July 11th 2009
Hello there, Playmates. Welcome back.
I had a great time with the ladies group at Emmanuel Church on Huddersfield Road in Barnsley on Wednesday evening last. I spoke about how I started writing and the adventures of Inspector Angel. The ladies asked a lot of questions and then told me what they looked for in a good crime novel. They also confirmed what I already thought about books laden with foul language. There’s a place for them and it isn’t in Barnsley. We had a few good laughs and an enjoyable evening. They say they’re asking me back later this year. That’s nice, isn’t it?
Yesterday I was busy book signing in Sheffield’s OXFAM Bookstore. I met some delightful people and made a few pounds for OXFAM. I also enjoyed some very interesting but - of necessity - hurried conversations with some of Oxfam’s many disparate customers, and was surprised at the wide range of interests the shop caters for, from Spiderman to Darwin. The delightful manager there, Darren Vogelsang has invited me back in the autumn, so I must be doing something right.
Do you know, my old watch went funny about three years ago. So being near Christmas, the queen dragged me into a jewellers shop to buy one for me, bless her, as if I couldn’t buy one myself.
Anyway, this jeweller had watches on offer from £4.99 to £10,000. Well, I didn’t want an expensive one in case I lost or damaged it. Those under £25.00 tended to be gaudy plastic coloured jobs which I didn’t fancy. She wanted me to have something really expensive, but I was amazed to find out from the jeweller that a watch costing £25 tells the time just as accurately as a £10,000 one. You would have thought that for all that extra money, it would have told you better time, wouldn’t you? But the jeweller told me quite clearly that the time on the £25 watch was exactly the same as that on the £10,000 one. And he showed me them side by side to prove the point. He couldn’t even say that it kept the time for a longer period or that it slowed the good time down so that you got more time for your money. I wondered if I could do a deal with him to have one of his £10,000 watches for an extra years’ worth of time. But no. It was then that I started losing him, if you know what I mean. The queen told me that I should go and see if the car was parked safely. I said all right, but I told her not to spend more that £25.00 and I would be highly chuffed, then I came out of the shop to look for the car.
Of course she bought the watch I liked at £25.00 but also had it fitted with a spring loaded gold coloured wristlet that she also knew that I liked. But she wouldn’t tell me what that cost!
Anyway, I was delighted with it. It kept spot on time, the dial was easy to read, and in every way, it was perfect. However, on Tuesday last it stopped. I was surprised. The queen immediately said take it back to the shop, which I did. Fortunately, it was not the man who served us three years ago. It was a pretty young lady. She glanced at it and said could I come back for it in about an hour. I thought that was quick, but I went back in the hour and was surprised to find it working and telling the right time.
‘Is it all right?’ I said.
‘Oh yes,’ the shop assistant said brightly.
‘How much is it?’ I said.
The shop assistant smiled. ‘There’s no charge,’ she said.
I blinked. I wasn’t used to hearing those three old fashioned, heart warming words. ‘Why?’ I said.
‘All it needed was a battery, Mr Silverwood, and we supply and fit batteries free on all watches sold by us.’
I had to sit down on one of their free chairs and have a sip of their free water.
Take care and come back soon.
June 16th 2009
Hope you’re enjoying the sunshine. I’m busy with all sorts of interesting diversions.
The manager of the OXFAM bookshop at 276 Glossop Road in Sheffield has asked me to do a book signing on Friday, July 10th at 12 noon, to help the fundraising. Of course I am delighted to do that. Please come and meet me, buy a book or put a few quid in the box. OXFAM is such a worthy cause. Did you know that 1 in 5 people in Britain live below the official poverty level? I don’t know why past and present governments haven’t dealt with it. Prime Ministers of all political colours have said that they are dealing with it, but they simply don’t. But they allow people in government and industry and commerce to swindle the exchequer, which is you and me and more importantly the poor, out of millions. And it’s been going on for years. It’s simply not good enough. I get really worked up about this. Apart from flexing our muscles at election time, what more can we do? If anybody sends me a good letter answering that question, I will publish it here. And I will withhold your name and address or not as you wish. The address for all your emails to me is <angeldetective@uwclub.net>.
We’d better move on while I cool down.
I have also been invited to talk about ... how I started writing and where it has taken me ... at the Ladies Group at the Emmanuel Church, Huddersfield Road, Barnsley at 7.30 on Wednesday evening, the 8th July. That’s nice, isn’t it? Pop in if you are near. I’d love to meet you.
I hope you are going off on holiday this summer. A change of scene and a bit of sunshine does us all a bit of good.
