it is for a greater good.)

IMG_2095They showed me the toilet – a room with a drain, a bucket, and a ladle. Absolutely no idea how it should be used (thankfully, was just a morning visit, I didn’t need to use a loo). Max told me that families are more likely to have a mobile phone than a toilet. There was also a fridge (not in the toilet, just in the room).

While we were there, the power went out. This happens every Friday. There isn’t enough electricity, so different areas of the slums have no power for certain times during the week. They never know how long the power-cut will last, sometimes a few hours, but when I was there it came back on after about 30 minutes. The fridge whirred back into life and the ceiling fan stirred the warm air. It would make the fridge pretty useless for anything other than drinks though.

We walked through the red light district. The houses here were slightly better, I guess it pays well. Each little house had 3 or 4 women outside, just sitting on chairs or on the floor. I thought they were sitting in the shade, chatting to each other. (Later, realised they were soliciting customers – am a bit naive about such things). Sahaara has a second centre in the heart of the red light district.

Here, they chat to the women, teach them skills like sewing, hairdressing, making things from junk – enabling them to have life choices if they want to choose a different career.
Max said it’s about caring for the women, showing them that God loves them, that they have worth, that they matter. Sahaara has a 9 point plan, starting with recognising the women, then greeting them, then befriending them, then inviting them to the centre, then the women coming on their own…. until, hopefully, they will decide they want to leave. If they do, then there are safe houses they can go to, to adjust to life outside the red light district, somewhere they can start to rebuild their lives.

Usually the centre is shut during May, but they opened it to show me inside. When they saw it was open, a couple of women came in, to see what was happening.

Back at the other centre, about 35 children sat on the floor. One child said grace (I think it was in English, which seems bizarre, as they all spoke Hindi. But I was tired, brain was fuzzy by then, so maybe was imagining it).
They ate from the tin plates, no cutlery, scooping the food with their right hands. The women were busy, one dishing up the food on plates, the others taking it round to the kids. I nearly offered to help, but then I realised, it was like Lunch Club at home. Everyone had a role and knew what they were doing, the last thing they wanted was some big foreign woman getting in the way!

We got a taxi back to the hotel, and Max delivered me safely to the lobby. I was so glad I had been, met the women, seen the children. It makes it easier to support the work and talk about it to others. Everyone has a different story. Some of the women would have been trafficked as children, some had gone into prostitution by choice, because their options were very limited. Max said they work with everyone, the prostitutes, their children, the pimps. They all need to be cared for.

It would be easy to judge, but their lives are tougher than ours, we are not so very different inside. If Sally finds she cannot make enough money from rent, she may well decide to go back to her village, to buy a young girl, to act as her pimp, so she can feed her own child. Not because she is more wicked than you or me, but because she has grown up in a harsher place, where survival means hard choices.

Sahaara is trying to show that God loves them, wants a better life for them and their children, and is teaching them the skills so they can make that choice. But the decision has to be theirs. All Sahaara can do is give them the choice. All we can do is help to provide the resources, and pray.

Thank you for reading. If you would like to help support Sahaara or learn more about their work, go to tearfund.org for more details.

anneethompson.com

 

I have included some of the women’s stories in my latest novel:
CLARA – A Good Psychopath?
Available from bookshops and Amazon, as both a paperback and Kindle book.
Why not buy a copy today?
UK link below

Mumbai, India

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 I am writing this in Mumbai. Husband has to work in India for a few days, and travelling on work expenses is always rather nice (I pay for my travel & food, but the hotel is no extra, and they’re nice!) so I tagged along. Plus I love India, it’s possibly my favourite country (not that I have seen more than a snippet of it -but what I’ve seen, I like.)

We arrived late Wednesday night, having woken early that morning (left home 5.45 am), so I was tired. We had to go through different immigration, as I was travelling on a tourist visa, and husband had a work one. The woman at the desk was very pleasant, and when husband pointed out for the sixth time where he would meet me, she laughed. When he went off to his work visa desk, she commented that he seemed very worried about me.

“Yes,” I smiled, “he thinks I’m incompetent.”

Immigration officer then asked for my visa. I gave her the print out with the hotel details on. (They look the same, both printed from the computer.) She politely asked if I also had a visa.

