PRIMITIVE RITES AND EXHIBITIONISM

I’m feeling thoroughly miserable just by looking out onto the garden. The sky is like mud and the windows are plastered with icy raindrops. I can hear the rain thundering down on the conservatory roof and I reckon it wouldn’t take much of a drop in temperature to turn it into sleet. Oh, how this time of year gets under my skin and makes me want to pick up my suitcases and run away. No wonder SIS has escaped to the Mediterranean.



And what in the name of all that’s sane is this Azalea doing bursting into bloom on my patio? I guess it was lulled into a sense of false security. Well, it must be pretty fed-up now.




Let’s be fair, not all’s gloom and doom. Jackie and I had a very successful book signing session at Waterstones in Dorking last week – delightful staff and friendly customers, including a number of regulars who come in once a month to stock up on new books. Very pleased to say some of them stocked up on ours. This store is very proactive and deserves to succeed.


I note, on the other hand that Borders are in serious trouble and, failing a saviour, are about to close. I always thought highly of Borders until last year when I responded to their online invitation to submit books to their buying department for consideration. I sent them a copy of Darshan, only to receive a snooty note some time later saying they weren’t considering new books at the moment due to some feeble excuse – stock-taking, I think it was - and if I wanted my book back I’d have to send them postage. All I can say is that if a major company like that can’t even keep its website up to date, no wonder it can’t run its company successfully.

And while I’m having a moan, although I’m pleased that my Amazon rating for both The Moon’s Complexion and Darshan shot up last week and they appear to have sold out of both novels. Why, oh why, can’t they stock up again a bit more quickly? Not sure if this is their fault or the suppliers, but so shortly before Christmas is not the time when I want to see ‘temporarily out of stock’ on my book pages. At least they’re both available to online buyers from Waterstones and - yes- Borders online stores as well as a dozen others.

Books aside, I seem to be back and forth to the Great Metropolis a lot lately. On Monday Jennifer and I headed up to Victoria to hand in our passports to the Indian Visa Office.

Afterwards I went on to the Anish Kapoor exhibition at the Royal Academy. I am not a great follower of modern art – especially by people who have won the Turner Prize – as soon as I hear that warning bells start dinging. But I’ve enjoyed some Kapoor that I’ve seen previously – his mirror work in particular – here’s the one in front of the Monte Carlo casino.

And these are of the one in the courtyard of the RA (Burlington House).

I’m thankful that as a Friend of the RA I didn’t have to pay the wopping £12 entry fee. But I DID have to pay £2.50 for a flimsy 4-paged leaflet without which I would have been somewhat at a loss as there were no explanations anywhere. A rip-off if ever there was one.

The exhibition confirmed my opinion that Kapoor has a good sense of humour. I loved the bulges in the walls, and the ‘self-manifested’ objects bursting from floors and walls (a very Indian concept). The mirrors were fun – art? Who knows? I suppose as much as funny fairground mirrors are art.

The computer-generated worm-casts (which is what Joe and I decided they were) were also fun, especially the one that looked like a curled up hedgehog. Art? Maybe. But not in my backyard peleeeeease!

What can I say about the red wax extravaganzas? Words fail me. The doorway-sized block of wax travelling on rails between 4 of the RA galleries was entitled Svayambh, Sanskrit for ‘self-generated’. Mm. I think it should have been called ‘Giant red loaf of bread.’

As for the cannon that shoots blobs of wax through (a different) doorway at the RA walls every 20 minutes, with a great rushing swoosh and ear-shattering explosion - well… it’s a crowd pleaser and we all left chuckling, giggling or laughing hysterically.

BUT IS IT ART????????????????? I know what I think.

This is turning into a very long blog. I suppose it makes up for the fact that my contributions are so sporadic.

Yesterday Joe and I spent another day in London. First we headed off to the Maharaja exhibition at the V & A. This is also expensive - £11 full price, £9 seniors. But at least the accompanying leaflet is free.