We won’t be going anywhere. The queen isn’t as mobile as she was but we will enjoy the garden. I don’t mind, as it gives me more time to write and avoids all that messing about packing and unpacking and the stressful business of keeping to times set by other people.
Whatever you’re doing, enjoy the summer...
And come back here soon.
Hope you’re enjoying the sunshine. I’m busy with all sorts of interesting diversions.
The manager of the OXFAM bookshop at 276 Glossop Road in Sheffield has asked me to do a book signing on Friday, July 10th at 12 noon, to help the fundraising. Of course I am delighted to do that. Please come and meet me, buy a book or put a few quid in the box. OXFAM is such a worthy cause. Did you know that 1 in 5 people in Britain live below the official poverty level? I don’t know why past and present governments haven’t dealt with it. Prime Ministers of all political colours have said that they are dealing with it, but they simply don’t. But they allow people in government and industry and commerce to swindle the exchequer, which is you and me and more importantly the poor, out of millions. And it’s been going on for years. It’s simply not good enough. I get really worked up about this. Apart from flexing our muscles at election time, what more can we do? If anybody sends me a good letter answering that question, I will publish it here. And I will withhold your name and address or not as you wish. The address for all your emails to me is <angeldetective@uwclub.net>.
We’d better move on while I cool down.
I have also been invited to talk about ... how I started writing and where it has taken me ... at the Ladies Group at the Emmanuel Church, Huddersfield Road, Barnsley at 7.30 on Wednesday evening, the 8th July. That’s nice, isn’t it? Pop in if you are near. I’d love to meet you.
I hope you are going off on holiday this summer. A change of scene and a bit of sunshine does us all a bit of good.
We won’t be going anywhere. The queen isn’t as mobile as she was but we will enjoy the garden. I don’t mind, as it gives me more time to write and avoids all that messing about packing and unpacking and the stressful business of keeping to times set by other people.
Whatever you’re doing, enjoy the summer...
And come back here soon.
May 27th 2009
There you are.
Sorry I’ve been longer than usual, but I fell into the trap. I could see it coming but I couldn’t stop myself. I had managed to avoid it for a few years now, but in a weak moment I was caught and I succumbed and agreed. You see, I have always boasted that the queen can have anything she wants. And she can. She’s already got everything (everything that can be bought with money, that is), so it wasn’t a difficult commitment to make. But she thought of something she said we needed and, at first, I didn’t know what it could possibly be. She was of course referring to DDD, the Dreaded Disease of Decorating. And of all places, she wanting doing, was the kitchen. Yes, the kitchen ... the hub of domestic comfort and organization of the house.
Well, I wished I had emigrated.
For a start, we had quotes from all over the place and, of course, finished up with the dearest!
She had me running up and down looking for wallpaper. Not that colour, not that with roses. I like that Italian style with a jug and plate on it, she said. Not that. It looks old fashioned. That one is too modern. Who wants paper designed using a motif of squares and triangles? That cream one. Might as well get white, it’ll be cream soon enough! Too cheap, she said. How much is it a roll?
Fifty pence? Eighty pence? Oh no. Surely not a pound?
More than a pound?
Twenty pounds? she said.
For the whole room?
No. A roll. Twenty pounds a roll!
It has to be waterproof you see.
Yes, but does it have to keep out the North Sea? I asked
And it didn’t finish there, did it? We had to have plasterers in to tidy up a damp corner and while they were here, they replastered an entire wall in the pantry.
There’s more.
The queen said that the big kitchen cupboards screwed to the wall are a bit too high. A bit too high. After 38 years, a bit too high?
Could they be lowered?
Could they be lowered?
Lucky old Roger. They couldn’t be lowered because there was an electric socket in the way. And no, the electric socket could not be moved.
Well, you’ve got to put your foot down somewhere.
Anyway, the decorators came and went like a barium enema.
The kitchen looks lovely and clean. They’ve broken the TV aerial and banged the kitchen TV about that much so that I can’t get a picture anymore. And the new DAB radio is all spotted with white Dulux. And they’ve hidden the wall clock. I think they’ve papered over it.
What's more important to me is that they’ve also put a stop to my book. I can’t write with people running in and out like MPs at the Fees Office. Also I can’t stand the distraction of the smell of paint and a big bill hovering over my head, like that. This happened to me last year, I remember. I can’t recall what it was, but it took me a month to get my mind back into the right atmosphere and pick up the plot.
If the queen has a rush of blood and this daft idea comes up again, I have threatened to leave home, and stay in a posh hotel on a warm tropical island to write until the agony is over.
Moving on ...
