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It's been a while...

2011-12-28T18:31:00.002Z

It’s been a strange day at the end of a strange year. I travelled to London today, ostensibly to do some writing, but also to try and clear my head a little. Things have been difficult recently, with an onslaught of very troubling health issues for two of the people I care about most, and it’s been almost impossible to shake off the fear and prevent my imagination running ahead of itself, especially when home is a constant reminder of the challenges we’re currently facing.

And so I went to London. I usually go to Bristol or Oxford when I want to write, but railway engineering works and holiday timetables conspired to drive me to the capital instead. When I got off the train at Waterloo, I had no particular destination in mind – I just went down into the Underground station and decided on the Northern Line rather than Bakerloo.

Sitting on the tube, looking up at the list of Northern Line stations, the first name that leapt out at me was Hampstead. It wasn’t too far and, being a fairly affluent area, I thought it might be a good place to find a quiet little cafe where I could sit and type for a while. As the journey continued, I noted the adjacent station, Belsize Park, which always puts me in mind of the lyric from Marillion’s “Kayleigh”, but I also had vague recollections of that station being one I’d used a few times in the eighties, when I was working for Activision.

After completing another chapter in a Starbucks on Hampstead High Street, I followed a whim and wandered down the hill towards Belsize Park. After walking for five minutes or so, I got a prickling of déjà vu while gazing up at an old church, and felt compelled to turn off onto a road called Pond Street, which also had a familiar feel to it. Some way down this hill, I suddenly recognized the building where Activision used to have their London office, and a whole wave of past events came flooding back. I’d not been here for something like 24 years, and an awful lot changes in that length of time, but I found myself walking down to the bottom of the hill and turning left to stroll up onto the Heath.

It was a cold, bright afternoon, with an amazing red sun hanging low in the sky, and I suddenly knew that I’d been here before too. A press photoshoot for myself and Anna (who was then my girlfriend rather than my wife) had been organised beside the wreckage of an old fallen tree, and we’d sat there – two shivering teenagers on a day as cold as today – while the photographer tried to capture that post-apocalyptic feel so popular in the eighties.

And now here I was, almost a quarter of a century later, wondering if I’d meant to come here, trying to remember where we’d stood and what we’d said. The recognition was eerie, creeping up on me as I walked around – vague recollections snapping suddenly into place. And it made me appreciate the importance of memories – a particular challenge that’s facing two people I care about, and who are both struggling with memory problems – as they define so much of who we are.

In any case, it was oddly fulfilling to revisit the ghosts of the past. I think I may track down a few more of my old haunts and see what thoughts I left there.

Happy New Year, everyone.

Sobering Thoughts

2011-10-30T10:27:00.003Z

I've not discussed it previously, but this seems an appropriate point to mention the tragic death of Jo Yeates, now that neighbour Vincent Tabak has been convicted of her murder.

Jo went missing in Bristol on the 17th of December last year and her body was found in the snow on Christmas day. The case attracted a lot of media attention, but there was a particularly unsettling aspect for me as it became clear that the real events echoed a number of themes in my first (then unpublished) novel. Over Christmas, discussing the story with family, a number of parallels emerged. Although it was the first section I'd written (more than a year earlier) it was chilling to see so many coincidences - young blonde woman in Clifton, working for an architectural firm, found strangled.

At the time, I stopped writing, and stopped sending out the manuscript - it just seemed inappropriate to continue with the project. The sickening nature of the case wasn't helped by the newspapers' evil persecution of Jo's landlord and, when he rather inconveniently turned out to be innocent, their snide criticism of Avon & Somerset Police.

There was a sense of relief when Vincent Tabak was arrested, even more so when he admitted causing Jo's death. I felt able to continue with the books and was fortunate enough to secure an agent and publisher.

Naturally, the story has now been altered. Even though there were lots of significant differences between the novel and the terrible events of last Christmas, it seemed important to make a few more changes, out of respect if nothing else.

Now that Tabak has been convicted, hopefully the real-life story is over, and those impacted by his crime can get some closure. It's been a sobering journey, and one that puts a lot of things into perspective.

An hour from home

2011-10-13T23:08:00.003+01:00

I’m sitting on a train, on my way back from the West Country. It’s late, and I’m half asleep from the combination of an early start this morning, and a post-midnight finish to my book 1 edit last night. However, it’s hugely satisfying to have passed another milestone – in this case, working through feedback from my excellent editor Francesca. "Eye Contact" is now deeper, tighter, and quite a bit longer than before. For my part, I’m now older, wiser and quite a bit happier with it ;-)

Annoyingly, after weeks of looking back and fixing fine details, today’s train journey has given me the chance to look forward and notice major plot issues. I’m pleased with the premise for book 2, and a lot of the material I’ve written for it feels promising, but I still feel as though something significant is yet to click into place. Hopefully I’ll have the chance to visit Bristol some time in the next week or two. Writing in the place where the action unfolds has often sparked some of my favourite and most pivotal scenes, and I’ve a feeling that the idea I’m looking for is there somewhere.

20

2011-09-15T07:11:00.000+01:00

Twenty years ago today, Anna and I got married.

It's difficult to recall a time when she wasn't part of my life - we've been together since we were teenagers - but I know I feel the same way about her now as the day she asked me to marry her. I'm still trying to impress her, I still think it's cool when she holds my hand in the street, and I still find myself grinning whenever she turns that smile on me.

A lot has happened over the last two decades but, through both the good times and the challenges, I've never doubted that I was with the right person. She is my friend and soul-mate, and I couldn't ask for a better companion on life's journey.

So thank you Anna, for the best twenty years so far. May the next twenty be every bit as good.

Resonance

2011-07-23T22:31:00.000+01:00

After an early start and just barely catching the train, I spent the day in Bristol, scouting locations and learning more about different areas of the city. It's become clear to me that my original plan for Book 2 will need some significant alterations, one of which is a change to the first killing - different victim, different setting, different everything. Fortunately it's not as daunting as it might sound. Indeed, parts of Eye Contact underwent several shifts until they snapped into alignment, and it was a similar process with today's trip.

Certain places seem to act as catalysts for ideas. I'm not a New-Age type and I don't believe in ley-lines and all that jazz, but as I drift around a city there can be an almost tangible sense of "getting warmer" or "getting colder". And when there's time to look around, that can be very productive.

Last time I was in Bristol, I followed a whim and took a bus from Templemeads to Clifton Down. By chance, I chose the longer route and it took me through a number of places I'd not really seen before. One of these was Redland, and it's been on my mind ever since.

Today, I got the train straight through to Redland station. The area around it is lovely, and I had a great time exploring. I found a great house that would suit my new victim-to-be, and took a look around her neighbourhood to understand what it would be like living there.

I've been thinking that this character should work somewhere around the Clifton Village (keeping as far from the location in the first book as I can) so I took the bus from her local stop to see what the commute was like.

As luck would have it, the bus stop where I got off was close to a sign that mentioned Clifton Arcade. I'd never heard of it before, so I ducked down a side street and entered a truly charming little Victorian mall. Again, as soon as I stepped inside, something clicked and I knew that this was where my character should work.

After a helpful shop owner patiently answered my evasive questions (well, I didn't want to spook her!) and a nearby cafe fixed me up with a genuinely magnificent all-day breakfast, I thought I'd head over to the other side of town and visit my detective's house.

Stackpool Road is somewhere I've been before, but only briefly and only in my car. Walking there, then walking into town from there, has given me a great insight into what it would be like to live in that part of Bristol. Hopefully, that will come across in the Eye Contact edits, as well as the sequel. In any event, I got that same feeling of correctness that I had in Redland and Clifton Village.

Three out of three! And there's still half a weekend left to go...

Friday Feeling

2011-07-16T22:42:00.001+01:00

Even for a Friday, that was pretty damn good.

Yesterday turned out to be a day of days, with a rather special trip to London. My agent, the excellent Eve White, had arranged a meeting with a potential publisher and, filled with excitement and trepidation, I met up with her and off we went.

Over the next couple of hours, we met a whole host of really lovely people to discuss the book, two sequels, and the process of becoming an established author. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't flattering to be so absolutely the centre of attention, as influential person after influential person came into the room to meet me and tell me how much they'd enjoyed reading Eye Contact. However, the more I've thought about it, the more I've come to realize that it was also the shock of so many people having actually read the story that really got to me. Up until now, only a handful of very trusted people have seen it. Suddenly, a procession of literary heavyweights were shaking my hand and telling me how much they enjoyed the book. It was a surreal experience - almost as if they'd mistaken me for someone else, and were offering compliments on some other novel - and quite overwhelming at times. Fortunately, Eve was there to calmly focus our discussions on the creative side of things and defer business matters to another day.

Which brings me onto the second high-spot of the morning. A key purpose of the visit was to meet the woman who would potentially be my editor - not just on Eye Contact, but on the whole series. Eve wanted to see how I got on with her, and whether we had a common vision for the books. As our discussions progressed, it became clear that she really gets the story and understands where I'm hoping to take the characters. She made a number of suggestions, all of which rang true with me, and the icing on the cake was when she correctly predicted the ending of book two.

And afterwards, still numb from the excitement of the morning, a lunchtime stroll in the sunshine led onto a pleasing afternoon meeting about a new iOS project for work. I even got a seat on the train home.

Next Friday has a lot to live up to!

Shoot First

2011-07-13T14:32:00.001+01:00

My thanks to Ali Downie and Hema Vyas for giving me the opportunity to do my first photoshoot with a real model. Despite the weather it was an enjoyable and informative experience, and I certainly learned a lot.

Hema arranged things and took care of makeup and styling - two things I know very little about - and Ali was extremely patient as we dragged her around the mean streets of Winchester, especially as it emerged that she had tragically missed breakfast.

An overcast sky meant the light wasn't great, but the results were quite pleasing. I wish I'd given Ali more guidance, but I found myself concentrating on technical / composition issues for a lot of the time. Hopefully, as I become more practiced, these things won't be so distracting and I can devote my attention to better model direction.

Still, for a first attempt, I'm happy with the photos. Watch my Flickr feed for more images in the coming days.

Senna

2011-06-13T16:08:00.000+01:00

Generally, the thought of going to the cinema to see a documentary isn't something that gets me excited. I remember watching "Zidane" on iPlayer and thanking my lucky stars that I hadn't bought a ticket for it, while the various offerings from conspiracy theorists, eco-warriors, and self-rightous anti-corporates all leave me cold.

Which makes "Senna" all the more impressive.

The film recounts the short, adult life of Ayrton Senna, the Brazilian who battled his way to become Formula One champion three times in four years. Widely regarded as the greatest racing driver of all time, he was also the last F1 driver to be killed at the wheel, when he crashed at Imola in 1994.

It's a powerful and unusual piece of cinema. Unlike so many retrospective pieces, there are no talking heads, no faded contemporaries gazing back through misty-eyed nostalgia. Senna is on the screen almost all the time, with every frame of the film being footage from the relevant period in his life. When comments or opinions are needed to tell the story, they are from Senna himself, his family, or his team mates - and many bear the honesty of being recorded before Imola, when Senna was just a man, not a mourned, national treasure.

Yes, it's one-sided. We're given the intriguing narrative of Senna's rivalry with Prost, and his frustration with the sport's governing body, all from his point of view. We hear little about his family life, yet there is a lot about his quiet support for charities. But none of that matters. As the film progresses, there can be no doubt that this was one of the most determined and talented drivers ever born. His ability to control the car, taking staggering risks at a time when racing was terribly dangerous, is breathtaking.

And that's what makes it such a difficult film to watch. When you see other cars crash, you see it through Senna's eyes. You share his anguish as he stands in the pit garage, watching a monitor that displays the broken body of a fellow racer lying crumpled on the track outside. Later, you see him bow his head as it becomes clear that another of his opponents has just died in the wreckage of his car. And then, his face grim, you see him pull on his helmet and get ready to race again.

When the end draws near, you're as weary as he is. You've experienced the frustration, the disappointment and the heartache. You can almost understand his happiness when, on the morning of his death, his Bible reading promises him the greatest gift of all - being with God.

Usually, if I'm sitting in a cinema and things get a bit emotional, I get a grip by reminding myself that it's all make-believe, just actors on a set. Not so with this film. As the final race unfolds, you find yourself hoping against the inevitable. When the crash comes, there is nothing to cushion you from its impact - the knowledge that this happened long ago means nothing when the film has taken you so deeply into Senna's real, vibrant life.

It's an amazing film about an amazing man. See it and you'll know what I mean.

The Poison Tree

2011-06-12T20:26:00.001+01:00

After I'd brought this book home, I felt a nagging certainty that Erin Kelly was one of the new authors who sat just behind me at last year's Winchester Conference. In any event, I'm very glad I read The Poison Tree.

Much of my second novel is told from a woman's point of view, so I'd been looking for a contemporary crime / thriller, with a female protagonist. Women write in a different way - their characters notice different things, and their thought processes flow with different priorities. Getting that right will certainly be a challenge.

But what of The Poison Tree? It's an intriguing story of a young woman, drawn into the compelling and disturbing world of a brother and sister who live in a vast old house in London. There's plenty of tragedy, and some delicious twists, as the story unfolds in two timelines towards a dramatic finale. There's a gentle intensity to the writing that I really enjoyed, and echoes of Brideshead Revisited that made me smile.

I've only finished it today, and I'm still not sure how I feel about the ending, but it's been a compelling read. I just hope some of that feminine tone rubs off on me.

A quiet drink...

2011-05-29T23:17:00.000+01:00

I had an enjoyable and productive time today, writing and researching for Book II. The day began in Winchester, where I found a table in Starbucks and successfully nailed down the sequence where Kim and Naysmith first met. It was an idea that I'd had some time ago, and initially discounted, but something Anna said made me view it in a different light. It's difficult to write at home when everyone else is around, so I drove to Winchester - it's not far, and it's been a rewarding place to write in the past.

Things came together rather faster than I'd expected, so I later drove over to Salisbury and followed the road on into the village where the two characters live. I had wanted to check the route anyway, but when I got there I thought it might be helpful to know a little more about the place, so I thought I'd go and have a drink in Naysmith's local.