I enjoyed the tour through the maharajas’ kingdoms, especially the full-sized model elephant and horse! But it wasn’t anything like as stunning and informative as this summer’s British Museum's Garden and Cosmos exhibition. Moreover I felt there were a lot of omissions. Chief among these was almost no mention of the Nizams of Hyderabad who surely (and I think William Dalrymple would back me on this) constituted one of the the most important Islamic dynasties of India. The Maharaja of Thanjavur was also given short shrift, as was the controversial Maharaja of Kashmir. One of the current Thanjavur Maharaja’s brothers actually runs the little shop on the site of the old ruined palace – sic transit Gloria.

After another quick look into the Anish Kapoor exhibition we had a late lunch/early dinner at Woodlands, pigging out on delicious South Indian fare that got me counting the days until coming trip to Bangalore.

Then off to the English National Opera for a double bill of Bartok’s opera -Duke Bluebeard’s Castle, and Stravinsky’s ballet -The Rite of Spring.

WELL… once more words fail me. I thought the Royal Opera was more experimental that the ENO. Wrong. Bluebeard – you know the story. He brings his bride Judith to his dark, damp castle and she gets him to open seven locked doors, each revealing something disturbing until finally the last door reveals his 3 previous wives in a state of living death, to be joined by Judith. It’s a psychodrama in extremis. The doors are usually understood to be doors to secret parts of Bluebeard's soul, which Judith coerces him to reveal, resulting in his ultimate absolute loneliness. I’ve seen several thought-provoking productions. The ENO production was – different.

Of course, not (to put it mildly) being a fan of ‘The Sound of Music’ the interpretation was lost on me until I read this review on the intermezzo.typepad.com blogsite today.

‘Daniel Kramer’s very graphic Bluebeard won’t please purists, but it’s riveting theatre. The reason for (Bluebeard’s) quaint Austrian hunting jacket soon becomes obvious – Bluebeard is a Fritzl-like figure with a Sound of Music fixation and a secret family in the basement. His ultimate kick is to dress up as Captain von Trapp while doing something extremely nasty with a sword to his spreadeagled Julie Andrews, Judith. The grubby slasher movie set is atmospheric if not quite the castle of the soul Bartok had in mind, and its boxy shape helps the voices project over the enlarged orchestra. The dramatic pacing is fantastic – Kramer lets little clues slip here and there, but the ending is still a colossal, queasy shock.’

You can say that again. If you’re in the mood for a ‘colossal, queasy shock’, I thoroughly recommend this. Personally it left me feeling uneasy. As a woman I don’t appreciate women being displayed in this way for theatrical purposes. Conclusion: musically stunning but I know what men do to women without having to see it spreadeagled on stage for the gratuitous purpose of theatre. This indignity could only have been staged by a man.

As for the Rite of Spring: a primitive myth, involving the selection of a virgin , who dances herself to death. At least that is what Stravinsky intended when he wrote the ballet. This, roughly speaking, is what we got yesterday (from the same reviewer):

‘A pity Fabulous Beast’s dance element was so risible. If a weary parade of bog-trotter clichés didn’t diminish the timeless power of Stravinsky’s score enough, there were twenty todgers jiggling in the breeze to contend with as the male dancers disrobed en masse. To give the much-derided Calixto Bieito his due, he understands the effect of mass male nudity on stage is purely and always comedic. And I was left baffled by the ending, where the Chosen One (female) is surrounded by men in frocks. Men should take women's place? A nice bit of misogyny to go home with.’

Hm… yes. Twenty todgers jiggling in the breeze. Actually there were 17. I counted them. Totally mind-boggling but oh, what fun! The ending? Strange comment from the reviewer. What she didn’t explain was that, instead of dying, the ‘Chosen One’ a lithesome female dancer is left standing and in full command of the situation, and with one imperious gesture topples all 17 guys in frocks (which they donned at some stage to cover their nudity). I interpreted the whole thing as scenes from the primitive nature of 21st century society – the ‘bog-trotter cliches’ leading up to this ending had included gang-rape, mugging, bullying etc. I thought the director was trying in the end to say that Woman has now emasculated Man and gained complete power over him. I wish! Obviously the director is a woman-hater.

But the music… ah, the music!