I got an email from Jack Lindsey who lives near Stratford-On-Avon. He was a copper in Mexborough. (That’s about ten miles from here). I know Mexborough as having a great hospital there, the Montague, which relieved me of great pain in my back a couple of years ago. A surgeon used a specialised technique incorporating X ray and pain relieving injections. It is absolute magic.
Jack began criticising some of the things I had the pathologist do in IN THE MIDST OF LIFE. Also he pointed out that police cars now have blue lights flashing on their tops in emergency conditions not amber, as I had written. I’m sure he’s quite correct. Also he doesn’t have much of a good opinion of people from Barnsley. But he sugared the pill by saying, ‘My wife Mary and I are both avid readers of yours and find it difficult to discover an author that we both enjoy. Inspector Angel is a real gem and Mary sits there chuckling at your descriptive phrases.’
That’s nice, isn’t it? I shall tell Angel next time I see him.
Enjoy the rain, and come back soon.
There you are.
Sorry I’ve been longer than usual, but I fell into the trap. I could see it coming but I couldn’t stop myself. I had managed to avoid it for a few years now, but in a weak moment I was caught and I succumbed and agreed. You see, I have always boasted that the queen can have anything she wants. And she can. She’s already got everything (everything that can be bought with money, that is), so it wasn’t a difficult commitment to make. But she thought of something she said we needed and, at first, I didn’t know what it could possibly be. She was of course referring to DDD, the Dreaded Disease of Decorating. And of all places, she wanting doing, was the kitchen. Yes, the kitchen ... the hub of domestic comfort and organization of the house.
Well, I wished I had emigrated.
For a start, we had quotes from all over the place and, of course, finished up with the dearest!
She had me running up and down looking for wallpaper. Not that colour, not that with roses. I like that Italian style with a jug and plate on it, she said. Not that. It looks old fashioned. That one is too modern. Who wants paper designed using a motif of squares and triangles? That cream one. Might as well get white, it’ll be cream soon enough! Too cheap, she said. How much is it a roll?
Fifty pence? Eighty pence? Oh no. Surely not a pound?
More than a pound?
Twenty pounds? she said.
For the whole room?
No. A roll. Twenty pounds a roll!
It has to be waterproof you see.
Yes, but does it have to keep out the North Sea? I asked
And it didn’t finish there, did it? We had to have plasterers in to tidy up a damp corner and while they were here, they replastered an entire wall in the pantry.
There’s more.
The queen said that the big kitchen cupboards screwed to the wall are a bit too high. A bit too high. After 38 years, a bit too high?
Could they be lowered?
Could they be lowered?
Lucky old Roger. They couldn’t be lowered because there was an electric socket in the way. And no, the electric socket could not be moved.
Well, you’ve got to put your foot down somewhere.
Anyway, the decorators came and went like a barium enema.
The kitchen looks lovely and clean. They’ve broken the TV aerial and banged the kitchen TV about that much so that I can’t get a picture anymore. And the new DAB radio is all spotted with white Dulux. And they’ve hidden the wall clock. I think they’ve papered over it.
What's more important to me is that they’ve also put a stop to my book. I can’t write with people running in and out like MPs at the Fees Office. Also I can’t stand the distraction of the smell of paint and a big bill hovering over my head, like that. This happened to me last year, I remember. I can’t recall what it was, but it took me a month to get my mind back into the right atmosphere and pick up the plot.
If the queen has a rush of blood and this daft idea comes up again, I have threatened to leave home, and stay in a posh hotel on a warm tropical island to write until the agony is over.
Moving on ...
I got an email from Jack Lindsey who lives near Stratford-On-Avon. He was a copper in Mexborough. (That’s about ten miles from here). I know Mexborough as having a great hospital there, the Montague, which relieved me of great pain in my back a couple of years ago. A surgeon used a specialised technique incorporating X ray and pain relieving injections. It is absolute magic.
Jack began criticising some of the things I had the pathologist do in IN THE MIDST OF LIFE. Also he pointed out that police cars now have blue lights flashing on their tops in emergency conditions not amber, as I had written. I’m sure he’s quite correct. Also he doesn’t have much of a good opinion of people from Barnsley. But he sugared the pill by saying, ‘My wife Mary and I are both avid readers of yours and find it difficult to discover an author that we both enjoy. Inspector Angel is a real gem and Mary sits there chuckling at your descriptive phrases.’
That’s nice, isn’t it? I shall tell Angel next time I see him.
Enjoy the rain, and come back soon.
May 9th 2009
Thanks for coming back.