She then asked where I had come from. I was surprised, but gave my full postal address. I even remembered the postcode, which often defeats me, so felt rather pleased with myself. Immigration officer looked confused and asked for my boarding pass. It was somewhat crumpled, but I dug it out from the bottom of my bag, then realised my mistake. “Heathrow!” I said, ” You wanted me to say Heathrow, not my address, didn’t you!”

Immigration officer continued to smile. We then had trouble making the fingerprint machine work (but I don’t think that was my fault.) Eventually I was allowed into India. I think Immigration Officer went for a tea break.

We’re staying at the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel. It’s beautiful. There was a mix up with our booking (also not my fault) and as a goodwill gesture, they upgraded us to a suite. The hotel really is beautiful. There are flowers and candles everywhere, and the corridors are all open, with lots of carved lattice work.

When we returned yesterday evening, there were patterns of flower petals everywhere, so pretty. (Romantic husband referred to them as ‘vegetation on the floor’ ).

 

 

 

 

 

 

Walked to Gateway to India. Lots of people there, some were catching ferries across the sea. It was previously owned by Portugal, (the Portuguese for good is ‘bom’ and its a bay, hence was called Bombay).

 

 

 

 

We went to a market and bartered for some trinkets. I am not very good at bartering, especially when the crafts are actually very pretty, and the price seems to be low to start with. Tradesmen smile a lot when I shop (and tell me not to bring my husband next time, because he’s cannier than me!)

Wandered around the city. I love the faded colonial buildings covered in vines, the huge plants, the colour everywhere. Every sense is bombarded, so much noise and smell (not always pleasant), and so hot. We met some friends for lunch. They said that in a couple of weeks the rain will come, sometimes raining for several days continually, which cools everything down.

I also visited the slums on the mainland, where I was shown around by Sahaara, one of the projects Tearfund works with. I went on my own, as Husband is working (very brave of me!) I will write up what I saw and post it later this week. Right now, I need a shower!

Excuse the bleary photos -all taken with my ancient phone.
Take care,

Anne x

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

 

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

 

Smelling Like Marilyn….

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Ah, the problem of what to wear. I had been invited to London, which is pretty much a foreign country as I go there so rarely. I knew the day would involve some walking, then a lunch in a posh dining room – so what should I wear? I was fairly confident muddy jeans and wellies weren’t appropriate. Perused wardrobe and began sorting outfits. In the end, I was restricted – in both senses of the word – by finding clothes that actually fit. My weight tends to fluctuate (joys of being an older woman) and I’m having a ‘fat tummy phase’. I eventually leave in a too-tight skirt and a silk blouse that gapes. I carry heels and wear flats. I so wish I was a man sometimes.

Arrived in Grosvenor Street, where we were meeting, on time. Nice walk from Victoria. We then met our guide, Cindy, who gave us a quick introduction. The plan was to visit a few shops in Savile Row and Jermyn Street – tailors to the rich and famous. No, we weren’t shopping (phew) we were having a tour. It turned out to be very interesting.

First stop was Floris, one of the oldest perfumeries in the world (apparently). We met Edward, who is the 9th generation of his family to own the shop. They have 17 royal warrents, and we saw the ledger showing the perfume the Queen orders (she pays by cheque or postal order). We also smelled the perfume that both Winston Churchill and Eva Peron wore (I didn’t much like it).

We were invited into the back room, where a lady with lilac coloured hair described the bespoke service the shop offers. As we stood in the old, low ceilinged room, surrounded by glass cabinets from a former age, I felt like I’d walked into a Harry Potter film and was choosing a magic wand.

For a mere £450, you can have a 2 hour appointment with Madam Lilac Hair (not her real name) and design your own perfume. She used lots of phrases like “main notes” and “complementaries” to describe the process, which starts with 60 different bases.

The perfume should be kept in a box, and preferably in the fridge. It should last for a year, after which time, the alcohol base starts to ‘go off’ and smell bad. (I didn’t tell her that I have perfume from about ten years ago).

As we left, I was chatting to the guide about the perfume Marilyn Monroe wore. She sneaked me into a side room, opened a drawer, and sprayed some on my wrist. How exciting! I feel very desirable now….

We then popped to Turbull and Asser in Jermyn Street – the makers of bespoke shirts for royalty. They showed us how they use patterns drawn on brown paper, which are then sent off in “shirt bags” (which are really just big envelopes) to a factory where they are digitalised. Their customers include Charlie Chaplin, Churchill, and a certain American president who asked for them to be made without the label, so no-one would know they were made in England!