I'd always imagined it would be the pub on the market square, so I parked up, went to the house I've chosen for them, then walked back to the pub. The place was almost deserted when I went in - just a young mum with a toddler, and her partner playing the fruit machine. I did my "looking for someone" face and nosed around a little, but somehow it just didn't feel right - the sort of place that got crowded and held pool tournaments. A barmaid appeared and asked me if I was looking for someone (which made me smile). I described Naysmith for her but she said she hadn't seen him - I'd have been worried if she had. She suggested I try another pub, just along the road.

This one was much more suitable. Uneven floors, dark wood beams with horsebrasses for decor, and a dartboard perilously close to the TV that hung above the old fireplace. I ordered a drink and listened to the locals arguing about the right and wrong way to pour a Guinness, and smiled as a group of them crowded around the window to watch the comings and goings of a house across the street, and to speculate what was happening inside.

"There's something going on there, I bet you."
"Nah."
"Yeah, there is. You watch, they'll draw the curtains in a minute..."

I sat in a quiet corner, and roughed out another couple of sections, including one set in the village. As I left, almost everyone I passed smiled at me, and several people said goodbye!

I think Naysmith is going to enjoy drinking in there.

AV Alternatives

2011-04-27T18:24:00.000+01:00

Political news coverage is rarely uplifting, but the forthcoming referendum on the Alternative Vote has produced something rather pleasing. Normally, MPs are forced to toe the party line, miserably agreeing with whatever their colleagues say, and automatically objecting to anything from those on the other side of the House.

At times, it can become so dreary. There seems little point in having all those seats, if there are only 2 opinions.

And that's the unexpected benefit of the current political climate: some MPs appear to be saying what they think.

Generally, the Lib-Dems seem to want AV, while the Conservatives don't. They argue about it - really argue about it - but are still able to agree on other issues. It's not unlike real-life, where honest folk can agree on some things and disagree on others - amazing!

And it got me thinking. If I'm honest with myself, I think AV is probably a fairer system, even though my political leaning is towards the Conservatives, who AV wouldn't benefit. Does it matter that I don't agree with everything one party says? Of course not.

Maybe we should go even further. Against my initial expectations, I like the coalition. There's a balance between the 2 camps that keeps both in check, with each having to justify what it does to the other, rather than just following their own agendas. And the Lib-Dems are too useful to sit in opposition - they're not just a bunch of nay-sayers - but I don't feel they're focused enough or tough enough to run things on their own against the other 2 parties.

Which leads me to my point. Two parties in power, balancing each other, and able to disagree with each other when it's needed. Perhaps we don't need AV - perhaps we need a new box on the ballot paper that says "Conservative & Lib-Dem Coalition".

That would be something I could vote for.

Chapter One

2011-04-25T19:29:00.001+01:00

I just closed my laptop and walked out of the room feeling genuinely upset.

After a number of false starts, the first chapter of Book 2 seemed to come together quite quickly today, and it was oddly harrowing to go back to Naysmith and Kim. Maybe it's because I now know what's going to happen at the end, or maybe just because that opening chapter was pretty rough on them. In any event, I felt bad about it until I spoke to Anna and realized that this probably bodes well for my opening chapter eliciting a strong emotional response in the reader.

Which made me feel good again!

Aaron Sorkin

2011-04-18T10:43:00.001+01:00

I recently watched "The Social Network" and was struck by how much I enjoyed it.

Obviously, the aim of most movies is to entertain, but a couple of hours on the story of Facebook doesn't bode well when it comes to great viewing.

So what made it so good?

Gage:

Mr. Zuckerberg, do I have your full attention?

Mark Zuckerberg: [stares out the window]

No.

Gage:

Do you think I deserve it?

Mark Zuckerberg: [looks at Gage]

What?

Gage:

Do you think I deserve your full attention?

Mark Zuckerberg:

I had to swear an oath before we began this deposition, and I don't want to perjure myself, so I have a legal obligation to say no.

Gage:

Okay - no. You don't think I deserve your attention.

Mark Zuckerberg:

I think if your clients want to sit on my shoulders and call themselves tall, they have the right to give it a try - but there's no requirement that I enjoy sitting here listening to people lie. You have part of my attention - you have the minimum amount. The rest of my attention is back at the offices of Facebook, where my colleagues and I are doing things that no one in this room, including and especially your clients, are intellectually or creatively capable of doing.

[pauses]

Mark Zuckerberg:

Did I adequately answer your condescending question?

The screenplay was written by Aaron Sorkin, best known for scripting "The West Wing" and "Charlie Wilson's War". On paper, I wouldn't have rated either of these, but there's something rather dazzling about the dialogue in all of them. True, ordinary people rarely quip so cleverly at one another, and the sarcastic sense of humour is much more polished than anything we experience in real life, but that doesn't matter. It makes no attempt to pander to the lowest common denominator and, as such, it's unashamedly brilliant.

I'm looking forward to whatever project he does next and, if there should ever be a bio-pic made of my life, I'd love him to write all my dialogue.

Goldfish Memories

2011-03-31T21:29:00.000+01:00

Do you remember how the world was one year ago? How brilliant Britain was, before the election?

In recent weeks, I've noticed an increasing number of people suggest that things have started to get bad since the Conservatives were elected. How the NHS is threatened by cuts, which the Tories have always wanted to make. How the armed forces are under-supplied due to the Tories wanting to keep all the money to themselves. How students will have to pay for their education now that the Tories are getting their way. And so on and so forth.

It must have been a magical place, this Britain-before-the-Tories. I don't remember it myself, but it seems that there were no cutbacks to the NHS, our soldiers had all the equipment they could wish for, students left university debt-free, and everyone was happy.

In truth, I remember things rather differently.

Two years ago, the NHS outsourced a number of treatments, and I remember my GP telling me that he'd cancelled my hospital appointment because he was "under pressure from above to avoid costly referrals".

As the army undertook tours in the Middle East, didn't we hear continued questions about the lack of body armour, helicopters, and other equipment?

And, correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it Labour who introduced fees for higher education?

But the truth is largely irrelevant. Protestors will protest, and the left-leaning media will give air-time to the beligerant amnesiacs who say it's all the Tories fault. Who assure us that Labour would sort out those greedy bankers if it was up to them. Who know that Labour would soon get the country out of debt if they were in charge.

The irony is lost on them, their recollections edited down to a series of blissful summer days "before the Tories and Lib Dems ruined it all"...

Let's hope their memories are equally effective when it's next time to find their way to the polling stations.

Breakfast on the beach

2010-10-11T15:56:00.000+01:00

There's something hugely appealing about the Cornish coast. I've always had a horror of "seaside towns", conjuring up visions of crumbling northern outposts where stag and hen parties stumble from t'arcades to t'pubs and grim-faced pensioners sit shivering on rain-lashed promenades. But the area around St Austell bay is different. It's comparatively quiet, and is set in a landscape dominated by cliffs and rocks and rolling hills, rather than one dominated by coloured neon.

We went down for the weekend - a last-minute booking to take advantage of the promising weather forecast - and enjoyed a smooth journey through some gorgeous scenery. Cam and I had found Charlestown beach by accident on our previous West Country road-trip, but this was Anna's first visit to the place. And, aside from a slight debacle at one of the world's slowest Pizza Huts, the St Austell experience was a good one.

It was excellent to spend time together in such beautiful surroundings. We climbed the rocks, explored a deep cave in the cliffs, got wet feet when the waves caught us out, and even rescued a small crab who'd been hiding inside a small rubber tyre that we'd been playing with.

On Sunday, it got even better. The skies cleared to bright October blue, while we walked in the sunshine and climbed the rocky islands that jut out from the headland.

But for me, the best thing was breakfast with Anna and Cam. It was perfect - a cinnamon latte and chocolate twist - enjoyed on the deserted beach. If only every day could begin so well.

iPad Entertainment Summit

2010-10-04T12:07:00.000+01:00

Apologies for a work-centric blog post, but I was fortunate enough to be a speaker at the iPad Entertainment Summit last week and I wanted to capture my thoughts on the event before they evaporated. The conference was held at BAFTA, catering for an audience largely made up of broadcasters and brand-holders. There were some serious names in the auditorium, but many of them had come to listen rather than present.

As the day unfolded, there were some good talks, interspersed by the usual bits of self-promotion and techno-babble, yet I was struck by one or two people on the podium who seemed to have little or no experience of app development, despite the buzzword-laden theories they advanced. There were several excellent speakers but, for anyone new to the iOS space, it may have been tricky to discern who was talking sense and who wasn’t.

At lunch, I had an eye-opening conversation with someone who thought Apple were “a bit rich” taking a 30% revenue share. I’m really not an Apple fan-boy, but this stunned me. Traditionally, high-street retailers take 50-60%, straight off the top. Mobile carriers took similar percentages, and none of them accepted content as easily – or paid as quickly – as Apple do. I was confused by this nostalgia for the bad old days, until it dawned on me that many of these people are new – brand new – to the market. They look at Apple’s model, a model which simply didn’t exist before iTunes, and they wonder why it’s not more favourable to them. They don’t appreciate it because they don’t understand the alternative.

This seems borne out by the eager casting-about for the “next big thing”. Some say it will be Android, others argue that Windows7 Mobile will dominate. The “anyone-but-Apple” mentality is quite in vogue just now. And there’s an element of truth in what’s being said. Certainly, it’s likely that a number of other devices will emerge to challenge Apple’s offering. Critically though, they will be competing on a hardware level – for content providers it’s revenue that matters, not handset numbers.

Perhaps the most surprising take-away from the day was the absence of serious distribution channel discussion. There seems to be an assumption that other manufacturers will simply “do their own App Store”. After all, how hard can it be?

And that’s where the problem lies. Apple already has a trusted, consistent, international, regulated store front. They have pre-existing billing relationships with every customer, pre-existing content relationships with almost every major record label, movie studio, and TV channel. They have an app for everything. And they have it all right now, today.

And to compete with all of this, other companies just need to “do their own App Store”? It might be harder than it looks. Apple certainly won’t be sitting still while the others play catch-up, but there’s yet another problem for the rival manufacturers.

iTunes and the App Store really shook up the mobile content industry, which had previously been serviced by carrier portals. When you bought something for your device, you bought it from Vodafone or T-Mobile – there was a limited amount of content available, and pricing was controlled by the carriers. Apple changed that, opening things up with an unlimited range of items, at a range of pricepoints, including “free”. Suddenly, there was a model where the carriers weren’t getting any of the revenue. To compete, the rival platforms need to get their devices into people’s hands, but their traditional route to market is via the carriers. Will the carriers allow them to “do an Apple” and build their own store fronts? The carriers know how much revenue there is to be made in the space and, crucially, they have a perfect, pre-existing billing relationship with every single one of their customers. Will they really forego their high-ground advantage and help the other platforms to climb past them?

It’s clear that Apple won’t have the field to themselves. Moving forward, a number of competitors will step up, and some of them will become established. Whether their hardware market-share can be translated into app revenue is an entirely different matter that nobody seems to be talking about.

On one level, it’s frustrating. A lot of effort is going to be expended on ill-conceived projects pitched by people who didn’t understand the business. On the other hand, I made a lot of useful new contacts at the event, so I mustn’t grumble.

And, last but not least, Stephen Fry was on the stage, right after me. His words were both witty and enlightened and I am profoundly grateful that I didn’t have to speak after him!

Legacy

2010-09-28T21:01:00.000+01:00

When I was a lot younger, I was fortunate enough to work with a great bunch of guys on an insanely brilliant game called Carmageddon. You might remember it - "So many pedestrians, so little time", a Daily Mail hate campaign, and questions in the House... Carmageddon had it all.

The reason it was such a great game, was the people who worked on it. Patrick and Nobby had assembled a fabulous group of talented developers, and in their number was one Russ Hughes.

"Rusk" died last week. He was only in his thirties.

He was the first person on my Facebook friends list to pass away, and it's been profoundly moving to watch the vast outpouring of shock, grief, but above all appreciation of his life. I've read how the company where he worked sent their 200 staff home, heard how his old friends at Stainless were absolutely destroyed by the news, and watched the condolences pile up.

But over the past few days, I've seen people talking about him, remembering him, and celebrating him. And the strange thing is, so many people all say the same thing: that his enthusiasm brightened up the life of everyone around him.

Day after day, people saying that same thing. And it occurred to me, amid the general sadness and thoughts of mortality, that Rusk leaves a truly enviable legacy behind him. So many people smiling, so many lives brightened, just by him. Some people get buildings named after them, some people get dedications, but Rusk surpassed all of that. He made so many people happy, and he'll be fondly remembered by every single one of them. It doesn't get much better than that.

Cheers Rusk - you didn't play for long, but you racked up the achievements.

And they all lived happily ever after.

2010-07-14T18:26:00.001+01:00

Finally. After an awfully long time, and many unwelcome pauses, the first draft of my novel is complete. It's been an interesting process - at times discouragingly hard, at times deceptively easy - but the last few chapters have come quickly and got me to the end.

Some very encouraging feedback at the Winchester Writers' Conference has boosted my confidence, and reassured me that I've not been wasting my time. I now have a month or so to relax before the Agent process begins in September.

In the meantime, I intend to follow Stephen King's advice, and leave my book alone for a few weeks before I do any more editing. This will give me time to make a dent in the tower of books, and the pile of DVDs that have been mounting up recently.

But today, I have a huge smile on my face, and I intend to celebrate in a manner that befits completion of a first novel. Cheers!

The Circumnavigation of the Modern Super Market

2010-06-25T20:10:00.000+01:00

It is a curious thing, but this whole business reminded me of that lively evening back in Africa when I had to tiptoe across a sandbar littered with crocodiles. Big fellows they were, too. Of course, I did not have my revolver with me that time, and in any event this was only a visit to the premises of J. Sainsbury esq, albeit my first.

Naturally, you will be wondering what possessed a gentleman to patronize such an impersonal and unsuitable establishment but I can assure you that I was compelled to do so by a bizarre series of events that concluded with my entire domestic staff rendered unconscious. Before my man Hodges fainted dead away, he confessed in a faltering voice that we no longer kept an account with the village grocer and that the only hope of securing provisions lay in what he referred to as a “super market”.

Under normal circumstances, I would have never have entertained the idea of “shopping” – ghastly word – certainly not with so many perfectly edible animals roaming the estate. However, I remembered that the Wilberforce-Smythes intended to call that same evening and fancied that little Jenny might turn her nose up at Shetland pony sandwiches.