I say, on Monday last, I was working away on my laptop as usual, when it started making a strange ticking noise, then an information box came up on the screen that I didn’t understand. I never understand what it says in those boxes anyway. They’re written by chimpanzees crossed with computer geeks who live in boxes like battery hens underground in California. They are thrown bananas and sugar-coated pep pills every six hours. Anyway, among other things, it said that I had done something illegal. Well, I haven’t done anything illegal for years!
Anyway, I quickly stuck a memory stick into the thing and fortunately saved all my work.
I couldn’t close the laptop down in the conventional way. The machine wouldn’t have it. It kept throwing up more information boxes full of threats, insults and telling me that I needed permission to do certain things.
These days I do pretty well what I want ... I don’t reckon I need anybody’s permission ... except maybe the queen’s.
Anyway, I switched off the electric at the plug, pulled out the cable, pulled the wire out of the transformer socket and the one out of the machine, but it still kept on throwing out orders, information and telling me I was doing everything wrong. That’s nothing new. I’ve known that for years. The little lights on the outside of the case kept blinking furiously showing me that things were desperate.
I knew there was a battery in it somewhere, so I turned it upside down. It didn’t like that – and sent out a groan. I quickly found the compartment where the battery was hidden and after a struggle with two catches that you have to operate simultaneously, managed to take it out. The laptop made a small hopeless resurgence for a second or two, then its lights went out, the screen went to black and it finally expired on the table in front of me.
That was that. It was caput. And so I was out of work. I needed a laptop, and I needed it straightaway. I dashed into town and had a quick look round, saw over fifty different models and came home with a beauty. New design. Fully guaranteed. Ideal for a writer. Every feature you can think of. Programmed ready. Just plug it in. As the man said, all I had to do was press the keys. It was so up to date, it would practically write the stuff for me! Magic.
I got it unpacked and followed the simple diagram enclosed to set it up. Then switched it on. Big screen. Lots of colour. Great sounds. It was like Wonderland. But to my horror I discovered that everything had changed. And I mean everything. I had been using a computer every day for about twelve years and suddenly I was lost. I couldn’t find anything that I understood. All the sequences had been changed and all the names of the moves had been changed, the jargon had changed. Only the mouse was the same. I am plodding through and with help from James who looks after the website I am disciplining the great monster and trying to get back to writing my book.
To something else ...
I had a super surprise in the post this morning. A voucher copy of MURDER IN BARE FEET in audio. It’s chiefly for the blind or registered blind, of course. It was recorded by the actor, Jonathan Keeble, who has recorded many other writers books ... he does Reginald Hill’s DALZIEL AND PASCO and others, so I am in good company.
I listened to a bit of it and it sounded just great. I understand it is out in the libraries and shops now.
You’re going to get more Angel in future. The publisher is changing the format of the Angel books to make them 30% bigger. I will therefore be writing the stories appropriately longer, which will be much better. I will have more space in which to develop the plot. And, for the same money, you will get more Angel. As I write this, I have just realised, everybody wins, except me. I won’t be getting any more money!
Got to go. You wouldn’t believe it. The queen wants me. Unusual. There’s a nasty smell on the patio. Grant, who does our garden has lifted an inspection cover and found that the drains are blocked. Will I do something about it? Yes. Find a plumber.
I’ll never get back to writing my book.
If you can stand the tension, come back soon.
Thanks for coming back.
I say, on Monday last, I was working away on my laptop as usual, when it started making a strange ticking noise, then an information box came up on the screen that I didn’t understand. I never understand what it says in those boxes anyway. They’re written by chimpanzees crossed with computer geeks who live in boxes like battery hens underground in California. They are thrown bananas and sugar-coated pep pills every six hours. Anyway, among other things, it said that I had done something illegal. Well, I haven’t done anything illegal for years!
Anyway, I quickly stuck a memory stick into the thing and fortunately saved all my work.
I couldn’t close the laptop down in the conventional way. The machine wouldn’t have it. It kept throwing up more information boxes full of threats, insults and telling me that I needed permission to do certain things.
These days I do pretty well what I want ... I don’t reckon I need anybody’s permission ... except maybe the queen’s.
Anyway, I switched off the electric at the plug, pulled out the cable, pulled the wire out of the transformer socket and the one out of the machine, but it still kept on throwing out orders, information and telling me I was doing everything wrong. That’s nothing new. I’ve known that for years. The little lights on the outside of the case kept blinking furiously showing me that things were desperate.
I knew there was a battery in it somewhere, so I turned it upside down. It didn’t like that – and sent out a groan. I quickly found the compartment where the battery was hidden and after a struggle with two catches that you have to operate simultaneously, managed to take it out. The laptop made a small hopeless resurgence for a second or two, then its lights went out, the screen went to black and it finally expired on the table in front of me.