A TASTE OF THE HIGH LIFE

Hallo, it’s me again. Just touching base after returning from a few days in Monte Carlo visiting sister (SIS) and husband of sister (HOS). They live in a block by the sea. It used to be practically on the beach till someone decided to build an auditorium between it and the sea. It was work, I hasten to explain, that brought SIS and HOS to Monaco many years ago and they’ve stayed. (It's very embarrassing to admit I have a sister in MC!!)


This is the view in the other direction.



By and large (VERY large) though, Monaco = Money. We went to SIS’s international book group, which is held in members’ homes. They’re very sweet ladies, and they fascinate me. How does one get to live in Monaco? They must all have an interesting story to tell. This time it was held in the round block on the photo below – 20th-something floor apartment, overlooking the sea. And – get this – there was a MAID in a white frilly apron to take our jackets. (Not that we really needed jackets, it was very warm. Jackets were cosmetic, I saw several people swimming in the sea).


I’d made a rapid attempt to read the month’s book so that I didn’t appear too dumb. Maybe you’ve heard of it – The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls. Ms Walls is a 40ish New York gossip columnist who was ‘persuaded’ to write a book revealing her unusual past. She was born in the 60s to eccentric hippy-type parents who were clearly caught up in the 60s anti-establishment/flower-power/traveller movement (though she never actually says so). Their idea of child rearing was to let the kids (4 of them) do whatever they liked, often with grave risks to their lives. They threw off the wife’s well-to-do origins and slummed around America living in appalling circumstances. The characters are intriguing and the father had more than a touch of genius despite being a drunkard with tendencies to cruelty. The book’s worth reading, even if it doesn’t to me seem quite as unusual (for the times) as the writer seems to imply. Though they certainly took things to extremes.

Delighted to say the book group were very interested in Darshan and one lady ordered it immediately.

Thursday was Monaco’s National Holiday. The place was bedecked with flags – here’s the casino on Wednesday night. Shops were adorned with even more photos of Prince Albert than usual. I left before the fun began.


Sqeezyjet was OK more or less except for the officious stewardess who gave me a lecture when I asked her to help me lift my hand luggage onto the rack (ever since I broke my arm I can’t push upwards with any strength). I explained to the woman that I had an injury and got a tirade about how you weren’t supposed to bring more than you could lift into the racks. Then she said that my 4-days worth of knickers and tee-shirts were heavy. At this point I snapped ‘don’t be ridiculous!’ and she shut up. But honestly – her silly comment implies that old people and women have to take less than big hefty men – because they haven’t got as much strength to lift things up! I should have declared myself incapacitated and ordered a wheelchair – they’d be falling over themselves to help me then.

Anyway – the view over the Alps on the way back was something else!

If you’re in Dorking on Sunday (22nd) do come to Waterstones to visit me and Jackie who will be doing book-signings there between 12 and 3 pm. I’m hoping the forecast wind and rain will go somewhere else.

UP THE LADDER AND DOWN THE WALL

How depressing – winter appears to have arrived. Suddenly England is cold, windy and wet. Can’t wait to escape – as I will be doing shortly, if only for a few days. I wrapped the tree fern up for winter today – not a very pretty sight, clad in bubble wrap and a dustbin liner, but I don’t want to lose it.

Meanwhile plenty to keep me spinning round in ever-increasing circles. Last week saw a fair number of them. Monday was the first session of the creative writing class I’ve taken over. Surprisingly good fun – the group of ten or so very mature students as sharp as chillies and raring to go. I enjoyed their efforts and I think we had a good exchange of comments and opinions. They seemed to enjoy themselves too – at least I hope so.

Tuesday – a talk on India at a not very local House of the Lord. Part of my talk drew out some similarities (and some differences) between the Eastern religions (Hinduism, Buddhism etc) and the Judaic-Christian-Islamic tradition. A lot of people came up afterwards to say how much they’d enjoyed the talk. The discussion and questions went on for a long time and the tea and apple cake were delicious.

Wednesday meant attendance at a Freiburg Society committee meeting. I seem to have been co-opted onto this and am expected to produce something useful! My imaginative powers are somewhat defunct at the moment. Let’s hope the cold weather jolts me back into inspired thinking (some hope…)

Thursday and Friday were Getting Frustrated Dealing with Tour Booking days – don’t ask. It’s the same every time. Things go fine until I have to pay online to India. Then the whole system goes pear-shaped. Fortunately it seems to be solved now.