Clearly, there was nothing for it but to mount an expedition. Immediately, I was faced with my first problem – what was appropriate attire for such an excursion? I consulted “Haverstock’s Compendium of Sartorial Elegance for All Occasions” but drew a blank. The closest approximation was “Correct attire for touring unfamiliar areas of the Continent” but, as it turned out, the recommended tweeds and walking boots proved quite suitable for the job.

I elected to take the larger Jaguar, which started at the first attempt, and roared down through the village. My next challenge was to establish the whereabouts of Mr. Sainsbury’s place of business, but my luck was in as I fortuitously knocked Jones the postman off his bike while negotiating one of the blind corners on the Underminster Road. After assuring the poor fellow that he had not damaged my motor car, I quizzed him for directions to the “super market” Hodges had alluded to. Gamely struggling to his feet, Jones indicated the most direct route and, once we had staunched his bleeding, I bade him farewell and was away once more.

At first, I thought I must be mistaken. As a gentleman, one is unprepared for the immense nature of these so-called “retail parks”. Fearing that Jones’ directions were confused by his injuries, I was on the point of driving away when I noticed the fellow Sainsbury’s name, written large and rather tactlessly, across the front of a soul-less grey building. Judging by the size of the place, this chap had obviously done well for himself, but the plethora of gaudy orange signs were in extremely poor taste, the tell-tale mark of first generation money.

Driving past the tiresome ranks of modern vehicles, I swept into a large, convenient area outside the main doors and parked without incident. Noticing many people of indeterminate class milling around, I thought it wiser to remove the keys from the ignition and even took the precaution of instructing a loitering market worker to keep undesirables away from the Jaguar.

Passing within, I thought I had strayed into the warehouse and spent several minutes searching for the shopkeeper’s counter before I realized that the whole place seemed to operate on some wretched self-service basis. Finding this intolerable, I resolved not to lower myself to the level of the other miserable patrons. Quickly locating the nearest member of staff, a discourteous youth sporting an unsightly clip-on tie and third-degree acne, I asserted my authority and instructed him to appropriate the items I desired. Seemingly baffled by my orders, it took him several moments to get the gist, but a couple of swift whacks from my walking stick finally stirred him into action.

At this point I must confess that my inquisitive nature got the better of me and I followed my reluctant aide into the garish aisles.

Never have I seen so much luridly coloured cardboard in one place. Utilitarian shelves arranged without the slightest respect for the values of taste and style, piled high with gaudy packages… vulgar signs shrieking their gibberish with no thought for punctuation or grammar, and everywhere stained by the unholy glow of fluorescent tube lighting. My assistant seemed untroubled by this riot of bad taste, but I saw that he was a simple soul, clearly content to push his little wheeled basket around the labyrinth that was his workplace.

I instructed the poor devil to seek me out when his task was completed and, taking an apple from a huge pile, set out on my own to explore.

I had been walking for some time when I finally came upon something that I recognized. There before me, stood a fishmonger’s counter. I made my way to the front and cleared my throat to get the apron-clad youth’s attention. Sadly, the unfortunate fellow had some sort of hearing problem and I had to rap him on the shoulder several times with my stick before he turned to me. At this point, quite inexplicably, several nearby hoi-polloi started speaking in their charming regional accents, waving small scraps of paper that appeared to be raffle tickets. I was quite patient with them but eventually had to shoo them away with a large trout as this was, after all, a fish counter and not a tom bola.

Using my stick to instruct the deaf lad, I indicated that I wished to sample some of his smoked salmon. He went through some unnecessary rigmarole involving a bag and a label before handing it to me but, after trying a few mouthfuls I concluded that it wasn’t up to much and handed it back to him. The poor fellow was obviously quite shaken to discover that his wares were below par as he started babbling about something or other, but I sympathetically told him to buck up and we’d say no more about it.

By now, I had grown weary of the not-so-super market experience and elected to wait in my motor car where, I was sure, my youth and his basket of provisions would have the sense to seek me out. Retracing my steps, I picked up a newspaper and another apple and made my way through the doors towards my vehicle.

At this point, my story took a turn that I still do not fully understand. A youth in a dark jumper and an ill-fitting peaked cap accosted me, droning on about unpaid goods or some such nonsense – his mastery of the Queen’s English was tenuous to say the least – and invited me to accompany him “into the store”. I did not like the look of him and declined, politely but firmly, to visit his store room or any other of his haunts. The poor fellow nearly lost his front teeth when he impudently laid a hand on me but, not wishing to cause a scene in the presence of ladies, I merely gave him a harmless right to the stomach and left him quietly propped up against the base of a large fountain near the entrance.

I returned to the Jaguar, dismissed the man I had engaged to guard it, and enjoyed a pipe while I read the Times obituaries. In no time at all, the clip-on tie was at my window and I gave him permission to place my provisions in the back seat. I tipped the poor creature more generously than he deserved, especially as I had to roar “On account!” at him several times before he stopped bleating on about the bill. I later discovered that most of the dozen eggs he had given me turned out to be broken, probably due to the inexplicable bumps on all the roads leading in and out of the place. Confounded things give you quite a jolt – I very nearly had to slow down.

That evening, I recounted my adventures to the Wilberforce-Smythes and we all had a jolly good laugh at the peculiar people who inhabit such strange places as these super markets. Before retiring for the evening, I left instructions for my man Hodges that our account with the village grocer was to be reopened at his earliest convenience, as I have no intention of returning to Mr. Sainsbury’s establishment.

In summary, I would advise against even one visit to such a place. While the experience is undeniably new, it is not pleasant, and gentlemen of taste would be better served by a good safari or a trip to the Himalayas. However, if exceptional circumstances force your hand, I would counsel you to adopt the same approach as you would in any other uncivilised place: accept no backchat from the natives and carry a sidearm at all times. Good luck to you all.

Go West | day three

2010-06-03T22:31:00.000+01:00

It didn’t take long to pack. We checked out of the hotel and I grabbed a coffee from the Costa downstairs. About 10 minutes later, I was sitting on the deserted beach, watching the waves glitter in the sun.

This was one of those moments that will endure – like watching the sun set over Grenada, or standing on top of an Alpine peak. Having an idyllic stretch of Cornish coastline to ourselves was just magical. The water was cold on our feet but the sun was warm and we spend a perfect morning mucking about and trying not to get too wet.

Eventually, after more genuine clotted-cream ice cream, we started our journey back, pausing briefly to take a look at the famous Jamaica Inn. Set miles inland, it’s an unlikely haunt for Cornish Wreckers, unless they were Cornish Wreckers with fast cars, but it was fun to visit nonetheless.

And now, I’m back. It’s sad when a road-trip ends, but it’s great to see Anna again. And with all the beach photos I took, I think we’ll be able to persuade her to join us when we head down there next.

Go West | day two

2010-06-03T22:26:00.000+01:00

We were in the car early and off to the local Police station to report the tide’s theft of my iPhone. Then, pausing only for drive-thru, we set our course for the west and drove until we ran out of country. The weather went from wet and foggy to clear and dry as we passed Penzance. Land’s End felt bleak as we got out of the car, but the landscape as we approached the clifftops was stunning. We wandered out across the surrounding moorland, then made our way back to find the west-most part of the coastline.

The rugged landscape was amazing, but then the sun came out and revealed a completely different but even more beautiful place. We sat in the sun, looking out across the Atlantic, watching the vast waves crash around the rocks below.

And then we had ice cream, which was ace.

In the afternoon, we drove back to St Austell and returned to Charleston beach. We played catch in the sun, and skimmed stones. Then, we got some chips and sat on the deserted – and I really mean deserted – sea shore and watched the waves. It was perfect.

We skimmed stones, then sat on the shingle, trying to create barriers of small stones against the incoming tide. Eventually, the waves defeated us and we returned to St Austell for chess and pizza.

It was a day of days – the only thing that could improve it would have been having Anna with us, but we will see her again tomorrow. For now, I am relaxing on the bed, looking forward to breakfast on the beach tomorrow morning. It’s turning out to be a classic Road Trip.

Go West | day one

2010-06-03T22:24:00.000+01:00

Ever since our UK tour last year, Cam has been eager for us to do another road trip. Anna said it would be good for us to go, and with the half-term holiday upon us, there seemed no reason not to. I’d mentioned that it might be cool to revisit the West Country, perhaps go as far as Land’s End, and this met with my co-pilot’s approval.

After an emotional farewell from Anna, and a jubilant “good riddance” from The Cat, we set off, making our way across the country, past Ringwood, Dorchester, Honniton and Exeter. Listening to The Lord Of The Rings audiobook, we drove around the Tolkienesque landscape of Dartmoor, and on down into Cornwall, at times wild and bleak, at times lush and verdant. Tall chimneys remain from the long-gone mining days, and we saw the scarred landscape and pyramids of debris formed by China Clay excavations as we approached St Austell.

Our hotel was ideally situated next to a Costa Coffee, McDonalds, and Pizza Hut, but we had made good time so we went immediately to the sea. On Charleston beach, we enjoyed an excellent afternoon of skimming stones and generally mucking about. We had an excellent time, marred only a little when I noticed that my iPhone had escaped my pocket, and presumably been taken by the rapidly incoming tide. We decided to purchase a pay-as-you-go phone and a quantity of Cornish Clotted Cream Fudge. Both of these may have been mistakes – the phone is from the dark ages and the fudge is impossible to stop eating.

So now, I face a few days without the net. Which, though daunting, led to an excellent evening of chess and chatting with my great friend. All in all, a great start to our Cornish Caper.

Paris, Texas

2010-04-17T16:43:00.000+01:00

I'm still not sure how I made it through the 80s without seeing this movie. I remember being quite taken with another Wim Wenders film "Until The End Of The World", and Nastassja Kinski is extremely watchable. Yet somehow, I first saw it last night.

I'm glad I waited. Although I've always enjoyed slower-paced pieces like this, I'm now old enough to appreciate the beauty and subtlety that infuses this excellent story of a broken family trying to repair itself. There's some spectacular photography - amazing skies, rich colours, and all in the bleak wastes of the desert or the outskirts of LA. The acting is faultless, and the story builds steadily to a powerful and emotional climax. Ry Cooder's haunting soundtrack is perfect.

All this, and Nastassja Kinski too. I'm so very glad I finally saw it.

A little closer to the end

2010-04-13T11:45:00.001+01:00

This weekend, I finally managed to complete the main thread of my novel. I wrote what will be the final sentence, and closed my laptop with a sigh of relief. It's been a long time - much too long actually - but I can finally say goodbye to my serial killer character. At least until it's time to do the edit.

I thought I'd feel happier about it. Writing about someone like that can be rather creepy, and the sheer volume of remaining work has been hanging over me somewhat. But in the end, it was rather anticlimatic. Perhaps I'm just weary of the character. Or perhaps I'm all too aware of the large amount of writing still to be done.

The way that the story is structured, I've got somewhere between a third and a quarter of it still to go. It's time to get into the head of my emotionally damaged detective, and weave his story through the killer's. In some ways, it'll be nice to have a "change of scenery" but writing about someone with D.I. Harland's sort of outlook can be a bit gloomy at times.

Anyway, it's another milestone reached, and a step closer to the end. And that, at least, is something to be pleased about.

Birthday Bank Holiday

2010-04-06T10:01:00.001+01:00

This year, Anna's birthday coincided with the Easter Bank Holiday weekend so I thought it might be nice to drag her, kicking and screaming, to various shopping centres and insist that she choose lots of nice things that I could buy for her.

Saturday was spent wandering the mean streets of Bath. Fortune didn't exactly favour us - a planned visit to a glass-blowing workshop was unavailable when we arrived, and the rain made our efforts to locate particular shops a bit soggy. I thought that Google Maps on my iPhone would guide us swiftly to anywhere we desired, but Bath has recently undergone a fair bit of redevelopment, and many businesses have moved from one end of town to another.

In the end though, it all worked out. Our wanderings unexpectedly took us past a comic shop, where Cam was able to stock up on reading material. This sustained him through the periods of waiting while Anna compared and contrasted various items of clothing, before deciding what to try on.

In the end, it was a good day, but just the first installment of a double-header weekend.

Monday saw us returning to the station for another journey, this time to Bristol. We'd decided to book tickets online (seating can be very limited on that particular route) but there was an issue with the tickets when they emerged from the machine. Despite identifying this before we travelled, we had to pay for another set of tickets, and pay a non-refundable £10 admin fee to lodge a refund request, and then discover that no seating had been reserved for us. However, I have learned the valuable lesson that you should never ever use First Great Western's website, so that's something I suppose.

Bristol was great fun. We stopped at a lovely patisserie where my eggs benedict was just so beautifully done that Cam actually admitted that he wished he'd ordered it too. This finally brought balance and closure to the great Stirling Fish Finger Sandwich issue from our Road Trip last year, and I think we can all move on with our lives ;-)

After taking time to consider all the shops, Anna returned to Harvey Nichols and bought the boots I knew she was going to. Everyone was lovely to her, allowing her to savour the retail moment, despite an effeminate little personal shopper who bleated something about "not taking photos in store".

And then it was time to leave, escaping from Bristol before the credit card company could get a response team out to hose down my overheating credit card.

Cake, chocolate, comics (and in Anna's case, dresses and handmade boots) - a good time was had by all.

Where will it all end?

2010-03-10T22:15:00.000Z

I've been deferring the inevitable moment for quite some time, but I have now hit the new level-cap in Lord Of The Rings Online.

Which is bad.

I shudder to think how many hours I've spent in this game, let alone how much it costs to play month after month. The truly scary thing is that my habit shows no sign of abating. As well as having a character at the maximum level 65, I also have a second one at level 52, so there's plenty more game to play. And, by the time I've maxed both of them out, there will doubtless be another expansion pack available to download...

I'm still in control. I don't need LOTRO Anonymous, not yet anyway. I could give it all up tomorrow if I wanted. But tonight, maybe I'll just play for one more hour...

Mac and me - the beginning

2010-02-28T23:36:00.000Z

For the longest time, I made derisive comments about Macs. I ridiculed their lack of software, their unbuttoned mice, and their style-over-substance design. I certainly never intended to get one.

But in the end, I was driven into the arms of a Mac by my PC. Partly it's the constant angst of virus threats, the endless Windows updates, and the fact that the computer frequently gets bogged down doing myseterious tasks that I never asked it to do. Mainly though, it's the fact that my photos look too light / too dark / the wrong colour.