That was that. It was caput. And so I was out of work. I needed a laptop, and I needed it straightaway. I dashed into town and had a quick look round, saw over fifty different models and came home with a beauty. New design. Fully guaranteed. Ideal for a writer. Every feature you can think of. Programmed ready. Just plug it in. As the man said, all I had to do was press the keys. It was so up to date, it would practically write the stuff for me! Magic.
I got it unpacked and followed the simple diagram enclosed to set it up. Then switched it on. Big screen. Lots of colour. Great sounds. It was like Wonderland. But to my horror I discovered that everything had changed. And I mean everything. I had been using a computer every day for about twelve years and suddenly I was lost. I couldn’t find anything that I understood. All the sequences had been changed and all the names of the moves had been changed, the jargon had changed. Only the mouse was the same. I am plodding through and with help from James who looks after the website I am disciplining the great monster and trying to get back to writing my book.
To something else ...
I had a super surprise in the post this morning. A voucher copy of MURDER IN BARE FEET in audio. It’s chiefly for the blind or registered blind, of course. It was recorded by the actor, Jonathan Keeble, who has recorded many other writers books ... he does Reginald Hill’s DALZIEL AND PASCO and others, so I am in good company.
I listened to a bit of it and it sounded just great. I understand it is out in the libraries and shops now.
You’re going to get more Angel in future. The publisher is changing the format of the Angel books to make them 30% bigger. I will therefore be writing the stories appropriately longer, which will be much better. I will have more space in which to develop the plot. And, for the same money, you will get more Angel. As I write this, I have just realised, everybody wins, except me. I won’t be getting any more money!
Got to go. You wouldn’t believe it. The queen wants me. Unusual. There’s a nasty smell on the patio. Grant, who does our garden has lifted an inspection cover and found that the drains are blocked. Will I do something about it? Yes. Find a plumber.
I’ll never get back to writing my book.
If you can stand the tension, come back soon.
April 30th 2009
Zipperty do dah, zipperty hay. My, oh my, what a wonderful day. This is the day my latest book, WILD ABOUT HARRY, my 13th Detective Inspector Angel story is being published. It also marks the winner of the competition for the best entry of a celebrity, over 80, who is still regularly working. I have had so many entries that I feel I should give more than one prize, but I’m not going to.
As a late entry, the queen has come up with Pete Seeger, who is 90 on May 3rd, and is playing in a huge concert in the US on that day to celebrate. I can add it to the list, but I can’t award the prize to her, can I? It would be a right twist. Besides the house is full of books. She has a free entitlement to a half interest in any book in the place. In fact, she has a half interest in everything in the house. She says that her solicitor told her so!
So the winner I have chosen is Simon Wellman from Leeds who submitted the name of Nicholas Parsons who is an amazing 85. Simon! A signed copy of WILD ABOUT HARRY, is on its way to you, with many thanks.
There were older celebrities submitted by you lovely people, but they had been already suggested by Alan Titchmarsh, or the celebrities were not British, and I thought the competition should have been confined to Brits, although I didn’t say so, (with apologies to my readers in the US and elsewhere). I do hope you think that I have been fair.
The complete and amazing list of celebrities, believed to be over 80 and regularly working, submitted by reader's of this column is…
Betty Turpin 88 years
Peter Sallis 88 years
Liz Smith 87 years
Dora Bryan 85 years
Robert Hardy 84 years
Angela Lansbury 83 years
Jean Alexander 83 years
Geoffrey Palmer 82 years
June Brown 82 years
Bruce Forsyth 81 years
David Attenborough 83
David Jacobs 82
Lauren Bacall 85
Honor Blackman 81 or 82
Andy Williams 81
Sir Jimmy Savile 82
Les Paul 93
B B King 83
Leslie Phillips 85
June Whitfield 83
Nicholas Parsons 85
Pete Seeger 89
Well, it’s been a lot of fun and quite revealing to find so many lovely old people still working, but the competition is, sadly, closed.
About something entirely different …
Can I let off a bit of steam?
My car insurance is coming up for renewal, and it’s £36 dearer than last year. I don’t like prices going up like that. I haven’t had an accident or anything.
Well, you know those heavily advertised comparison websites, where you submit the details of your car and the drivers and so on, and they automatically come up with cheaper insurance offers? In some of their ads, I’ve heard grinning actors say, ‘I saved £170.’ ‘I saved £200.’ ‘I saved £90.’