All the shirts are cotton, and they don’t glue the fabric to the stiffener in the collar, as apparently this shortens the life. (Someone needs to tell Mr M&S that. Or perhaps they have…) It costs £255 for a shirt, but a new customer is expected to order at least six.

Next stop was Gieves and Hawkes (pronounced with a hard ‘g’). They make both made-to-measure and bespoke suits. (Made-to-measure is fitted onto a basic block, and the customer then has it fitted and chooses the fabric. Bespoke begins with brown paper, cut into a pattern.) A bespoke suit starts at £6,000 and will take 12 weeks.

We were taken upstairs to the archive room. Glass cases ran along one wall, filled with the red coats and gold helmets of the Queen’s bodyguards. They make, maintain and fit the uniforms. We were allowed to hold a helmet, which was surprisingly light (it’s made from brass and coated in gold, with a gold filigree pattern moulded on). We were told not to take photographs (shame) as they would be fired. The red coats are made from a heavy wool cloth, so it doesn’t warp when the epaulets and sword are added. They must be boiling hot to wear, and summer is a busy time due to garden parties and state visits (the next one is a visit from the Prime Minister of Spain). The uniforms are worn 12 times a year, and you have to be a rank of major or above to be body guard to the Queen.

Our final stop was Huntsman, who make hunting clothes. It was the shop that inspired the film “Kingsmen”. We arrived in the reception area, which had heavy leather chairs, newspapers, chocolates and drinks, and peonies in a vase. All very dignified. Below us, 14 people were working in the basement, making suits for people like Nicole Kidman and the royal family.

Actually, these places aren’t called ‘shops’. A little history: in 1666 there was the great fire of London. Afterwards, everyone was very keen to blame the French (English people still like to blame the French for everything. It’s not considered racist, though I’m not sure why. Perhaps because they once beat us up and we have very long memories.) Anyway, King Charles II wore French fashions, lots of frills, and this was politically a bad move. So he switched to an English made suit, which included a waistcoat. Yep, the first three-piece suit was apparently Charles II’s fault (even though Husband assures me only Germans wear waistcoats today.)

Anyway, following this, the coffee houses grew up. Men met, and instead of getting drunk, they became stimulated (all that caffeine) and began to plan insurance companies and such like. They regularly met their friends for coffee, and discussed business; but sometimes, someone would arrive who they didn’t like. So they created a membership system – hence the birth of gentlemen’s clubs. As lots of men were gathering in a fairly small area of London, there also grew up brothels (a surprising number for the area under discussion.) The place then became almost exclusively the domain of men, and women of a certain profession. As the men walked between the clubs and the brothels, they went along Jermyn Street, so it became the place that high class tailors set up shop. They then wanted to expand, into Savile Row, but that was an exclusive residential area, which didn’t want tradesmen. So the tailors had ‘houses’, not ‘shops’. Not everyone was invited to buy from them, and at one time, you needed two letters of introduction before a tailor would see you.

However, I found everyone to be charming and helpful, and very happy to show us round and explain things. I expect it was because I smelled like Marilyn….

xxxxx

Thank you for reading.

If you enjoyed this, why not sign up to follow my blog?

anneethompson.com

Guardians of the Galaxy (No spoilers!) and Life in General

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It was Bank Holiday Monday, raining (of course) so we decided to go to the cinema. They were showing Guardians of the Galaxy 2, what could be better?

The cinema was full, but we got there in plenty of time and found our pre-booked seats. I knew it was going to be a good film right from the beginning, when a cute little tree man dances through the opening credits while a war rages around him. The film was visually pleasing, with lots of colour and pretty scenes (makers of Star Wars should take note). Lots of attractive women who were strangely coloured. It made you want to go home and paint yourself green.

After about 10 minutes, we were distracted by two elderly women entering the cinema. They carried huge boxes of popcorn and had trouble walking in the dark. They made their way down the aisle, peering along each row, stood for several minutes in the centre, then wandered out again. Perhaps they had wandered into the wrong cinema. Or maybe the cinema is haunted and they were the ghosts from a previous audience.