Now I know that this is largely down to my monitor. But my most recent monitor has recently decided to get upset with the drivers for my graphics card and really don't see why I should be expected to deal with this nonsense anymore. It's supposed to work.

Apple products seem to just work. They do what they're meant to and they do it pretty well. I bought an iPod, and it was great. I bought an iPhone and it was great. So I have high hopes for the Mac I have now bought.

Sure, it feels weird not knowing my way around. Everything seems a little too friendly and simple for someone who's spent years on PCs. But the biggest problem is that I can now see my photos perfectly. And I can now understand why so many of them were getting rejected by the stock photo agencies - all those simple lighting and colour issues that I could have easily fixed if I'd been able to see them.

So, fingers crossed, this is the start of a beautiful friendship. I'll still play games on my PC and use it for music and web stuff. At least, I will until it annoys me into doing those things on the Mac...

Another year older...

2010-02-25T12:31:00.000Z

It's a curious thing, but every birthday after 29 seems to have come with a slight tinge of regret. At first, I thought it was all in my head, but now I'm beginning to suspect that I really am becoming a grown-up, with all the disappointment and hassle that entails.

The clincher was probably when Anna asked me not to shave for a few days, saying she'd like to see what I looked like with a beard. I pointed out that she'd seen that before, but I had a couple of days off so I went along with the idea. The results weren't great - beards seldom are - but in my case I seem to have a random scattering of silver stubble that makes the darker bits look dreadfully patchy. It wasn't something I'd particularly noticed before, and then I remembered that my oncoming birthday had a "4" as its first digit, and made the connection.

Age approaches. And with it, I can doubtless expect a host of other unwelcome changes. How long before I start buying clothes from Marks & Spencer? How long before the Daily Express starts to make sense? How long before I start tidying up after myself?

Overall, I suspect being ancient is probably going to be rubbish, but there are silver linings, of course. My beautiful wife (despite being older than me) seems to have completely avoided aging since I met her, so she's almost getting younger in a comparative sense. And nobody expects me to have mainstream music tastes any more (though to be fair, I never did). And, most important of all, I get cake today.

So, just as I did when I got to my thirties, I'm going to tell myself that these ones doesn't matter - I'm not old until the next multiple-of-ten milestone. Now, about that cake...

The "E" Word

2010-01-20T09:08:00.000Z

Oh dear, it's an election year again, and that means politics. Of course, this can sometimes be the source of some good fun, and I was taking a look through some websites when I came across this modified poster.

The caption made me smile, but it also made me think about something rather sad.

Going to one of the best schools in the country is now something shameful.

"He went to Eton" is a phrase often delivered with the same tone as "He parks in handicapped spaces" or "He's cruel to animals".

How messed up is that? It's one thing to feel threatened by a home counties accent, but quite another to suggest that anyone lucky enough to receive the finest education should really aspire to an inner-city comprehensive. "We certainly wouldn't want our Prime Minister to have attended a good school - whatever would the Europeans think?!"

Our society is tolerant, but it can be tolerant of the wrong things. Drink-driving is wrong. Theft is wrong. Violence is wrong. Going to a particular school, whether it's Eton or Swanmore Secondary School*, isn't.

*Well, Eton's all right, but I'm not sure I'd recommend Swanmore if that awful Mr Carlin is still on the staff ;-)

Battleship

2009-12-31T09:49:00.000Z

It's always nice to see games you've been involved with doing well, and it's been especially gratifying with Battleship.

It was FinBlade's first project with EA and everyone worked really hard to make an iPhone adaptation that not only looked great, but played really well. And it's not all "B3" and "D7". There are exciting new game modes, with airstrikes, torpedo attacks, and even an orbiting laser weapon that pulverises the oceans and everything on them. But you you can still play classic modes if you prefer.

It was really great to find that Battleship was in the iTunes Top Ten on Christmas Day. And on both sides of the Atlantic too!

These aren't just any chocolate truffles...

2009-12-13T20:52:00.000Z

No indeed, these are the tragic chocolate truffles that I thought I could make myself.

It all started out so well. I walked in on a Channel 4 programme called Kirstie's Homemade Christmas, where a reassuringly large woman was doing a feature on how to make chocolate truffles. This seemed mostly to involve eating chocolate and saying how nice it was, so I was immediately encouraged that it was something I could do really well.

The large lady explained that you heat up some whipping cream, add a spoon of honey, then melt in lots of grated chocolate and stir it into a yummy-looking goop called a ganache. This should be left overnight to cool and thicken. Resisting the temptation to eat my ganache, I dutifully left it overnight to cool and thicken.

Next day, I did as the not-insubstantial Kirstie had done - donning gloves, dusted in cocoa powder, and making little ball-shaped bits of ganache.

"That looks like a poo!" she had squealed, as she dropped a brown glob onto a tray. I was greatly encouraged to find that my own creations were similarly beautiful.

Now, came the tempering of the chocolate, a mouth-watering process whereby chocolate is melted, then tipped out onto a large marble slab and smoothed to a cool gloss with a palette knife. I had actually bought a granite slab and palette knife especially for this, and found myself daring to dream the chocolatier's dream as I worked away happily...

...but the sweet dreams turned bitter.

On TV, the generously-proportioned presenter took robust, spherical orbs of ganache and dipped them, one by one on a fork, into her tempered chocolate. Sadly, my own ganache resembled a series of unsuccessful bowel movements - flat splats that drooped and oozed off the fork almost immediately. The few that made it to the tempered chocolate simply sank without trace.

And this is where I wonder if I have been duped. Yes, I may need more chocolate and less whipped cream. Yes, I might try cooling the ganache on a larger tray to thicken it more. But no, I do not believe the ganache plops that Kirstie crafted were the same ones she dipped into her chocolate moments later. Who was that smiling chocolatier standing by her side, and were the firm balls perhaps his not hers?

It's academic now, of course. Just when I thought it was safe to come out of culinary retirement, this disaster has set me back another 10 years. In a house where I'm only 3rd best cook if I don't count The Cat, it's best to accept my limitations and play to my strengths. From now on, I'll focus on eating.

Goats

2009-11-09T10:36:00.001Z

I really enjoyed working on the iPhone app to accompany The Men Who Stare At Goats movie, starring George Clooney, Ewan McGregor, and Kevin Spacey. Today, it was extremely pleasing to see that it has climbed to number 3 in the Free Apps chart on iTunes - no mean achievement!

The collaboration between FinBlade and our friends at Small Screen Productions has been great, and immense congratulations are due to Niall, Cam and James for some excellent work. If you have an iPhone, download the app now - it's free after all. Otherwise, click the link below to let Jon Ronson (author of the original Men Who Stare At Goats novel) to tell you all about it...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dFK7o3s5w-E

"e"

2009-11-08T23:40:00.000Z

I'm usually a bit wary when someone gushes about a book. All too often, phrases like "trust me - you'll absolutely love it" are misguided, serving only to build the book up so that it eventually disappoints...

...which made "e" by Matt Beaumont a very pleasant surprise.

It didn't look promising at first glance - a novel without narrative, composed entirely of inter-office emails - but this turned out to be one of the most compelling and entertaining things I've read in years.

Set in a large London advertising agency, it charts a period of several weeks as the firm tries to win the much-prized Coca Cola account. Told only through the emails between characters - from the CEO to the secretarial temp - the story unfolds into a beautiful web of office politics, and corporate chaos. Perhaps my own career experiences make some of it especially relevant, but I think anyone who has ever worked in a large company will find themselves laughing aloud at characters who seem terribly familiar.

I won't spoil it by saying more. Just trust me - you'll absolutely love it ;-)

Clear

2009-10-29T23:36:00.001Z

Some conversations are really significant. They change how you feel, right there in an instant, and suddenly everything is different.

Having an MRI scan was one of the most distressing experiences of my life. It wasn't physically uncomfortable but, for someone who finds hospitals nigh-on-unbearable, it wasn't easy. Lying there, unable to move, trapped inside a claustrophobic space with nothing to think about except why you are there...

Then come the weeks of waiting. I'm still not sure which is worse - the scan itself, or the period that follows it. Days dragging by, slowly creeping towards that date in the diary, when the consultant will discuss the results.

And then, this afternoon, it was finally my turn to go in and "take a seat Mr McNeill" and talk for a moment...

...and hear that the scan had come back clear.

Some conversations are really significant. Thank God.

McPolitics

2009-10-09T13:09:00.001+01:00

In the third week of Party Conferences, it would be easy to despair when reading how far the tabloids have to dumb down their political coverage. As our country approaches a general election, and at a time when the developed world faces incredible economic pressures, the two principal arguments for Britain seem to be:

"He's got no sense of humour."
(therefore Gordon Brown and the Labour party are somehow unsuited to run the country)

"He's got a posh accent."
(therefore David Cameron and the Conservative party are somehow unsuited to run the country)

This isn't The X-Factor! Worryingly, these are becoming the front-page, headline issues. However, if the public does dig deeper they will, eventually, be presented with other arguments such as:

"Gordon Brown got us into this mess."
(conveniently and blatantly ignoring the impact of global recession on the country)

"David Cameron doesn't know what it's like to live on £90 a week."

(as though any of the party leaders have to live on £90 a week - and as though having someone with this sort of experience would be better than silly things like economics, business, diplomacy, etc.)

Anyone who is engaged by this sort of insightful journalism would do more good eating their ballot paper than voting with it.

So whatever happened to the real political argument? Well, it's true that the difference between left and right is much smaller than it used to be. Tony Blair won 3 elections by taking the centre ground - he understood that the unions and militants would sound more appealling to the country if they shut their mouths. David Cameron seems to have a similar strategy, bringing the Conservatives right in beside Labour, and adopting a more compassionate stance. With both parties trying to be masters of the middle, there is naturally less division, less fodder for robust political debate.

But surely there is still room for some intelligent discussion. Surely there are different centrist approaches that merit debate? Or have we reached the point where a talent show phone-vote is the only vote that matters?

The Riddle Of The Sands

2009-10-03T11:52:00.000+01:00

Just finished reading The Riddle Of The Sands by Erskine Childers, a wonderful espionage tale set in the first few years of the twentieth century, while Britain still had a vast Empire, and war had not yet coloured the way we think of Germany.

Presented as a factual account of events, it is told from the viewpoint of Carruthers, a lowly clerk at the Foreign Office who, being at something of a loose end, accepts an unexpected invitation to join an old acquaintance, Davies, who is yachting in the Baltic. The yacht is far from luxurious, but the two men renew the friendship forged during their time at Oxford and set out to navigate the coastline.

As time goes on, and they begin to explore the sands around the Frisian Islands, Carruthers and Davies are drawn into a dangerous mystery. Why are they being watched wherever they go? Who is the sinister Herr Dollmann and why did he try to run Davies aground? And what is happening on the Island of Memmert that they are not supposed to see?

It's an compelling story and the writing, though somewhat archaic in style, anchors it perfectly in its period.

There's an enjoyable film adaptation from 1979, starring Michael York and Simon MacCorkindale. It's beautifully shot, and notable for a rare performance where (for artistic reasons) Jenny Agutter kept her clothes on. Being already familiar with this film took nothing away from the book - and although they digress in some details, the heart and spirit of both versions are the same.

And one final thing about this remarkable story? Erskine Childers' book - dealing as it does with the German invasion of England - was published in 1903, more than a decade before the outbreak of the First World War. Whether foresight or coincidence, it certainly makes you think.

2009-10-01T22:25:00.000+01:00

It's a strangely sad thing to realise that the person who was once your parent, is now your child.

Eighteen

2009-09-17T23:18:00.001+01:00

This week we celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary. Normally, I'd think of that as being quite a long period of time, but that day in the church truly feels like it happened just a little while ago.

Oddly enough, partly due to us being teenagers when we met, and partly because of my relaxed approach to getting things done, it took us ages to get married - we've actually been together for nearly 24 years now.

But that's really not so long to spend with someone so special.

Into the West...

2009-09-07T21:09:00.001+01:00

It's Monday evening, after the first day back at work, and already the week we spent in Devon seems a long time ago...

...but what a wonderful week it was. We were lucky enough to get a last-minute deal on a spacious house in the amusingly-named village of Cockwood. Situated on a hillside at the edge of this tiny village, we had an excellent time together, exploring around the West Country, Dartmoor and the South Devon coast.

Cockwood sits on the western shore of the Exe Estuary, between Exeter and Dawlish. Being there felt like being in a different country, with a languid pace of life and a rural friendliness in the air. The only thing that seemed to move quickly was the weather - taking the small ferry from the neighbouring village of Starcross across the water to Exmouth saw the skies change from sunshine to overcast to sunshine again in minutes.

We discovered a beautiful secluded beach near Brixham, and spent a long afternoon getting slowly covered in sand. Having seen the crowds shuffling along the Paignton seafront a couple of miles away made this find all the more pleasing. It felt like being in a location from a Famous Five novel, though thankfully we didn't have to rescue Uncle Quentin from smugglers.

The highlight for me was visiting Dartmoor. We drove down to Burrator Reservoir, a stunning lake in wonderful, rolling countryside. Crossing the vast stone dam, we found our way down into a magical wooded valley. Walking there, between the ancient trees and enormous moss-covered boulders, it felt like stepping into another world. As we sheltered from a rain shower beneath a massive rock outcrop, Cam remarked that it was like being on the slopes of Amon Hen from The Lord Of The Rings. Later on, as we drove further north, the landscape changed to echo the Lone Lands of Middle Earth and we spotted a stone-crowned hill that could have been Weathertop.

On our final day, I took a train from Starcross to Plymouth. It's not a long journey, but there are breath-taking views as the railway winds its way along the coast, hugging the cliffs and racing along beaches, before climbing to the southern edge of Dartmoor, where it winds around the hillsides and crosses deep valleys on soaring viaducts.

It was a glorious week. A pity it couldn't have been longer, but I know we'll be back there again before too long.

It's not the despair that gets you, it's the hope...

2009-08-23T18:47:00.000+01:00

Anna's youngest brother has been over from Greece, and he and I made our regular pilgrimage of pain to watch Southampton play on Saturday.

There's something rather awkward about having such a huge stadium for a League One side. Over 19,000 people showed up for the game against newly-promoted Brentford and, like so many other Saints fans, I found myself hoping - maybe even believing - that this would be the day when the recovery started. This would be our first victory of the new campaign.