Well, I spent 20 minutes submitting all the details of the car, the queen, the house, my marital status, my occupation, my age, my sex, even told them what side of the bed I sleep on, and the result was two quotes … one, £126 more than my present insurer and the other £180 more. Then I phoned two other famous high street names directly for a quote and both were also dearer, so needless to say, I re-insured with my present insurer. Well, what would you have done?
But that was about an hour’s writing time lost by their persistent (and in my case, wasted) advertising.
In that one hour, I could have written about five paragraphs of my new Angel book, deleted four of them and pruned the other down to two sentences. And tomorrow morning, I could condense those two sentences into one, and then tomorrow night, if those sentences were full of unnecessary description, I could delete them, because nobody reads description anymore.
How I ever finish writing a book, I’ll never know.
Come back soon for more ramblings from of an old writer.
Zipperty do dah, zipperty hay. My, oh my, what a wonderful day. This is the day my latest book, WILD ABOUT HARRY, my 13th Detective Inspector Angel story is being published. It also marks the winner of the competition for the best entry of a celebrity, over 80, who is still regularly working. I have had so many entries that I feel I should give more than one prize, but I’m not going to.
As a late entry, the queen has come up with Pete Seeger, who is 90 on May 3rd, and is playing in a huge concert in the US on that day to celebrate. I can add it to the list, but I can’t award the prize to her, can I? It would be a right twist. Besides the house is full of books. She has a free entitlement to a half interest in any book in the place. In fact, she has a half interest in everything in the house. She says that her solicitor told her so!
So the winner I have chosen is Simon Wellman from Leeds who submitted the name of Nicholas Parsons who is an amazing 85. Simon! A signed copy of WILD ABOUT HARRY, is on its way to you, with many thanks.
There were older celebrities submitted by you lovely people, but they had been already suggested by Alan Titchmarsh, or the celebrities were not British, and I thought the competition should have been confined to Brits, although I didn’t say so, (with apologies to my readers in the US and elsewhere). I do hope you think that I have been fair.
The complete and amazing list of celebrities, believed to be over 80 and regularly working, submitted by reader's of this column is…
Betty Turpin 88 years
Peter Sallis 88 years
Liz Smith 87 years
Dora Bryan 85 years
Robert Hardy 84 years
Angela Lansbury 83 years
Jean Alexander 83 years
Geoffrey Palmer 82 years
June Brown 82 years
Bruce Forsyth 81 years
David Attenborough 83
David Jacobs 82
Lauren Bacall 85
Honor Blackman 81 or 82
Andy Williams 81
Sir Jimmy Savile 82
Les Paul 93
B B King 83
Leslie Phillips 85
June Whitfield 83
Nicholas Parsons 85
Pete Seeger 89
Well, it’s been a lot of fun and quite revealing to find so many lovely old people still working, but the competition is, sadly, closed.
About something entirely different …
Can I let off a bit of steam?
My car insurance is coming up for renewal, and it’s £36 dearer than last year. I don’t like prices going up like that. I haven’t had an accident or anything.
Well, you know those heavily advertised comparison websites, where you submit the details of your car and the drivers and so on, and they automatically come up with cheaper insurance offers? In some of their ads, I’ve heard grinning actors say, ‘I saved £170.’ ‘I saved £200.’ ‘I saved £90.’
Well, I spent 20 minutes submitting all the details of the car, the queen, the house, my marital status, my occupation, my age, my sex, even told them what side of the bed I sleep on, and the result was two quotes … one, £126 more than my present insurer and the other £180 more. Then I phoned two other famous high street names directly for a quote and both were also dearer, so needless to say, I re-insured with my present insurer. Well, what would you have done?
But that was about an hour’s writing time lost by their persistent (and in my case, wasted) advertising.
In that one hour, I could have written about five paragraphs of my new Angel book, deleted four of them and pruned the other down to two sentences. And tomorrow morning, I could condense those two sentences into one, and then tomorrow night, if those sentences were full of unnecessary description, I could delete them, because nobody reads description anymore.
How I ever finish writing a book, I’ll never know.
Come back soon for more ramblings from of an old writer.
April 18th 2009
Glad you came back.
Have you ever wondered what it must have been like to have been the small boy who saved his country from sinking under the sea by sticking his finger in a hole in the dyke? Must have felt really good. Made the boy seem important for once in his life. Well I had an experience a bit like that last Thursday. You see the head interviewing honcho at BBC Radio in Sheffield, Roney Robinson, a sort of cross between Dr Anthony Clare and Jeremy Paxman, had a slack half hour in his programme to fill. His troops had arranged for some poor soul to be interviewed but the interviewee had apparently taken fright at short notice and cried off, so they had a half an hour to fill at very short notice, so they phoned me.