Sunday morning a large door fell off an upper kitchen unit and hit me on the head. But I count myself lucky – not only was my head hard enough to survive unscathed, but SIL and BIL were due to come for lunch – BIL is a fantastic amateur carpenter – usually up to his neck in restoring a 16th century bed or a 15th century cupboard or a fantastic 500 year-old oriental carving. Well, luckily I managed to catch them before they left home, so BIL turned up with the tools of the trade and did as great a job on my Magnet door as he normally does on some priceless antique. Poor man – he was then propelled to Joe’s flat to do some bits of woodwork in her kitchen. All done now and the flat is ready to let. It looks gorgeous.

And now – a piece of good news – my first novel The Moon’s Complexion is currently featuring on the Pothi.com stall at the Bangalore Book Festival. Pothi is the company printing it for the Indian market. It’s for sale at a discount during the festival.
They took this picture of the stall when they were setting up.

‘Moon’ is on the extreme left. I just received an email from them saying I’ve had my first sale on the stall! Nice to have some cheery news on a gloomy Monday.

Pause while the cavalry arrives - alias The Golden Guys alias Mr Jackie and Mr Jennifer (Jay). Having heard that I was worried about my roof they took a break from their other assignment (doing something for Jennifer) and came to inspect my problem armed with a ladder. Before I could say 'watch it, lads, no acrobatics please' they were up the ladder and on the roof. And sods's law -two cameras had no battery left at all and one had enough for one not very good pic before it too, ran our of steam. Here it is, for what it's worth.

Last but not least - today is the anniversary of the reunifiacation of Germany so here to celebrate is a picture of me hacking my own piece out of the Berlin Wall a afew months after the fall of the GDR.

ALL IN A WEEK'S WORK...

Hallo again, I just got back from a few hours with SIL and BIL at Tring auction – I didn’t leave any bids, nothing of the remotest interest. Nothing that is, that would fit into my house. There was a nice painted Indian chest – but totally unplaceable as far as my house is concerned. I’m trying to cut down on junk, not accumulate more. Anyway the whole purpose of my one-hour trip oop north was to have a chinwag with SIL (that’s short for Sister-In-Law, by the way). Did I say one hour? Well, that’s how long it’s supposed to take. I hadn’t reckoned with returning half-term holidayers and that, in addition, on a Friday afternoon. So it took more like 1 ½ hours up and the same back. My relationship with the M25 is definitely love-hate. (pause to retrieve cat who’s just fallen off my lap, squealing. I don’t recommend word-processing with cat on lap but since I was out all day he’s feeling precious).

Well, it’s been quite a fruitful week. My withdrawal symptoms at the end of my Indian Art course at Guildford Institute somewhat allayed by email from them saying that due to ‘excellent feedback’ (can you see my head swelling?) they would be happy to include me as a course tutor for future offerings. Which is great news as it’s a step up from my ‘outsider tutor’ type of status for this last course. I’ve agreed to give a one-off lecture on ‘hidden Thailand’ as a next ‘offering’.

Ant came on Monday and Joe took the afternoon off so we have a good session of clearing out Joe’s flat ready for letting. Still some way to go. Best was taking both kids out to lunch and the pizza at Frankie and Benny’s wasn’t bad. Fattening but tasty (we’d tried two Indian restaurants but they’d both taken it into their heads to close on that particular day), so F & B’s was a last resort. But it was great to have my chicks around me (they may be adult chicks, but once a mother-hen, always a mother-hen).

One the book front I’m delighted to say that the Inner Bookshop in Oxford put in an order for more copies of Darshan. This is at least their fourth order, so I LOVE YOU, INNER BOOKSHOP!! And Jackie and I are doing a book signing at Waterstones in Dorking on 22nd November, so hurry along for your signed copies of Darshan, Tainted Tree and our other novels.