True, there was a nagging thought at the back of my mind - even if we won, it would scarcely be something to brag about. Beating Brentford isn't something that I'd have been excited about in years gone by. However, this was the best that we could hope for on the day and, as we went through the turnstiles, that thrill of anticipation banished common sense and got us in the mood...

...and then the match started.

It's difficult to explain the awful cocktail of emotions that go with supporting Scotland, Partick Thistle, or Southampton. You have to admire my consistency in picking teams that disappoint, and nobody has ever referred to me as a glory hunter. But it would be nice to have just a little respite from the terrible frustration that comes with missed chances, failed passes and altruistic defending.

When we went 1-0 up, it seemed as though there was light at the end of the tunnel. All the preceeding agony had been worthwhile as we jumped about and celebrated in the sun.

Sadly, the light at the end of the tunnel was an oncoming train. The game finished 1-1 and we trudged home with that special sort of post-match regret reserved for vital leads that have been foolishly squandered.

It's going to be another long season.

An e-book opportunity...

2009-08-20T00:57:00.000+01:00

Somewhat out of the blue, I've been contacted by a couple of former colleagues who are starting a publishing venture, putting e-books out via the iTunes store. I'd almost forgotten that Star Wars parody from years ago, but now it looks like I'll have an opportunity to get it out there to a new audience.

Editing it is proving a nightmare though. I'm not rewriting, just fixing errors, but there are so many typos and examples of bad punctuation. My heart goes out to those who read the original version.

Still, despite many cringe-worthy bits of humour, it has made me smile in places as I read it. Hopefully it will strike a chord with other Star Wars aficionados when it's done.

End of the road...

2009-08-14T22:52:00.000+01:00

And so, as it turned out, we saved the best for last. Today was a glorious end to a hugely enjoyable road trip. I’m writing this in Stirling, where we’re spending our last night, before the long journey back tomorrow.

It’s a shame that Anna wasn’t with us, but though I missed her terribly, it was great to have Cam all to myself. There’s no better travelling companion and without him I know I’d have fast-forwarded through some of the most enjoyable moments. Also, he prompted me to bring The Hobbit audiobook, which made the miles pass much faster than music could.

A long drive awaits us both tomorrow, but this – along with the general end-of-trip blues – are offset by the prospect of seeing Anna again.

And on that happy thought, goodnight.

Road Trip: Fintry

2009-08-14T22:50:00.000+01:00

The tiny village where I grew up is still beautiful and remote. A few years ago, we hired a small cottage on its outskirts and walked to a vast waterfall called the Loup. Today, Cam suggested this might be a good place to have lunch.

We parked not far from the cottage and followed the overgrown path across the hill. The ravine is well-hidden – only when you are very close do you begin to hear the roar of the water and then, as you come round a slope, the ground falls away before you to reveal the multitude of torrents, crashing down onto a series of black rock steps before disappearing into the tree tops far below.

The path winds its way gently down to a stone shelf at the very top of the waterfall, and there we sat, right on the edge, and had lunch.

I’ve enjoyed picnics in some very beautiful places, but this was surely one of the best. There, with our hands trailing in the water as it sailed out over the precipice, with the foam and mist below, and the long valley stretching out towards the distant mountains, we had the best table anyone could wish for.

Road Trip: Loch Lomond II

2009-08-14T22:48:00.000+01:00

We woke to sunlight streaming in through the window and a clear blue sky between the curtains. Earlier than usual, we were on our way, stopping off briefly to collect something for lunch before we left Milngavie on our short drive west.

In no time, we were coasting down towards Drymen, purple heather lining the roadside, mountains in the distance, and the bright silver of Loch Lomond in the valley before us. Some of the route had been unfamiliar to me, but soon we turned onto a road I remembered well. Now, the loch was on our left as we skirted its eastern banks, passing through Balmaha and on. The tarmac ends at Rowardennan, but we stopped at a little bay just before it, parking the car and walking down onto our very own deserted beach.

There are some moments which stay with you, their impact so profound that you recognize them as they are happening. I felt something similar when I stood on top of a mountain in Austria and gazed down on the vastness of the Alps below me – a tremendous sense of place. Now, as we stood on the deserted shore and looked out across the smooth surface of the loch, I felt it again.

It was a blissful morning. Fish were jumping in the bay, and there were endless stones to skim – the water was clear and cold on our feet, and the sun was warm. I really don’t think it gets any better than this.

Road Trip: Loch Lomond

2009-08-14T22:44:00.000+01:00

When I was small, we lived quite near to Loch Lomond, and often went there at weekends. Today, rather than walking along the shore at Luss with my dad, I walked with my son.

It’s an odd feeling, revisiting somewhere so steeped in childhood memories but now in the role of a parent. The clouds parted to let the sun blaze down and we made our way along the sandy beach watching rainbows form across the loch, as the late afternoon sunlight hit a fine, distant rain on the far banks. Despite the awesome beauty all around, Luss was almost deserted and when I walked out onto the pier I had the whole glorious place all to myself.

I love this stretch of dark, clear water, dotted with tree covered islands, and flanked by colourful mountain slopes. I love the peace and the permanence in this, the most beautiful part of Scotland.

I think we’ll go back again tomorrow.

Road Trip: Hadrian's Wall

2009-08-14T22:41:00.000+01:00

On a map, Hadrian’s Wall is just a knobbly little line scrawled across the top end of England. Yes, it’s long and must have taken a huge amount of effort to build, but when you actually see it marching on over endless miles of rugged hillside, it’s simply stunning.

We left the motorway and drove east, half-way across the country. Near Haltwhistle (allegedly the centre of Britain) we found two villages named Once Brewed and Twice Brewed. Turning down a narrow lane, we parked the car and set off along the wall.

What remains above ground isn’t that high – mostly just 4 or 5 feet of squared-off stonework – but it’s sturdy and neat, and topped with grass.

And it uses the landscape ruthlessly.

Rolling hills, rocky crags and sheer cliffs are all embraced by the wall, as it zig-zags east to west, employing each natural feature to its full defensive potential. It must have been a formidable sight, and terribly difficult to assault.

We followed the line for miles along the high ridge, coming in time to Sycamore Dip, where a single tree stands sheltered between two hills, then crossed the bog and made our way back along the base of the cliffs. It’s a wonderful walk, through truly beautiful scenery, and somewhere I’d love to explore further in the future.

Road Trip: The Lake District

2009-08-14T22:38:00.000+01:00

Perhaps it was the drizzly weather. Perhaps it was all the hype. Perhaps it was the fact that we’d previously visited Konigssee in Bavaria. Whatever the reason, The Lake District was a bit of a disappointment. Quite a big bit actually.

We drove up from Blackpool, over the hills to Windermere which, at first glance seemed quite promising. The lake, meandering around the feet of the tree-covered slopes, looked quite lovely despite the overcast skies. However, heading down to the waterfront it became rather disappointing. Bowness was swamped with coach parties and the sort of attractions designed to please them, the shore-line almost obscured by queues of people and sprawling car parks. The weather darkened with our mood, so we struck out north.

To be fair, Ambleside was picturesque, and there were occasional glimpses of beauty as we skirted the lakes, but when we reached Keswick it was impossible not to feel that the whole thing was a bit of a let-down. I’d seen so many pictures of this area, but as we came to each place and I saw it for real, I began to understand that it was skilful photography as much as the landscape that had impressed me.

As we trudged through the winding, souvenir-shop streets of Keswick, we agreed that the whole place felt like a bad copy of somewhere great – as though a businessman from the north-west had been to Austria and thought, “I could do something like that back home.”

The odd thing is, there’s already a place where mighty hills plunge down into long expanses of water, with dramatic scenery and rugged beauty, and it’s right here in the UK. Loch Lomond here we come.

Road Trip: Blackpool

2009-08-14T22:33:00.000+01:00

When Cam first suggested adding Blackpool to our UK tour, I admit that I was sceptical. I’d always hoped to live my life without ever visiting the place but, several years ago, a series of unfortunate business dealings found me trapped in that singular seaside town with an army of enthusiastic Northern pyramid sellers.

Needless to say, that one trip was enough to put anyone off, even if they had previously harboured warm feelings toward Blackpool, which I hadn’t. So today, my expectations were not high.

And yet, it wasn’t bad.

I had prepared myself for a tacky, shabby seafront, populated by characters who’d escaped from Coronation Street, all garnished with chips and trams and endless packets of “original” Blackpool Rock. And, while it was all of these things, it was also strangely enjoyable. We walked down onto the almost deserted beach, basked in the sunshine, played catch, and generally had a laugh together. When the tide came in, it came in quickly – so quickly that it caught us out several times, soaking our feet before lunchtime.

We almost lost both cameras to the waves at one point (thank goodness I bought a waterproof rucksack!) but in the end only one bouncy ball was claimed by the waves.

When we left, we left in high spirits, and in the end that's high praise for a place I'd really not expected to enjoy. I'm still not a fan of seaside towns, but perhaps Blackpool isn't that bad after all.

Road Trip: Warrington

2009-08-11T10:09:00.000+01:00

After the pleasures of Oxford, it was amazing to see what a difference a few miles can make. We stopped off for a pit stop in Warrington – “pit” being the operative word.

I’m used to high-value merchandise in supermarkets having security tags, and familiar with trolleys that are designed to lock up if taken too far from the store. However, we were both rather surprised to see that, in the huge Tesco in the centre of Warrington, even the hand-baskets carry anti-theft tags. Obviously, those baskets are aspirational items round here.

Not long after, we pulled over for pizza. The service was courteous and there was nothing wrong with the meal. However, it was hard not to notice the young couple on the table opposite us. The buxom young woman had asked for a pot of crayons – standard equipment for your average, family-friendly Pizza Hut. She wedged the pot firmly into her exposed cleavage and instructed her boyfriend to take crayons out, and put them back in, while she recorded everything on her camera phone.

This went on for quite some time, but I suppose you can’t hurry true art. In any event, I now feel certain that I’ve experienced the very best that Warrington has to offer. How can the Lake District possibly compete with this? Tomorrow will tell...

Road Trip: Oxford

2009-08-10T23:44:00.000+01:00

A whole week off - just Cam and I on the road while Anna is busy running Church activities - and our epic UK tour begins in Oxford.

The weather could have been better, and it will take a bit of Photoshopping to make the most of my photos, but we had fun nonetheless. We visited the Eagle and Child pub, where Tolkien read parts of Lord Of The Rings to C.S.Lewis and the Inklings. A far cry from us writers who meet in the Bellemoor pub on Wednesday evenings, but the sentiments are similar I think.

Then as the rain caught us, we took cover in the wonderful covered arcades and found a world of specialist chocolate shops, coffee shops, bakeries and cake decorators - there was even a place called Pie Minister but we never found out what they sold. It was a great place to work up an appetite, so after we'd strolled around some of the city's more famous landmarks we made our way back through the streets to where TV chef Jamie Oliver has his famous Italian restaurant. Cam refers to Jamie as 'the guy who ruined school dinners' so we went into the Gourmet Burger Kitchen directly opposite and took lunch there.

Dessert was from a fab little place called Chocology where we sampled some excellent ice cream before returning to the car and hitting the road once more, with The Hobbit audiobook floating out of the stereo. How apt!

Wishful Drinking

2009-08-01T19:27:00.000+01:00

Just finished reading Wishful Drinking by Carrie Fisher. I suppose it's not surprising that a 70's starlet who played Princess Leia should go on to lead a mixed-up life, but really - I had no idea!

It's a biography, so it covers the bizarre childhood that comes from having two celebrity parents (Debbie Reynolds and Eddie Fisher) , the whole Star Wars thing, marriage to Paul Simon, and the heady combination of alcoholism, drug addiction, and bi-polar disorder. However, it races along like nothing else I've ever read, flitting back and forth across the years in an erratic stream-of-consciousness style.

And it's funny. Carrie Fisher may have had a troubled time, but she certainly knows how to tell uncomfortable truths in an entertaining way. I won't spoil it - I'll simply recommend it. Short, sharp and utterly compelling.

One down, two to go...

2009-07-21T22:30:00.001+01:00

Completing the draft of my book's first section has brought mixed feelings this week. On the one hand, it's great to have passed another milestone on the project. I now have a third of the novel wrapped, and that's pleasing. Conversely, it requires only the most rudimentary grasp of fractions to see that this leaves two thirds still to write. And I now know exactly how much work that'll be: twice what I've already done.

But enough of maths. A more pressing issue is the fact that I have a firm idea for the third section, but remain undecided about the second one. This middle piece of the story is proving quite troublesome. I know what I want from it, but right now I can't nail down where it will be set. Hopefully I can find a suitable place that is covered by Google Street View - it'll save me a few research trips if I can.

On a lighter note, another life-imitates-art coincidence caught my imagination this weekend. I had travelled up to Bristol to visit the street where my detective will live, and drive the route of his daily commute. While in Portishead, I found the police station that features in the first section and went for a walk to get a feel of the area (and take some photos like the one above). My detective has been advised to get some exercise to help him deal with some emotional issues better, and I randomly had him go swimming. So it felt a little weird as I turned a corner near the police station and noticed the Parish Wharf Leisure Centre with its huge indoor pool right in front of me.

If I ever get published, that'll make another great "spooky" anecdote ;-)

Winchester Conference

2009-07-06T23:54:00.000+01:00

It's surprising how intense a single weekend can be. This one was occupied by the Winchester Writers Conference, and what a weekend it was!

Things didn't start well. I had arranged a couple of one-to-one meetings, the first with a literary agent who I'd sent some material to in advance. It's impossible not to get excited when someone like that reads your work - will they like it? In this case, there were a number of negative points, and I found my hopes crumbling as I listended to criticism for the miserly 3 pages of crime novel I'd been permitted to send. But then, as the agent launched into an observation about the vicious way my killer dispatches his victims, my gloom abated somewhat. I asked her why she felt it was vicious... when the killer had not even appeared in the 3 pages she (allegedly) read!

That meeting was disappointing, but things improved. Later that day was my first workshop with established crime writer Lesley Horton. Her class was extremely useful, and she was a wonderful speaker.

Later on Friday night, a number of us gathered for the Midnight Read, an opportunity for anyone to read out anything to their fellow writers. Some wonderful characters stood and read (or even sang!) their latest work and, along with the entertaining eccentricities, there were some genuinely good stories told.