‘Would you do it? Can you be here for two o’clock?’
‘Yes. Of course,’ I said, ‘I’ll do it.’
Well, it all started very well. I was met by a delightful producer lady, all smiles, fingernails, high heels and a cup of BBC tea in a BBC pot. When I got into the studio itself, there he was, Mr Robinson, hair sleeked back and wearing a khaki jungle suit. He was talking away, pressing buttons and sliding faders as slick as a Las Vegas croupier spinning a roulette wheel to a packed table of punters. Slaves kept running in and out with cups of tea, sealed envelopes, and bits of paper with secret writing on them. Messages kept popping up on CCTV screens. A red light behind him kept bobbing on and off erratically. It was all a bit unnerving.
Roney Robinson started off being charm personified, but slyly introduced questions such as, ‘How old are you?’ and ‘How long have you been married?’ and ‘Are you rich or mega rich?’ and subtle stuff like that. He asked me where I lived, and whooped with delight to hear that my house was smaller than his.
News reports and travel information were being interspersed throughout the interview so that I never quite knew whether our chat was being broadcast or it was merely private between the two of us. That’s how he caught me. There’s no time to think, you see. It’s live. You reply. It’s transmitted to the listening millions and then it’s on record.
I had prepared stories about my childhood, such as how I set fire to the bedroom curtains when I was only three or four, and how my parents moved house without telling me and when I got back from school I didn’t know where they had gone to (true!), and ditties like that, but he didn’t ask me about my early life. I also wanted to tell him all about my books and Angel’s success both here and in the States, but he hardly gave me a chance. Anyway, the time soon passed and it was all over. He said that I had done well. Frankly, I came out of the studio a bit dazed. The producer lady with a big smile also said I had done well. I beamed. I’m a real sucker for a bit of smarm. I felt warm all over, and I drove home singing, ‘Onward Christian Soldiers.’ But, you know, thinking about it now, I know that I had said far too much.
Anyway, can’t do anything about it.
Now about other things …
Did you see the piece in the Daily Telegraph on March 29th?
‘Reading can help reduce stress’
‘And it works better and faster than other methods to calm frazzled nerves such as listening to music, going for a walk or settling down with a cup of tea, research found.
‘Psychologists believe this is because the human mind has to concentrate on reading and the distraction of being taken into a literary world eases the tensions in muscles and the heart.
Reading can reduce stress levels by 68%, according to the University of Sussex research.’
It’s absolutely true, if you get a really good book. Don’t you agree?
Moving on …
I’ve had more entries in the competition, but only three names are valid. One is from Joseph Herries, an ex pat living in the town of Mandeville in Jamaica, in the West Indies. (This blog gets everywhere). He remembers from old films, Leslie Phillips, who is 84. Well done, Joseph.
A lady, she doesn’t indicate anything more than her name, Mary Cleary from near Aberdeen, reminds us that June Whitfield is still hard at work and is 83. Also Simon Wellman from Leeds submits Nicholas Parsons who is an amazing 85.
They are all valid and added to the list.
Unfortunately, I am still getting names of celebrities who have sadly died or retired. Remember, the entries have to be celebrities, over 80, and still working. The competition closes on April 30th. For the most interesting addition or additions, I’ll send the winner a copy of my latest book, WILD ABOUT HARRY, which is to be published on April 30th. I’ll even write in it if you want me to. My email address is <angeldetective@uwclub.net> Good luck.
The full valid list so far is
Glad you came back.
Have you ever wondered what it must have been like to have been the small boy who saved his country from sinking under the sea by sticking his finger in a hole in the dyke? Must have felt really good. Made the boy seem important for once in his life. Well I had an experience a bit like that last Thursday. You see the head interviewing honcho at BBC Radio in Sheffield, Roney Robinson, a sort of cross between Dr Anthony Clare and Jeremy Paxman, had a slack half hour in his programme to fill. His troops had arranged for some poor soul to be interviewed but the interviewee had apparently taken fright at short notice and cried off, so they had a half an hour to fill at very short notice, so they phoned me.
‘Would you do it? Can you be here for two o’clock?’
‘Yes. Of course,’ I said, ‘I’ll do it.’
Well, it all started very well. I was met by a delightful producer lady, all smiles, fingernails, high heels and a cup of BBC tea in a BBC pot. When I got into the studio itself, there he was, Mr Robinson, hair sleeked back and wearing a khaki jungle suit. He was talking away, pressing buttons and sliding faders as slick as a Las Vegas croupier spinning a roulette wheel to a packed table of punters. Slaves kept running in and out with cups of tea, sealed envelopes, and bits of paper with secret writing on them. Messages kept popping up on CCTV screens. A red light behind him kept bobbing on and off erratically. It was all a bit unnerving.