On the subject of Jackie, I dragged her and Jennifer (alias Jay Margrave) along to scale the heights of the amphitheatre at the Royal Opera on Wednesday to see a double bill of 2 small one-act operas: L’heure Espanol by Ravel, and Puccini’s wonderful Gianni Schicchi. They are both comedies and very funny apart from the ending of the first, which none of us understood. Anyway, I think this sneaked photo of the safety curtain explains what it was about.

Gianni Schicchi is a black comedy about greedy relatives and a will. Not sure of the significance of the safety curtain here! Except that it took place in Italy (Florence to be precise). The aria ‘Oh my beloved father’ comes from this opera and isn’t at all what it sounds like. The daughter is trying to sweet-talk her papa into helping the unscrupulous relatives inherit, thereby easing her way with her lover (who is one of them).

Right, time to unseat the cat and give dinner a stir. It’s probably burnt by now…

CREATIVITY, IDOLATRY, TRICKERY AND MIND-BOGGLING INEFFICIENCY

Time for a moan

I shouldn’t really be moaning because it’s been a fun week in many respects, ending with a sublime performance of Tristan and Isolde at the Royal Opera yesterday. Even the horrible staging didn’t annoy me too much – the front half of the stage where the action was, was bare. The rubbish was at the back - a load of dining tables with candelabras and men posing in dinner jackets. Quite how they fitted in to a medieval saga that takes place mainly on a ship and in a castle, beats me. But since this display kept appearing and disappearing behind a curtain at the back, I managed to ignore it most of the time. The applause at the end was tumultuous, but, as I heard one lady remark, ‘if that had been traditionally staged it would have brought the house down.’ Hear, hear!

I started attending art sessions on Wednesday after an absence of a year. Boy, do I need to practice! Mind you, it was a big mistake to try to paint this photo I took of my daughter-in-law by a waterfall in Thailand.Ever tried painting mist? With watercolour? Forget it…

I also enjoyed giving my penultimate Indian Art lecture on Thursday. In fact I loved every minute of it. The topic this week was ‘image worship’, a problematic concept for those raised in the Judaic-Christian-Islamic tradition – thou shalt not bow down before graven images and so on. Well, I hope I managed to make my students think again. It’s all too easy to dismiss an unfamiliar belief-system if you don’t understand it.

Saturday brought the second of Goldenford’s Creative Writing workshops on the five senses. It was part of the Guildford Book Festival. This time I was responsible for touch and sight. I decided to combine the two, getting the students to feel, without seeing, one of two pieces of Indian cloth, a painted cotton wallhanging of Ganesh and a sumptuous piece of woven silk and cotton, shot through with gold thread.

When they had described the feel of the cloth I let them see it, ultimately creating a scene that combined the two senses. Interesting results. I sensed an alienation from the Ganesh portrait, whereas the woven cloth inspired writing full of Eastern promise. I tried to inspire them myself, by reading a bit out of Darshan, to show multiple use of the senses to create atmosphere, carry the plot forward and tell the reader more about the character.

Now for the moan. On Tuesday the tree surgeons, whom I’d engaged at great expense, came to cut my Leylandii hedges and prune my eucalyptus and copper beach trees. At the end of a noisy day’s work (with me acting as tea lady) they skiddadled, leaving me to inspect their handiwork. I found: a bag of cement (used to fix my neighbour’s new fence post) left outside my back door; the old wooden fence post slung across a raised bed; my carefully-anchored bird table ripped from its mooring and moved; the trunk of an old fallen laburnum slung onto the shrubs; my hose attached to the outside tap (for fixing said fence post) and left in situ.

But these were minor irritations compared with my discovery that the crew had given up, a third of the way along the left-hand hedge and simply abandoned it. They had also given the eucalyptus a punk haircut instead of tidying it up. The foreman was called back and he was mortified (clearly helped by the fact that I haven’t paid them yet – they know they’re not getting it until the job’s complete). They are due to return asap – but I won’t be making any more cups of tea for that little gang of ne’er-do-wells.