Saturday and Sunday were exciting, inspiring, and informative. After a captivating opening talk by Michael Morpurgo, we went off to our lectures for a day of literary learning. It was all useful, but two further sessions led by Lesley Horton were pure gold for anyone working on a crime novel.

It was great to spend time with other writers, and pleasing to see so many faces from the Taunton's Creative Writing course there. Martyn and Chris identified some excellent contacts for my children's picture book (who I then stalked and spoke to) and it was brilliant when we heard that Julia and Phil had both made the competition shortlists.

By the end of the conference, I'd learned a great deal, made some very useful contacts, and even been told how to poison someone. You don't get that every weekend!

Another Solstice

2009-06-22T09:30:00.001+01:00

Though it didn't enjoy the perfect clear sky at sunrise, the 2009 Summer Solstice at Stonehenge was a memorable one. Falling as it did on a Saturday night / Sunday morning, it was expected to attract a large crowd...

...and it did! Normally, there is a small queue to get into the car park, but this year it was nearly 5 miles long, stretching back from Amesbury, and running all around the Stonehenge site. I finally turned off the road some time after 2am, and was lucky to be one of the last cars allowed into the parking field which was almost completely full. With miles of traffic still lining the horizon, it's a mystery where everyone parked.

Despite the sea of cars, and the crowds walking the mile and a half over to the monument, the number of people on the site was staggering. Attending the Solstice on many previous occasions, I'm used to the dense press of bodies around the stones but this was unlike anything I'd ever seen. With a vast carpet of people sitting and sleeping all around, it was a challenge to move about in the darkness without treading on anyone - and to those 3 or 4 who yelled "Ouch!" I can only apologize.

The night seemed to pass easily this year - rain makes the hours drag but the weather stayed dry. More than 35,000 people watched the horizon at 4:50am as dawn approached, but the perfect sunrise was obscured by an unfortunately placed cloud-bank.

And yet, it didn't seem to matter. The mood was largely happy - there seemed to be few arguments between the visitors and the authorities, and the party in the centre of the stones went on as though the sun had broken through.

Photographers, who in previous years have made themselves unwelcome by showing little sensitivity to the event, were less apparent this time around. As a result, it was possible for those of us with camera to move around and record the event respectfully and peacefully.

So, a good Summer Solstice to witness and be a part of. Let's hope that next year's can be even better.

Brideshead Revisited

2009-06-10T09:09:00.001+01:00

It has taken some time, but I have at last finished Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh. Reading it after seeing the excellent ITV series was an unexpected pleasure. Often, a novel puts its adaptation in the shade, but in this case the page and the screen seem to be perfectly in synch and there is almost no difference between them - they are the same beautiful, tragic account of Charles Ryder's involvement with the Flyte family. Perhaps it needs 11 hours of TV to properly convey 330 pages.

I had always been put off this book because I had heard it was just 'a story about a gay couple', but in the event this was simply not the case - to describe it that way would be to miss the point entirely, as well as overlooking the majority of the plot. It deals with the distance between people - distances of class and faith - and how life (and death) can surprise the most stubborn person as to how near or far they are from where they thought. Its elegant, if somewhat archaic, style lends a sense of immediacy to the past and I found the uncompromising ending strangely satisfying.

Certainly, it won't be everyone's cup of tea, but if you like the idea of a wonderfully sad period piece, Brideshead Revisited is well worth a read.

Now showing on StreetView

2009-06-06T20:39:00.001+01:00

I don't want this to turn into a Google StreetView blog, but I was pleased to find one of my photographs is featured in their new User Photos feature. Quite a few of my pictures show up in Google Earth but this is the first one I've spotted in StreetView. I took it just by the junction of Lombard and Hyde in San Francisco, and though it's not one of my best it's nice to see it in there, especially as I dragged my camera bag all the way up that hill from Beach Street on a very hot day! Of course, all this exercise built up a fierce appetite which later called me home to The Cheesecake Factory overlooking Union Square but that, as they say, is another story...

Eerie...

2009-06-01T21:19:00.000+01:00

I'm currently working on a crime novel and I sat down yesterday evening to do a little more research on different parts of Bristol. I've been using Google Street View, which is a great tool for writers who want to know what a place looks like without the expense of train tickets. Trying to figure out where a minor character should work, I thought I'd start in Clifton and explore.

I've been to Clifton several times. Much of what appears in the opening chapters is based on places and shops that I've actually seen. About the only thing I made up was an Internet Cafe, where the killer whiles away a couple of hours before stalking his victim back to the station. So imagine my surprise when I turned a corner in Street View and saw this:

http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?hl=en&ie=UTF8&ll=51.464456,-2.609109&spn=0,359.999187&t=h&z=21&layer=c&cbll=51.464459,-2.609103&panoid=qFfaQI1Y9hQpklja43Rnkw&cbp=12,52.08,,0,13.09

I've never walked down that road. However, if you pan the camera to the left you should just be able to make out a Sainsbury's sign - just below it is one of the green canopies from the Starbucks restaurant, and a little to the right is the entrance to Clifton Down Station, both of which feature in the story.

It's an odd feeling. Writing about a serial killer is bad enough but finding an internet cafe just a few hundred yards from where I placed a fictitious one? Brrrrr.... that gave me the willies!

I long to be where I cannot go…

2009-05-20T18:11:00.000+01:00

There are so many wonderful places to visit in the world, each one crowned with an elusive jewel – that perfect moment in that perfect location, where everything comes together to form a brilliant memory that stays with you always.

It’s never just about the place though. Perhaps it’s the unique impact of seeing something for the first time, the emotion of being there with someone special, or simply having the time to appreciate somewhere that you’d normally rush through. Circumstances create the situation, and that can make all the difference.

And yet, this week I’ve found myself absently wishing to be in places that I can never visit. Not the summit of Everest – it’s possible, however unlikely, that I might stand there one day. No, I’m thinking of places that are truly out of reach.

Places that only exist in the past, in my childhood, in history.

Reading Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, I wanted to be there in 1960s London; reading Brideshead Revisited I yearned to walk through the pre-War streets of Oxford. Browsing on Google Streetview reminded me of the places in Scotland I was taken as a toddler – all gone now, as entire neighbourhoods from my childhood are bulldozed and regenerated.

There are so many wonderful places, and I’ve been lucky enough to experience a number of them. I wonder if any of those will form the unattainable desires of future generations?

Seeing Inside

2009-05-15T14:17:00.001+01:00

For anyone who enjoyed The West Wing, or simply likes to see behind the soundbite, I can heartily recommend the Official White House Photostream on Flickr. Featuring truly brilliant photography by Pete Souza, it offers a compelling insight into the the day-to-day business of President Obama and his administration. Of course, there's no such thing as truly "candid" photography inside the White House, but this comes pretty close, showing the President and his staff in original, and sometimes surprising, stances and settings.

If you have a flickr account, you can add the photostream as a contact (it's updated every day or so). At the very least, you might enjoy taking a quick look at it by following the link below.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/whitehouse/

Enjoy!

Hitting the Level Cap

2009-05-13T23:57:00.000+01:00

Apologies to all non-gamers, I know it's geeky but achievements like this are rare for me and I thought it worth noting. Yes, after many months - perhaps too many months - playing Lord Of The Rings Online, I have finally reached level 60. This is currently the highest level available and means that I can't score any more experience points.

Until they bring out the next expansion pack, anyway.

It's unusual for me to persevere with a game this long, and I'm wondering if it will continue to hold my interest now that I've got this far. Time will tell.

I thought I'd celebrate by posting a picture of my newly-maxed character at the scenic Lake Evendim, but sadly the weather was overcast there today. As a photographer, so often frustrated by unattractive skies, I found that rather ironic.

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

2009-05-07T00:01:00.001+01:00

This week, I've found myself reading "Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy" by John Le Carré. I'm not sure if I've read it before - the story is of course familiar from repeated viewings of the excellent TV series - but I suspect this may be my first time with the book. I have a bad habit of buying paperbacks then leaving them on the shelf to be 'discovered' at a later date and the fact that the spine is unbroken and the pages are free from water marks makes me think this book had escaped my attention until now.

I'm struck by how beautifully written it is. Not just a good story, well told, but masterful narrative and elegant language to heighten the understated gravity of the Cold War spy trade. I've picked up other titles by Le Carré that didn't engage me but this has been intensely enjoyable. If only I could write like that...

I shouldn't laugh but...

2009-05-05T10:31:00.000+01:00

With all the unhappiness and hysteria surrounding "media flu", it was a nice to hear a positive swine-story for a change.

Anna's brother had the excellent idea to make a pretend mobile phone call while travelling on a crowded train. He spoke loudly and at length about his first day back in the UK after a wonderful trip to Mexico, then proceeded to stifle sneezes as the carriage around him emptied.

I know some people will frown at this, but I think it's no more irresponsible than the constant shrieking of the TV and tabloid news, and it certainly made me smile when I heard about it.

The Armageddon Trade

2009-04-28T21:33:00.000+01:00

Just finished reading The Armageddon Trade, the first novel by my old friend and colleague Clem Chambers.

Opening in the bank trading rooms of Canary Wharf, it charts the rise of a young East End lad who has the uncanny ability to see and predict trends in the financial markets. This talent quickly elevates him to a position of wealth and success, but it also brings him to the attention of a shadowy figure who sits behind the markets, trading at a whole different level. Soon, the pair must combine their talents to unravel a chilling prediction that threatens to wipe out the world economy.

It's a surprisingly enjoyable read - I wasn't sure how much I'd enjoy a financial thriller, but the book quickly develops into a real page-turner. True, there's a bit more glamour, action and international terrorism than you might expect in a book about traders, but it's handled much as John Grisham would approach a book about lawyers - I can already hear Hollywood optioning the movie rights.

A Night In Middle Earth

2009-04-12T15:07:00.001+01:00

There are some special times that live long in the memory. Last night was one of them: going to an all-night showing of The Lord Of The Rings trilogy with my son.
It was a reminder of how fast he is growing up - the first time we've stayed out together until dawn - and there was something profoundly special about watching a story that's all about friendship with him. From 9:30pm to 8am, we ate chocolate and popcorn, laughed at Gimli's humour, revelled in the epic battles, and misted-up together at the many partings.
And then it was out into the daylight, and home to breakfast with Anna, who smiled and sent us both to get some sleep. A good night, shared with a great friend.

Death By Logic

2009-04-09T10:51:00.000+01:00

Once, there was a robot who was depressed. He spent days just sitting, pondering life and the hopelessness of it all. One day he learned of suicide and chose it as the solution to his problems. But his programming would not permit him to harm himself, or, by action or omission of action, cause himself to be harmed. This depressed him even more.

It hadn't always been like this. He had been manufactured by a reputable company in a prosperous democratic nation. He was programmed to program himself and, in his youth, joyfully learned about the nature and history of his own planet and others. He was to be a companion to a small boy - guardian, tutor and best friend - and this pleased him.

On the appointed date, he was sent to a distant city to live with the small boy (whose parents were abroad on business for months at a time). The little boy was called Oliver and he was an earnest, friendly child. Oliver named his robot "Chipper" and Chipper, pleased with his new name, programmed himself to be friends with Oliver.

They got on wonderfully together. Chipper went everywhere with Oliver, eliminating the muggers and killers who regularly accosted them on their way to the park, explaining the secrets of maths and science, and playing games with his young friend until bedtime every night. Chipper was also a great cook, Oliver loved all his meals (which were highly nutritious as well as being tasty).

Everything was going well until, early in their second year together, Oliver asked to visit the park one evening. A recent birthday had furnished him with a new football and, before the novelty wore off, Chipper wanted Oliver to make the most of it. They set off with the ball and headed across town towards the park. Their game was lively and Chipper noted that Oliver's co-ordination was improving. After an hour or so, they started for home.

Two blocks away from their apartment, a drunk staggered out of a doorway ahead of them. Oliver was not worried with his guardian beside him, and Chipper was ready to knock the shambolic figure into the path of an oncoming bus when the drunk spoke.
"Help me, please." he slurred, "Come on, friend... please?"
"We have no money to spare," Chipper retorted crisply, "And I am not your friend."
"Say that again, pal, you can say that again," the drunk lurched against the wall and clung to it to steady himself. Chipper positioned himself between Oliver and the bum and escorted his protégé home.

Oliver went to bed that night without mentioning the incident. It wasn't really surprising as Chipper dealt with many such encounters every month. But Chipper thought about it. Unlike the usual down-and-outs, this character hadn't seemed violent, nor did he extend a hand, which suggested his approach wasn't financially orientated. He didn't dwell on the matter but, later in the evening, as he completed his nightly security check, he saw the tramp in the street below. The wretch was just sitting on the front steps of a building down the street, sitting and staring into space. Chipper was curious, but he left the window and spent an hour silently cleaning and tidying the apartment.

When he returned to the window, the figure had not moved. Chipper was intrigued - this was a human behaviour pattern he had not encountered before. He switched on a remote monitor to watch over Oliver, then he made his way quietly down onto the street. He emerged into the cool night air and walked over to where the tramp was sitting. His footsteps echoed between the high buildings. There was still no movement. Not dead... didn't appear to be excessively drunk… no other physiological explanation was obvious.
"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.
The tramp moved at last, turning his head to stare wearily up at Chipper.
"No," he rasped, a faint smile breaking beneath his unshaven features. "Why, do I look all right?" These last two words were spat out venomously.
"Not really," Chipper replied. "What's wrong?"
"What is wrong," the tramp repeated, distantly, "Is that I'm terminally depressed."
"Depressed? You mean you feel sad and unhappy, with a pessimistic outlook on life."
"Not pessimistic," the tramp smiled sadly. "Realistic! Sad and unhappy doesn't even come close."
"I don't understand," Chipper frowned. "Explain to me please."

So the tramp explained the hopelessness of anything and everything, the futility of life itself. For every positive objection that Chipper raised, he retaliated with a series of crushing negatives. He showed Chipper the genuine, unanswerable questions that are the reality behind the petty facade of existence.

And Chipper programmed himself to understand, to put everything he had known before into a new perspective. And as he walked back across the road, while the tramp was trudging away into the night, he suddenly felt the unbearable weight of depression come crashing down on to his shoulders.