We then got back to the film. Really, the overwhelming impression was pretty, funny, with lots of music. I enjoyed it. Even the spaceships looked like massive sewing machines (not that I enjoy sewing, but it made a change from the normal flying saucer). There was lots of killing, but somehow it’s okay when accompanied by 50’s music.

There were a few weird storylines, which felt like they were copied from other sources, and not really developed. But to be honest, the story didn’t matter. It was a jolly sort of film, perfect for watching on a rainy bank holiday Monday.

Of course, the day after Bank Holiday was warm and sunny. I tried to brush the dog, who’s moulting like crazy. She hates it, and will stand still for about 2 seconds before running off. All the cats come to watch – I’m sure they’re laughing at me.

I also decided to plant some seeds. I like planting seeds, and am quite good at watering them and watching the seedlings grow. Then I tend to lose interest, so they don’t always make it into the garden. I’ve planted a few pots and trays and put them on the patio – well defended against the cats, who’d enjoy digging them up.

 

Now, here’s a secret, so don’t tell anyone. Next to our house is a field, which is sometimes used for crops and sometimes has animals. The farmer has recently plowed it, added lots of lime, and drilled it (which I think means he has planted seeds). Last year he grew sweetcorn. I had some seeds of my own – some sunflower seeds – so, when I was walking the dog, I planted three of them in the corner of the field. Not sure if this is allowed.

But if they grow, they will look really good, three sunflowers smiling at everyone in the lane as they drive past. Hopefully they will grow taller than the crop, so everyone will see them. I will let you know.

The ducklings have grown as big as their mother. They still have some fluff, but are growing straggly feathers now. When the feathers have grown enough for them to be able to fly, I’ll let them back on the pond. There are another couple of nests around the pond. No idea if the eggs are alive, or if the ducklings will survive should they hatch. Probably depends on whether I manage to catch them or not.

Have a good week.

Anne x

xxx

I’ve just been sent a copy of the local paper, which features JOANNA again. The journalists in town have been very kind, my books have been mentioned several times now. I still hate seeing my photo in the newspaper, but I think it’s one of the downsides to being an author. In this one, I am desperately trying to stop the poster behind me from falling down!

The Dead Bag

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What do you keep in your shed? Bikes? Old chairs you will mend one day? Flower pots? I keep a Dead Bag in my shed – which my children find deeply disturbing. I should clarify, before you phone the serious crime office, it does not contain body parts. Well, not human ones anyway. You see, if you live in a town, you probably have a romantic image of springtime in the country as being full of new life, beautiful flowers, chicks, blossom. Which it is. But it’s also full of death, much of which I have to clear up. And there’s lots of it, so it’s easier to keep a bag in the shed, which I hygienically dispose of at regular intervals, than to triple bag every single corpse that appears.

As I say, lots of dead things. There are the bodies that have been killed by predators. The Springtime is when foxes go a bit bananas looking for mates, so they cast caution to the wind and will even run through gardens which have a big dog living there. Which results in a quick massacre of any ducks before said dog arrives and chases them off. Then there are the cats, who leave regular dismembered rats and mice and baby birds for me to clear up. And because it’s Spring, lots of baby birds are hatching, which the crows and magpies catch and carry off, but sometimes drop mid flight, so I have to clear up those.

Baby birds themselves are pretty fragile. Ducklings frequently die for no apparent reason soon after hatching, or die mid hatch. Plus there are the eggs that never get as far as the hatching stage, so are abandoned in the nest with a dead duck inside. All of which go into my Dead Bag. So you see, it’s not such a bad idea to have one, as long as it gets emptied regularly (otherwise it stinks. I know what death smells like – sure to be useful at some stage in a novel.) Worth remembering before you buy that country cottage or go to live on a farm; new life also tends to entail some gore or death. (There is a sermon here, but I’ll let you work it out for yourself.)

I have to admit, I have felt pretty near to death myself this week. I’ve had a nasty cold – aren’t they just the worse? You know it’s nothing serious, but everything aches, your nose won’t stop running, sneezing makes you dizzy and you feel wretched. Even my teeth itched, so I wanted to chew my gums. Most unpleasant. I decided to give myself an easy day and stay in the warm and watch Netflix all afternoon. I scanned the options and decided to watch ‘Survivors’, as I’d missed it when it was shown on telly and it looked interesting. Bad choice. It began with scenes of everyone in England catching flu and then dying. I began to fear my Dead Bag wouldn’t be big enough! You’ll be pleased to know I am recovering nicely, but I’ll let you know if things deteriorate.