Guildford Borough Council is so great. I’m so lucky to be living in such an enlightened town (NOT)! The latest meshuggas is the New Recycling System. The decree was delivered some weeks ago. Every household is to be issued with: an outside box for food waste (to be collected weekly); an inside box for food waste; a wheelie bin for waste ‘everything else’ (to be collected fortnightly-I ticked the box for a small one). That on top of the green box (for glass, cans and plastic bottles) and the purple box (for paper) that we already have.

I wrote to the council. ‘Everything else’ I pointed out, actually boils down mainly to food packaging (such as yoghurt pots). If it is acknowledged that food waste needs collecting weekly to stop it getting smelly, how come food remains adhering to packaging, equally smelly, are to be collected fortnightly? The Council replied. Wrap them in a plastic bag.
Excuse me? Aren’t we trying to exterminate plastic bags? Or hasn’t this fact filtered down to Guildford Borough Council yet?

The food caddies arrived this week. I’ve shoved them both outside. No point in falling over them before I have to, when the scheme starts in November. The wheelie bin arrived too. Yes, you guessed it. On my drive I found an ENORMOUS ugly horror designed for a ten-ton family, not for two delicate damsels (Okay,okay, cut the ‘delicate’). I phoned up the Council. Remove this monster, I told them, and bring me the small one I ordered (if you must). It will be done forthwith, they promised. Leave it where it is for collection. Five days and two phone-calls later it is still decorating my drive. The Council girl is getting fed up with me. ‘We can’t say when they will come,’ she finally admitted. ‘It’s a private firm (well, it would be. Wouldn’t it?). They have a long list to get through.’

‘ A long list?’ I snapped back. ‘That means they must have got it wrong lots of times.’ Well, yes, the girl conceded. There were ‘some’ mistakes. I await mistake-rectification. Meanwhile I have to put up with the alien in my front garden. I tried to get Joe to run it over, but she was afraid her car might come off worst in the battle (which is why I haven’t flattened it with mine).

GOING SLOWLY POTTY

Where’s the time gone, eh? The last few weeks have been so hectic that I simply haven’t had a moment to sit down and record my incredibly interesting thoughts.

So what have I been up to? Well, exercising the little grey cells for a change, and, dragging my teaching skills out of retirement. There’s my Indian Art course, for starters, trotting along nicely on Thursday afternoons at Guildford Institute. It feels so good, sharing my passion with others. And isn’t technology wonderful? Whatever happened to the days of OHPs and whiteboards? I used to wonder how I managed before acetate sheets. Now I can’t imagine life without Power Point. Talking of which…

…next month I’m giving another talk about India (not architecture this time, more general). I popped along to the venue to check on the projector situation. I need to use Power Point, I told the organiser. Do you have the equipment? She looked at me with the bemused look of someone dealing with an imbecile. But of course we have, she replied. It’s over there. She pointed at an electric wall socket…

This week saw the first of the monthly Creative Writing sessions that I’ve been asked to take over. This time I simply sat in on the session and listened. The poor dears have been taking it in turns to chair the meetings since their previous teacher disappeared some time ago, and are crying out for a little TLC in the form of an organised routine. It will be a challenge – for them and for me. But (hopefully) rewarding!

On Tuesday, we, the Golden Girls, were booked to give a talk about Goldenford Publishers in Staines. One of our number was struck down with that nasty virus that’s doing the rounds, so the two of us remaining had to improvise and absorb the missing talk into our own talks. Undaunted we spouted forth, and (though I say so myself) it was jolly good.

Saturday brought the first of our Goldenford Festival workshops, this one in Leatherhead as part of the Mole Valley Arts Festival. The subject was ‘Using the five senses in Creative Writing’. Our long-suffering participants were required to wax lyrical about such items as a pink sock and nail varnish, surrender their ears to the Dance of the Seven Veils, plunge their hands into a black bag containing jelly, sniff at TCP-contaminated perfumes and bravely gulp down a small glass of neat Campari. The last (taste) was one of my two contributions, the Seven Veils (sound) being the other (now how did you guess?)

In self-defence of inflicting Campari torture on the participants, I should clarify that I did give them the choice of an alcoholic or non-alcoholic drink. Stone the crows but they all opted for alcoholic, no doubt expecting a large glass of Chateau Rothchild 1974 instead of a thimbleful of a doppelgaenger for cough mixture. They were fantastically sporting about it all, didn’t even pull a face.