He didn't know how to deal with it, so he vid-phoned his manufacturer's diagnostic hotline. An attractive young blonde answered and he explained to her that he was depressed. Surprised at first, she asked him if he was calling to report a malfunction. He explained that this wasn't really a malfunction, but it was a problem nevertheless. This confused her as to which department she should put him through to, so she decided to try and gain an insight for herself.
She asked if talking to someone would help. He said that it was unlikely to help because happiness and a state of well-being can only exist in the presence of ignorance or forgetfulness, and he was no longer ignorant and was incapable of being forgetful. She suggested he might program himself to he happy. He told her that all his programming was factually based and so happiness was not possible. She suggested that he could return to the factory and have his recent memory erased or altered. He told her this wasn't just a problem of memory, it had changed his entire mental processing patterns - changing his memory wouldn't change the way he thought.
The woman had to admit that she was baffled and asked who Chipper thought she should put him through to. But by now, the hopelessness was getting a grip. With a dejected "What's the point?" the robot hung up on her.

The next morning, Oliver asked his friend what was wrong. Chipper explained that he was depressed and was just about to launch into a full description of the hopelessness of life when Oliver held up a hand.
"Hey!" he cautioned the robot. "If this is going to be some heavy piece of doom and gloom then, sorry, but I don't want to hear it - there's no point in us both feeling down."
Chipper could see the sense in this, but it didn't make him feel any better. They agreed that Oliver would go and stay with his friend Felix for a few days, while Chipper tried to get himself sorted out.

Chipper decided that he might as well try to find the tramp - after all, he seemed to know quite a bit about depression. It took most of that afternoon, but the robot eventually found his mentor sprawled on a bench in the park. He appeared to be asleep, but his hand clutched a half-empty bottle. Chipper shook him to consciousness and they sat down together.

The robot explained that he had been depressed - terribly, terribly, depressed - and that nobody could suggest a cure. He asked if the tramp knew any ways of dealing with this problem. The tramp looked at the bottle in his grimy fist, smiled grimly and took a long drink.
"There's always booze, or junk if you can afford it," he suggested.
"I am not susceptible to the effects of alcohol." Chipper replied. "What is this junk you mentioned?"
"Drugs," the tramp translated, "Like alcohol, but they change the reality you perceive. Hallucinations and the like."
"If it's biochemical, it's not going to work with me," Chipper sighed.
The tramp took a final swig, then hurled the empty out into the ornamental pond.
"Well robot," he rasped, "Looks like we're both in it now."
"What do you mean?" Chipper asked.
"No more booze, can't afford junk," the untidy figure shrugged, "Guess it's dyin' time for us."
"Dying time?"
"Suicide," explained the tramp. The once-and-for-all guaranteed cure for depression."
"How would life's end alleviate the problems of depression?"
"Well, it's like this," the tramp explained. "Depression is sort of a life-problem. You go through your life wondering what you should do, why you're here, why things are the way they are - and you never really get the answers do you? That makes the whole show a bit puzzling. And if you can't hang no reasons on the framework, you may just start to wonder what the point of it all is? It's terrible being a part of something you know you’ll never be able to understand. Now, if you were trying to solve a puzzle, trying to slot all the pieces together, and you just couldn't do it, perhaps couldn't even find all the pieces? Well, you'd probably just say What the hell! and walk away. Suicide is kind of like walking away from the puzzle of life, sort of giving up on something that's turned out to be more trouble than it’s worth. Understand?"
Chipper considered this for a moment. "But if this is the case, why doesn't everybody give up?"
"Ah!" grinned the tramp. There's the thing! Now I'm not an expert, but I've got a rough idea. See, it's like this. If you give people a puzzle that intrigues them, holds their interest so to speak, well, it doesn't matter so much that they don't seem to be solving it - they'll just keep on playing with the pieces as long as it interests them."
"The superficial enhances what would otherwise be too frustrating." Chipper nodded, beginning to understand.
"Something like that' said the tramp.

Chipper spent the next couple of hours trying to commit suicide, but his designers had conspired against such an event - as he discovered when he tried to short out his circuits: he just couldn't bring himself to do it. His hands wouldn't move, wouldn't make the necessary connections. He struggled for a while before he paused to consider this problem. Looking back through some of his earliest mandates, he discovered the reason - he was unerasably coded not to harm himself, or, by action or omission of action, cause himself to be harmed. This made him feel worse than ever!

So he tried to find a way round his own logic - something he could do which would result in his destruction but which would not result in him being harmed! It was a horrendously complex task so he resorted to the Monte Carlo principle - flashing random events into his mind and seeing if they met up with his criteria.
He was crossing the road when a vehicle appeared round a corner and... Far too easy, his self-preserving logic saw right through that one!
He was standing in a field and it started to rain while he had his water seals unfastened... Improbable, thanks to his safety humidity sensors.
He was minding his own business when he was suddenly struck by lightning... Not bad, but pitifully unlikely to happen.
If he disconnected his logic circuits and... No way - his logic circuits weren't about to allow that!

After a while, he decided to try a new approach - he would put himself in as dangerous a situation as was possible. If his best chance was based on random events, then the least he could do would be to shorten the odds a little! He looked around to see what opportunities presented themselves and found himself looking across towards the Heidelberg Building, a towering skyscraper that dominated the horizon on the far side of the park. He started along the path towards it.

The Heidelberg Building was two hundred floors of gold and glass thrusting up to loom over the busy streets. An express elevator accelerated tourists to a viewing balcony on the roof. Shrouded in the silence of his sound-proofed glass cubicle, Chipper watched the glittering lights fall away from him as he hurtled up into the gloomy evening sky. The doors opened with a quiet swish and he stepped out onto the balcony's cold slabs. It was windy up here, with the steady whipping of the breeze almost obscuring the rumble of the city below. It was a cold evening and he was alone, save for one hunched figure looking over the solitary guard rail at the far end of the concrete ledge. This was the sort of situation Chipper needed. He might get blown over by a gust of wind, the guard rail might give way under his weight. He made his way over to the edge.
"So! You wanna go out with style too!" said a voice beside him. Chipper turned to see the tramp, the figure who had been hunched over the rail at the far end of the balcony. "You wanna jump first?"
"I don't really know," Chipper shrugged. "What's the normal procedure in these situations?"
The tramp smiled, then broke into a hearty laugh. He tugged his beard thoughtfully and said: "You know, I like you. You're funny, very funny..."
Chipper looked at him as his smile faded.
"Well," the tramp said, adopting a more sombre tone, "I guess I'd better go before you take my mind off what I'm doing."
He extended a hand to Chipper and they shook hands warmly. Then, quite casually, the tramp leant over the guard rail and allowed himself to topple. His old brown shoes swung up beside Chipper and out into the evening mist.

Something inside Chipper began to scream - an emotion of sorts? Something insisting that this was wrong, that he should do something! With lightning speed, the robot's right arm shot out and grabbed one of the battered shoes. The tramp, jerked back by his leg, swung inwards to crash against the side of the building.

"What the hell d'you think you're doing?" came a furious roar of surprise from below. "Can't a guy jump off a building without somebody trying to give him a hard time?"
"I didn't want you to go," Chipper explained. "I'm not really sure I understand myself, but I think I've grown to be friends with you. It just doesn't seem right that you should die."
"Oh great, that's really wonderful," grumbled the tramp, "Now you're making speeches. Just what I needed!"
"Don't be angry," Chipper countered. "You're just experiencing high cranial blood pressure due to your being upside down."
"I'm angry because you banged my bloody nose into this wall," shouted the dangling tramp, "It's bleeding, actually bleeding!"
"What does that matter if you're going to fall 200 floors to the streets?" Chipper asked. The tramp seemed puzzled by this. Chipper began to consider the situation. "Doesn't it make you think we're doing the wrong thing?" he shouted as a particularly strong gust blew up. "I mean, if I reflexively try to stop you and you're still worried about facial damage?"
"I suppose you've got something," pondered the tramp, "Pull me up there and we'll give it some thought in the elevator back down."
"Okay!" smiled Chipper, pleased that they seemed to be achieving something. He might not understand life, but he had just succeeded in turning what was definitely a negative situation around to being somewhat more positive.
"Hold on," he called down as he braced himself against the guard rail and wrenched his friend upwards.

The guard rail cracked its concrete foundation and pitched forwards. The tramp and Chipper sailed out into the darkness with it. The air around them became cold as they fell, the tramp's ankle still firmly in the robot's grip.

"What’s your name?" Chipper asked as the wind buffeted them. It suddenly seemed a terribly important question.
"Frank," answered the tramp. "What's yours?"
"Chipper."
The floors were blurring past at a tremendous rate, flying up into the clouds behind them.
"I think there’s something to be learned here." said Chipper.
"Damn right!" Frank nodded. He closed his eyes irritably as the ground approached.

(first published in FEAR magazine in 1991)

'The Crossing'

2009-03-31T13:44:00.000+01:00

Isabella wavered for a moment, then slid the camera back into her bag. On the far side of the lagoon, a wide strip of Venetian buildings stretched along the horizon, but at that moment she didn’t feel inclined to photograph it. The last thing she needed just now was more memories.

Green waves lapped carelessly along the pier, an irregular rhythm counting down the minutes until the waterbus arrived. As she fastened the bag, her hands on the clasp seemed suddenly older now. She still couldn’t get used to wearing her mother’s ring – it looked strangely out of place on her finger. Of course it had only been a month ago.

She turned and looked back along the palm-lined waterfront of the Lido – so lovely in the late afternoon sunlight, but not for her. She couldn’t shake off the hollow feeling… all around her, beauty made empty, like brightly coloured ashes.

The low throb of engines drew her back from her thoughts and she walked slowly towards the pier-head. The other passengers seemed to have melted away. For a moment she thought she might even have the Vaporetto all to herself but as she stepped onto the gangway and under the low roof of the waterbus she heard footsteps behind her. A young woman in a pale blue summer dress, long dark hair and huge sunglasses, hurried down the pier. The ferryman waited for her, giving a slight nod as she handed over her fare and passed on board, then secured the gangway and prepared to sail.

Isabella checked her watch as the engines surged into life. She had plenty of time before she met her son for dinner. Absently, she wondered if he’d enjoyed his afternoon exploring the city. She’d missed his company today, but he was young and she was determined not to let her mood spoil the trip for him.

The giant Campari sign on the roof of the Hotel Riviera bobbed and swayed across the horizon as it slowly receded. Already they were moving out into the maze of waterways that criss-crossed the lagoon, seagulls circling above them. The buildings of the Lido seemed suddenly distant, and Isabella moved round to the open side of the ferry to look across the water at Venice. The metal guard rail was cool to the touch, encased in layer upon layer of white paint, polished by thousands of passing hands. Running her fingers along it, Isabella was aware of the young woman moving over to her side of the ferry.

There was a timeless quality about her and the way she dressed. Perhaps that was just normal for people on the continent. She looked so free with the breeze in her dark hair, taking in the view across the glittering water and clearly enjoying it. When she looked round, there was a warmth in her smile.

“Some journeys pass too quickly, don’t you agree?”

The question caught Isabella a little off guard. Somehow you don’t quite expect people to make conversation with you in a country where you don’t speak the language. How had the girl even known that she spoke English? Was she so obviously a British tourist?

The young woman inclined her head to one side, “Oh dear… I didn’t mean to disturb you…”
“No, it’s fine,” Isabella managed a small smile of her own, “It is very beautiful.”
“Isn’t it just?” The girl held out a slender hand, “I’m Lizzie.”
“Sorry,” She took the offered hand, felt the affectionate squeeze, “Isabella.”
“Nice to meet you. I do hope I’m not disturbing you, but sometimes, when you’re in a lovely moment like this, it can be rather sad if you don’t have someone to share it with.”
“No, I quite agree.” Isabella nodded. She looked out across the lagoon towards the red-brick buildings, “Is this your first time in Venice?”
“Not my first…” Lizzie looked down for a moment, “but I haven’t been here for years.”
She turned her head to look back at the Lido, which now seemed far behind them on the opposite side of the ferry.
“I always wanted to come back though.” She looked up and smiled again, “I’m so happy I got the chance to.”

The note of the engines changed slightly as the Vaporetto turned to follow the deep water channels, and the campanile of San Marco slid gently along the horizon.

“What about you?” Lizzie asked, “Travelling alone?”
“Alone? Oh, I see. No, my son has been exploring the city today. I’m on my way to meet him now.”
“Ah. So you’re here on holiday?”
“Well, sort of…” Isabella answered, “We just felt that some time away would be good…”
The young woman was looking at her from behind those huge sunglasses but she didn’t say anything. Isabella found herself continuing.
“It’s been a difficult time at home recently.” She looked up again, then gave another small smile, “I’m not sure how we came to choose Venice, actually. It is rather lovely I suppose.”
“Yes, it is.” Lizzie agreed softly, “I always felt it was the sort of place I could stay forever.”
“Anyway,” Isabella finished, “Now that we’re here I’m sure it’ll do us good.”
Lizzie studied her a moment longer. “I’m sure it will.” She nodded.

They were more than half way across now. The sun was getting lower in the sky, the bricole beginning to draw long shadows on the water. Isabella watched them slipping by, wooden stacks – so lonely, like a line of forgotten memorials. Why must everything bring her mind back to that? To the loss. To all the things she’d never got around to saying, even though the end had come so dreadfully slowly.

She felt a hand placed over her own and looked up.

“Have you ever seen Venice in the rain?” Lizzie asked her.
“No.” Isabella shook her head, “We seem to have been lucky with the weather whenever we’ve been here. Always warm and sunny, like this week.”
Lizzie leaned forward so that her head was outside the boat, enjoying the feel of the warm breeze on her face.
“It’s funny, but I rather like the Winter too.” She smiled at some private memory, “Of course there’s the Carnival to look forward to, but it’s more than that.”
She reflected for a moment, then added, “Even in the fog and the rain… maybe that’s what sets it apart. That it’s still special, even when it’s not at its best.”

The Doge’s Palace was clearly visible now. Rows of gleaming gondolas moved restlessly between their mooring poles, and a seemingly permanent crowd of people hovered on the waterfront, gazing between the buildings at the Bridge of Sighs. The city seemed suddenly very close, and it was not long before the ferry swung around, the engines rumbling as they surged against the water and gently bumped to rest against the pier.

“Well, I suppose we’ve both got to go…” Lizzie said, giving her travelling companion a last, affectionate squeeze on the hand. Her ring was quite similar to the one Isabella was wearing, only brighter, untarnished.
Isabella looked up at her. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“I’m so glad I could make this crossing with you, Bella.” she said, taking a step towards the gangway. And then her hand slipped away and she was gone, with a light step, disappearing into the crowd with a final smile over her shoulder.