To be honest, I can’t really complain, because Husband has been a huge help. I asked him to buy some tissues and he came home with both a box of tissues and lots of information. I now know the exact size and price of each individual tissue in every box sold in Morrisons (I know you’re dying for this information, but I’m saving it for another blog. In another life.) He also cooked dinner. This involved removing pies from the freezer, reading the instructions and placing them in the oven. It also involved a complicated time-plan, compiled on the computer using an Excel spreadsheet. Impressive – why have I never thought of doing this myself each day?

Have a good week.

Anne x

xxx

Thank you for reading.

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Bible Blog

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I’ve decided to read through the Bible. I have, since childhood, read various parts of the Bible many times, but I have never read through it, beginning to end. So I thought it was time that I did. I don’t have ‘a system’ – I’m not that sort of person. I’m just going to read, in order, from beginning to end, as time/enthusiasm allows.

I will try to post each Sunday a short update about how I’m getting on. Partly to motivate myself, and partly because you might be interested. (If you’re not, you can just skip the blogs headed Bible Blog each week – I will still continue to post my newsy, family, travel blogs every Monday.) I’ll be honest about what I read and think, I won’t just regurgitate churchy views.

April 30th

I started at the beginning (which is actually, NOT a good place to start if reading the Bible for the first time! Better to begin in the New Testament, with Mark’s book.) Here are my thoughts/ramblings thus far:

There are two different stories about creation. I have studied these before, when teaching RS, so could really write a whole blog on them alone. However, my only comment here is I think it’s important to remember what question they are answering – they are not explaining HOW God made the world, they are explaining WHO and WHY. I think they are pictures, illustrating ideas, clearly showing that God was the creator. They were told at a time when there were lots of stories from the Babylonians, about dragons using things to create the world, so the point about God creating it from nothing, using just his word, is important. Personally, I don’t think it’s meant to be taken literally. Things like plants being created before light just seem too illogical.

Having said that, the first bit of Genesis is still weird. It is full of pictures and giants and strangeness. It is, on first glance, every bit as unbelievable as the myths that other cultures and religions have about how the world began. I think to understand it properly, you need to do further reading. One excellent book (I think) is Creation or Evolution, do we have to choose?

After creation comes the flood. Most old cultures have a flood story, which is interesting – who knows, perhaps it really did happen. Certainly the instructions for building the ark (about the size of a multi-storey carpark) are detailed, if not especially interesting. After the flood, there’s a story about Noah getting drunk and his son having sex with him (they didn’t cover that little gem in Sunday School when I was a kid!)

There are many lists of genealogies. No idea why, they don’t make for an interesting read. However, recently I watched “The Good Lie”, about children being rescued in Sudan. One clip showed the children reciting all their ancestors. Perhaps in some cultures it’s important.

Next are the stories about Abram, Lot, Isaac. These seem more historically factual, they read like real events about actual people. One part that interested me was when Abraham plants a tamarisk tree. I did some research into what this was. It’s a tree that’s very unusual because it puts down very deep roots, and so can reach deep water tables. It uses a lot of water, so starves the surrounding soil of moisture, so other plants cannot grow near it. It also is able to take up salt, which it expels as a salty layer on its leaves. When they fall, this makes the soil salty, which again means no other plants can grow near it. So, it is a lonely tree, very different to other plants and not able to mix with them. It was introduced to the western states of America, where it flourished and is now seen as a pest, but hard to kill due to its deep roots. Now, Abraham is seen as ‘the father of the Jews’. It seems to me that the tamarisk tree makes a good metaphor for how the world views the Jewish race.

Another story I found interesting was the one where Abraham sends his servant to find a wife for his son. He feels that he wants his son to marry from his own people, so makes a plan. However, he also has a backup plan, he tells the servant to come home without a woman if she isn’t willing to go with him. So, he was doing what he thought God wanted, but if he was wrong, he had made a decision about what to do instead. He hoped he was right, that he was following God’s plan, but he didn’t assume it. Of course, when the servant did find the wife, Rebekah, it all proved to be what God wanted. But I found it interesting that Abraham didn’t know that for sure, he was just doing his best, doing what he thought was right. Which sometimes, is all that we can do.

xxx

Thanks for reading. I’ll let you know how I get on in the next week.