All in all they produced some really inventive and imaginative writing. Next Saturday will be more of the same (but different, if you get my meaning) at the Guildford Institute as part of the Guildford Book Festival. This time I’ll be in charge of touch and vision.

Just as I was getting depressed, thinking winter is just around the corner, not only does the sun grace us with an Indian summer, but my indoor and conservatory plants decide to put on an incredible show to cheer me up. Here are a few of them:

The amaryllis my kind Dutch friends brought when they visited in September. Colour incredible.

My cymbidium orchid which has never let me down yet (unlike the phaleonopses, which are notoriously temperamental.)

My faithful hibscus - this is the pink one. Last week the yellow and red ones were flowering too.

My papaya tree, currently sporting three junior fruits: don’t know if they’ll ever reach ‘eat-me’ size, but one lives in hope.

I’ve just spent the whole day in front of the PC preparing talks and ended up doing this blog. No time even to get on with Noontide Owls, never mind getting off my amply padded backside to do something energetic. No wonder I’m turning into a large slug. Resolution: at least 10 minutes on the air-walker from tomorrow on. I may have to do ten one minute sessions instead of one ten-minute stint – I get bored easily.

THE AMAZON JUNGLE

I just checked the Amazon page for my novel The Moon’s Complexion (as one does…) and found a new feature. In big bold letters it announced that ‘72% of the people viewing this page buy The Moon’s Complexion. 28% buy…Mosquito.’

Mosquito? I looked it up and it’s by someone called Roma Tearne, of whom, I’d never heard. (Okay, okay, so everyone else has heard of her/him. What can I say? I'm a philistine). No indication either of what the book’s about. Very weird.

I then checked the Amazon page for my novel Darshan. But there was no announcement about percentages buying it or any other book. Which is odd because Darshan’s the better seller.

The same was true of my totally bonkers non-fiction book Sold to the Lady with the Limegreen Laptop (about internet selling).

I’m flummoxed. What is this Mosquito that’s siphoning away my buyers????

Apropos nothing, I thought I should upload a few more pictures of my Thailand trip in August/September before it becomes ancient history.

So here’s some ancient history…

A very ancient tree-root-covered temple

Plaster (or maybe plastic) chickens and poke-your –face-through-for a-silly-photo figures outside the very ancient tree-root covered temple.

A hill village on the Thai-Burmese border.

Waterfall mist in the mountains

Monks cleaning the temple steps near Chiang Mai.

Today I gave my first presentation on Hindu Art and Architecture at the Guildford Institute (scroll down). I’m delighted to say it was very warmly received – in fact I had to chuck them out at the end. It’s stimulating to be imparting knowledge of a subject that inspires me and hopefully I succeeded in inspiring the audience about this wonderful art. Some of them had never been to India. Several of them were very familiar with India and one was an Indian. He was the most enthusiastic of all of them and stayed behind to continue chatting.

Besides my remaining Indian Art talks (next Thursday afternoon and the consecutive Thursdays after that) I am also involved in two creative writing workshops on the five senses, as part of the Goldenford Team. Should be fun. We sat and thrashed it out over a nice bottle of red on Tuesday. The first will take place on Saturday 10 October from 2pm to 5pm at the Leatherhead Institute (part of the Mole Valley Arts Festival), and the second on Saturday 17 October from 10am to 1pm at the Guildford Institute (part of the Guildford Book Festival). If you want to know more, contact frances@goldenford.co.uk
We have a couple of other talks lined up at the beginning of October, so I’m going to be busy.

HOWEVER… I have decided that the only way I’m going to get Noontide Owls finished is to set aside a certain time each day for writing. I’ve done this – nothing too ambitious, just a couple of hours in the morning. So far, apart from a few unforeseen crises I have managed to stick to it, and am amazed at the progress I’ve made. I thought I was devoid of inspiration, but simply forcing myself to sit and write has dragged it out of me. I’m managing 1000 words per day, which will do me nicely. Fingers crossed, Owls should be ready to fly of to the publisher in a few months time.

Then I can start on my Indian Art book.