Roney Robinson started off being charm personified, but slyly introduced questions such as, ‘How old are you?’ and ‘How long have you been married?’ and ‘Are you rich or mega rich?’ and subtle stuff like that. He asked me where I lived, and whooped with delight to hear that my house was smaller than his.
News reports and travel information were being interspersed throughout the interview so that I never quite knew whether our chat was being broadcast or it was merely private between the two of us. That’s how he caught me. There’s no time to think, you see. It’s live. You reply. It’s transmitted to the listening millions and then it’s on record.
I had prepared stories about my childhood, such as how I set fire to the bedroom curtains when I was only three or four, and how my parents moved house without telling me and when I got back from school I didn’t know where they had gone to (true!), and ditties like that, but he didn’t ask me about my early life. I also wanted to tell him all about my books and Angel’s success both here and in the States, but he hardly gave me a chance. Anyway, the time soon passed and it was all over. He said that I had done well. Frankly, I came out of the studio a bit dazed. The producer lady with a big smile also said I had done well. I beamed. I’m a real sucker for a bit of smarm. I felt warm all over, and I drove home singing, ‘Onward Christian Soldiers.’ But, you know, thinking about it now, I know that I had said far too much.
Anyway, can’t do anything about it.
Now about other things …
Did you see the piece in the Daily Telegraph on March 29th?
‘Reading can help reduce stress’
‘And it works better and faster than other methods to calm frazzled nerves such as listening to music, going for a walk or settling down with a cup of tea, research found.
‘Psychologists believe this is because the human mind has to concentrate on reading and the distraction of being taken into a literary world eases the tensions in muscles and the heart.
Reading can reduce stress levels by 68%, according to the University of Sussex research.’
It’s absolutely true, if you get a really good book. Don’t you agree?
Moving on …
I’ve had more entries in the competition, but only three names are valid. One is from Joseph Herries, an ex pat living in the town of Mandeville in Jamaica, in the West Indies. (This blog gets everywhere). He remembers from old films, Leslie Phillips, who is 84. Well done, Joseph.
A lady, she doesn’t indicate anything more than her name, Mary Cleary from near Aberdeen, reminds us that June Whitfield is still hard at work and is 83. Also Simon Wellman from Leeds submits Nicholas Parsons who is an amazing 85.
They are all valid and added to the list.
Unfortunately, I am still getting names of celebrities who have sadly died or retired. Remember, the entries have to be celebrities, over 80, and still working. The competition closes on April 30th. For the most interesting addition or additions, I’ll send the winner a copy of my latest book, WILD ABOUT HARRY, which is to be published on April 30th. I’ll even write in it if you want me to. My email address is <angeldetective@uwclub.net> Good luck.
The full valid list so far is
The competition closes on April 30th.Betty Turpin 88
Peter Sallis 88
Liz Smith 87Dora Bryan 85
Robert Hardy 84
Angela Lansbury 83Jean Alexander 83
Geoffrey Palmer 82
June Brown 82 years
Bruce Forsyth 81
David Attenborough 83
David Jacobs 82
Lauren Bacall 85
HonorBlackman 81 or 82
Andy Williams 81
Sir Jimmy Savile 82
Les Paul 93
B B King 83Leslie Phillips 84
June Whitfield 83
Nicholas Parsons 85
It’s always nice to hear from you. Keep submitting. See you soon.
April 7th 2008
Hello puzzlers.
Had lots of entries of celebrities who are already on the list - please see last three diary entries.
Had an an entry from James Corbett of Barnsley. His entry was David "Honey Boy" Edwards who is 94. Now I've never heard of him. I told James that I didn't think he could fairly be regarded as a a 'celebrity' if I'd never heard of him. James hinted that I must live in the dark ages. I think if six people tell me that he's a celebrity, I'll put him on the list, otherwise he stays off. That's fair isn't it?
Easter will soon be here. Oh the glories of chocolate!
See you soon.
Hello puzzlers.
Had lots of entries of celebrities who are already on the list - please see last three diary entries.
Had an an entry from James Corbett of Barnsley. His entry was David "Honey Boy" Edwards who is 94. Now I've never heard of him. I told James that I didn't think he could fairly be regarded as a a 'celebrity' if I'd never heard of him. James hinted that I must live in the dark ages. I think if six people tell me that he's a celebrity, I'll put him on the list, otherwise he stays off. That's fair isn't it?
Easter will soon be here. Oh the glories of chocolate!
See you soon.
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