If you’re interested, why not sign up to follow my blog?
anneethompson.com

xxx

Ducklings and Mothers…

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Hello, did you have a good week? I hope so. I thought I’d give you a quick update on life in my crazy bit of the world.

First, ducklings. Now, it doesn’t matter how often I tell myself that I shouldn’t interfere, if I see a mother behaving badly, I just can’t stop myself. And some ducks are truly terrible mothers (so are some humans, actually, but that’s another story). At the moment, I have a couple of duck families living in the aviary. The mother with the first clutch is proving to be a good mother – she has 5 ducklings, all healthy, and stays with them at all times. She is loose in the aviary, and finds somewhere sheltered to settle with them at night or on cold days, keeping them warm.

Then there is the other mother. The other mother managed to hatch 2 ducklings : one yellow, one black. She was sitting on a whole heap of different eggs; I’m not sure if any were actually hers, but none of the other ducks were interested, so I guess she should take some credit for trying. Now, however, she is awful. She does not like being in a cage, and is on a mission to escape back to the pond. Which means she is completely ignoring her ducklings, even to the point of stepping on them if they get in her way. I did try letting her have the run of the aviary, but that didn’t work at all. She flew onto a log, where the ducklings couldn’t reach her and sat there, hissing at the other mother. The yellow duckling decided it would join the other family, even though they’re all much bigger, so just followed them around and snuggled under their mother when it was cold. The black duckling wanted to stay with its own mum. Whenever I went to check, it was running round after her, or sitting as near to her as it could when she was up high. Poor little thing. We had one really cold damp day, and it stood shivering all alone. I didn’t rate its chances. So I shut negligent mother duck into the dog cage, with hay, water and food. She’s extremely angry. But the ducklings fit through the bars, so when they’re cold, they can go under her and she can’t escape. (I am not sure of the morality of this – or if sometimes we ought to do this with human mothers – but it did save the life of the ducklings.)

I have also tried to be a good mother this week. The boys are back in town. My fridge is empty. My house is full of music, and laughter, and strong political views, and extremely long discussions about physics. Some of those things are excellent.

Son 1 had an interview (he wants to do marketing in the non-profit sector, which is not easy to get into). It was an online interview, so was filmed. Obviously, for marketing, it’s important to stand out. So I figured he should do the interview, completely seriously, but with a cockerel in the room. He could ignore it, and concentrate on the interviewers questions, but in the background, would be a cockerel, flying around, and crowing. Definitely would make him memorable. He wasn’t keen though. Shame, my children never seem to take my advice these days…

Other son has decided to apply for a Masters, so needs to find his certificates. Always a fun game. We do have a ‘system’ (I am married to an accountant, remember?) We keep all the education certificates in a section of the filing cabinet, where they’ll be safe. Except, sometimes people forget to put them in there. I do remember one child searching desperately prior to applying to uni, and all he could find was his GCSE Spoken English and 900 of his brother’s music certificates. It was not a stress free event.

I did hear of a job opportunity this week. It involved digging holes. A chap in the area runs his own business, and has more work than he can cope with, so is looking for help with digging holes. He will then plant trees. (Under the trees will be dead bodies, but we can concentrate on the ‘holes for trees’ aspect). None of my family were interested. Shame – it would’ve been kinda cool to have a grave-digger in the family.

At the time of writing this, I have just spent a ridiculous amount of money on a haircut. I was rather pleased with it. Both boys inform me it looks no different at all. Am hoping my daughter will be more encouraging – if not, I shall ask my mother. My mother will tell me it looks lovely whatever it looks like. Now she’s a good mother….

xxx

Thank you for reading.

I have been thinking about mothers a lot lately – not just due to the ducks. My latest book, Joanna, examines how a mother feels when her child ‘goes wrong’. An easy read novel, it’s available from bookshops and Amazon. The link is below. It’s always nice when you write a book to receive feedback – these are some of the comments people have made:

“I couldn’t stop reading it once I’d started”

“Anyone who enjoyed ‘The Girl on the Train’ is going to love this book!”

“I bought it for my friend but then I couldn’t stop reading. Please can I buy another 4 copies” (That might be my favourite comment so far!)

xxx