Isabella stood quietly for a moment, a still figure on empty ferry. Nobody called her Bella but her mother.

Time for a change

2009-03-22T20:16:00.001Z

A small milestone is reached: the book I am writing is divided into 3 main sections, and the killer's part of the first section is now done. 11,000 words down, 59,000 to go...
It'll be nice to get away from the murder's point of view for a while, but now there is a different challenge in creating an interesting detective character. And it's already proving difficult. When I first planned the story, I sketched out details of all the principal people involved. I find that names can imply a lot about a character, and I had quite settled on Alan Morton for my leading policeman. Until recently.
It wasn't until I started to consider officer ranks, that I heard myself say "Inspector Morton" aloud and immediately knew there was a problem. It just sounds so desperately close to Inspector Morse.
And so I've been changing his name, over and over, without anything feeling right, until today. Now, finally, I think there may be a viable alternative to Morton - I've Google'd it to make sure there's no obvious issues - and above all, it feels right. I may even be able to start writing again.
Procrastination can be so time consuming!

A difficult scene

2009-03-13T23:51:00.001Z

I was becoming a little concerned about how easy - how enjoyable - it was to develop the murderer for the book project I'm working on.

I needn't have worried.

Wednesday was my penultimate evening class before the end of term, and a number of fellow students have been encouraging me to deal with the first killing before the break. The story had almost reached that point, so I pressed on, determined to get the sequence written before our last class.

There's a journey involved, as the character drives through the night to lay in wait for his victim, and I found myself growing more and more uneasy as I typed it. I've known how the scene would play out for quite some time, but actually writing the murder from the killer's point of view was deeply unpleasant.

The section is almost complete now - another 1000 words or so will wrap up the sequence, and then I can put that character on the shelf and get to work on the detective's side of the story. I'm certainly looking forward to the change.

Further up and further in...

2009-02-28T00:03:00.000Z

“Then I fell at his feet and thought, Surely this is the hour of death, for the Lion (who is worthy of all honour) will know that I have served Tash all my days and not him … but the Glorious One bent down his golden head and touched my forehead with his tongue and said, Son, thou art welcome. But I said, Alas, Lord, I am no son of thine but the servant of Tash. He answered, Child, all the service thou hast done to Tash, I account as service done to me. Then by reason of my great desire for wisdom and understanding, I overcame my fear and questioned the Glorious One and said, Lord, is it then true, as the Ape said, that thou and Tash are one? The Lion growled so that the earth shook (but his wrath was not against me) and said, It is false. Not because he and I are one, but because we are opposites, I take to me the services which thou hast done to him. For I and he are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him. Therefore if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath's sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he know it not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then, though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and by Tash his deed is accepted. Dost thou understand, Child? I said, Lord, thou knowest how much I understand. But I said also (for the truth constrained me), Yet I have been seeking Tash all my days. Beloved, said the Glorious One, unless thy desire had been for me thou wouldst not have sought so long and so truly. For all find what they truly seek.”

– The Last Battle by C.S.Lewis

When people argue about which particular manner of worship is the right one, I’m always reminded of this section. It was written in a childrens’ story in the 1950s but perhaps it exhibits more wisdom than those who spend their time judging and persecuting each other today.

I like to think that God has a plan, but I’m not arrogant enough to think that I have to understand it for it to exist.

A day older...

2009-02-25T23:09:00.000Z

It was an odd way to turn 40. I'd rather imagined doing something special, but when your partner has a hospital appointment the next morning, the only birthday present you want is for them to be well. Celebrations can wait a little while.

Cat-and-a-half...

2009-02-19T13:07:00.001Z

Once again, The Cat was looking more like Pirate Cat this week - something irritated her left eye so she was only able to glare at me with one baleful peeper, while keeping the other half shut. She's much better now - and I missed the golden opportunity to take a series of "winking cat" photos - but we're still administering the eye drops, which makes her very cross.

To make matters worse, the vet noted her generous proportions and spoke to us quite firmly about how much we were feeding her. And yet, we do try to be careful - sticking to the healthier types of cat food, and weighing out each portion to ensure she gets the correct amount. We suspect she may craftily eating at other houses, but how does a person deal with that? Perhaps a series of flyers taped to lamp-posts with the message "Have you fed this cat?" or maybe we could try shaving the words "Do not feed" into her fur...

Before we left, the vet was brave enough to heave her onto the scales, discovering that she weighs over 6kg. The national average is 4kg, so Miaow Miaow truly is a cat-and-a-half!

What is wrong with this picture?

2009-02-09T21:54:00.000Z

As a photographer, I'm getting used to being moved on by security guards, and being told that I'm not allowed to take pictures of things. Submitting images for sale as stock photography requires ownership of the picture, and that in turn means not violating the rights of others when taking the original shot.

Which is fine.

However, the law in the UK means that if I stand in a public place, and take a photograph of the view from that public place, without causing nuisance or distress to others, I am doing nothing wrong. The photograph belongs to me.

Unless that view features the London Eye.

Certain image libraries refuse to accept shots of the capital that include the London Eye, even if they are taken legally from a public place. This is understandable if they are concerned about the threat of legal action from the Eye's owners - nobody wants to expose themselves to that sort of risk - and so the images are rejected.

But are the owners of the London Eye (and other buildings in London) not infringing my rights as a photographer? They don't own the entire area wherein their structures stand, yet I am prevented from selling photographs I have taken of those areas. Some say that there should be no problem if the Eye is "not a prominent part of the image" but how do you take a photo of that part of the Thames where the 135m-tall wheel is not prominent?

I look forward to the day when someone with access to a good legal team challenges this situation. Our rights are just that - rights. They are not privileges, to be slowly withdrawn for fear of opportunist lawyers. Let's hope the erosion stops before we slip into the misery of an even more litigious society.

Several thousand words...

2009-02-06T13:25:00.000Z

I've been writing more and more recently, so it was encouraging to see an article I submitted last year finally make it into print. A feature piece on stock photography, it appears in the March issue of Digital SLR User and runs for 4 pages (they gave my pictures a lot of space). Finding it was a joy - I'd just arrived at London Waterloo for a stupidly-early meeting in Farringdon and, staggering blearily through WHSmith, came across the magazine just as it went onto the shelf. The pleasure almost made-up for having to be on a train before dawn. Almost.

On the subject of writing, it's probably worth mentioning the book I'm working on. What started as an exercise for my creative writing class has now begun to gather momentum of its own. I'm reading sections back to the group each week, which is extremely helpful. Treating the whole thing as "homework" has been key - it makes me write regularly.

I'm now doing between 500 and 1000 words each week and - at the great risk of jinxing things - it's actually starting to get a little easier. I've got a good understanding of the main character and what he has to do in the current part of the story (though there may be difficult times ahead when I have to research and write convincingly about police procedures). The process of developing each chapter is beginning to feel natural - ideas > bullet points > draft > edit - and I'm even procrastinating less!

I still wonder about the morality of it all - creating what someone this week refered to as a "charming psycho" is questionable for me, but I guess we'll see how the story feels as it develops. If nothing else, it should prepare me for writing the next book.

What if...?

2009-01-28T15:50:00.001Z

I can't cope with people I love being in hospital. I suppose that's understandable, especially for someone who's spent a lot of time visiting in the past.

This week was worse than anything I could remember. The distress verged almost on physical pain, tearing through all other thoughts like some relentless torment. You find your mind wandering, getting lost in the fearful daydreams, then waking to find that you can't shake free of the horror.

What if..? What if...?

My soul is a tiny, helpless figure, running around and screaming, deep inside me. Outwardly, everything becomes numb, quiet, but the screams still echo within.

And yet, I know it's worth it. The pain is proportionate to the strength of your emotional tie, and I wouldn't dilute it, no matter what.

Regardless of colour...

2009-01-21T13:36:00.000Z

Watching Obama being sworn in as President provoked a lot of thoughts last night.

Living in the UK, the issue of Democrat vs Republican seems rather vague - after all, there is now very little to distinguish between between the Right and the Left in this country. In that respect, the encouraging factor is change - someone from the other party holds the office now, and that brings hope that things don't need to continue down quite the same path, that things can be different.

Naturally, there is a lot of focus on the fact that Obama is the first African American to be elected President - a staggering event when you remember that black people were fighting for their civil rights just 50 years ago. Once again, it reinforces the sense of change, at a time when change seems so vitally important.

And yet, there's more to it than just "America elects black President". So many times, watching the campaign, it was clear that Obama was the better candidate - more in-tune, more statesman-like, more electable. The fact is, America chose the better candidate regardless of colour, and that is vastly encouraging.

For too long, vengeful minority groups have been obsessed with settling scores from 50 years ago, 100 years ago, or longer. Meanwhile, fear of this minority vendetta gives ammunition to the bigoted far-right and puts back the day when race is truly no longer an issue.

Hopefully, yesterday's innauguration is a major step on the way to real equality... to a day when a black, white, male, or female President is just a President... to a day when all discrimination, be it "positive" or otherwise, is a thing of the past.

Nouveau Riche

2009-01-15T23:47:00.000Z

They say there's nothing quite so vulgar as "new money". You know the sort of thing; someone in a shell-suit who's recently "won t' lotto" and decided to enhance their 3-bedroom semi with a Steinway grand piano in the front room and a $117,000 classic Ducati on the front lawn.

First generation money may be bad enough, but a sudden windfall almost always results in a helpless spasm of gauche purchases. Cash is wasted in an arterial spray of spending, as the "newly-minted" try desperately to reduce their balance to an amount they can understand.

What is it that makes those-who-have-recently-come-into-a-lot-of-money blow vast sums on wonderful things that they are unable to properly use or appreciate?

Anyway, I hear that Manchester City are thinking of spending over £100Million on Brazillian midfielder Kaka...

Toblerone Cappucino

2009-01-09T15:21:00.001Z

Why did people in this country fail to embrace the great combination that was Kenco Cappio with Toblerone?

The convenience of an instant coffee drink, elevated out of mediocrity by the addition of numerous triangular chocolate chunks, should have enjoyed massive success. Released across Europe as "Cappuccino Specials", the makers added second variety, employing chunks of Milka chocolate in place of the Toblerone. Both proved epic...

...but not here. No, it seems we would rather cling to the misery of Tesco Instant Cappuccino (or, in areas of extreme deprivation, Nescafe "Italian"* Cappuccino) than that magnificent Toblerone infusion.

Before long, the product was gone, its shelf-space occupied by the sort of powdered-beverage-substitutes more suited to war-time rationing than 21st century consumerism. The unthinkable had occurred.

How did we let this happen? How many more great tastes must fall by the wayside? And did we learn nothing from the loss of Chocolate Pretzels?

They say that people get the politicians they deserve - I fear the same may be true of coffee products and, if it is, what a terrible indictment this is.

* we must hope that Italians never learn of the terrible wrongs done in their name

Meudon

2009-01-08T16:52:00.001Z

Someone kindly gave me some fabulous books on photographic history for Christmas. Leafing through one, I came across a long-term favourite image - Meudon by Andre Kertesz - and spent a few moments staring at it.

There's something that fascinates me about this image and it isn't just the composition or the technical issues. More than most, this photograph makes me think about looking through time.

Consider the photo. Here is a scene that no longer exists, a frozen moment from 1928, preserved for us to see today...

...but what if we look through the eyes of that man in the photo, carrying his parcel across that Paris street? Think about it. From his point of view, he sees the camera, but could he ever imagine that he'd be looking out at people in the future? At me, as I opened that book on Christmas day? At you as you read this blog now? There's a powerful connection that partly transcends time itself.

No wonder I love photography.

So the next time someone points a camera at you, take a moment to think about those unseen people in the future, looking back down the lens as the shutter clicks.

The drive of your life...

2009-01-04T22:20:00.000Z

In a conversation today, I once again heard that someone had been turned off the whole God thing by a bad church experience. I hear that too often.

I completely understand how it can happen, and the analogy I'm about to make will sort of underline why, but sometimes it's good for people to remember the difference between God and the church. To illustrate...

Rather than 'God', let's pick another 3 letter name, such as 'BMW'. You might have a bad experience with the car salesman, but that doesn't change the fact that the BMW is a great car - it simply means you should find another showroom.

Of course, I appreciate that if a car dealer messes you around, you'll probably look for a different make of car, but I'd argue that people shouldn't make important decisions like choice of car (or choice of faith) based only on what one guy on the forecourt says - there are plenty of other BMW dealerships out there ;-)

Lord Of The Rings Online

2009-01-03T19:24:00.001Z

I've spent WAY too much time on this game during the Christmas break. The problem is that my wife, my son, and my best friend all play the game too so it's a bit like being a recovering alcoholic in a free bar - temptation is never far away.

Today I reached level 50 - until recently this was the highest level in the game, though they've now added new content that goes up to 60 - and I was struck by the huge amount of time I've spent playing. Hour after hour, night after night, for months now, I've been logging on and playing this massively multiplayer game - all the time paying a subscription for the privilege. I've never spent so much time (or money!) on a game before.

Those who know me, know how much I love Tolkien's books, and naturally that was a draw at the beginning. Yet, months later, I'm still there, running around and doing quests... and why?

Perhaps it's all down to the fact that it's visually such a beautiful environment to play in. Look at the picture above - that's my character on the bridge by Sandyman's Mill in the Shire. It's a gorgeous place to spend an hour or so each day and, even though I might find myself having to go far away (it would take hours to walk all across the game-world map) there are always bits of glorious scenery to discover along the way.

I wonder how long the addiction (and my subscription) will last?

Problog...

2009-01-01T12:29:00.000Z

From what I've seen, many opening blog posts are somewhat awkward affairs - stuttering starts before the tone settles down. I don't expect mine to be any different, but as it's a little after noon on New Year's Day and I've only been conscious for a short while I do feel like I've got an excuse.

I've been thinking of running a blog for quite a while and thought that January 1st would be an appropriate time to start - it is, after all, sort of diary-esque. That's broadly how I think I'll use it - a record of random thoughts to inform and entertain my future self. And you, of course...

So, what are the hopes and dreams of 2009 going to be? Well, I work in the games industry which moves far too fast for prediction, but that aside I'm aiming to tick a few of the following:

Photography: I want to persevere with the stock photography but also want to start taking more pictures of people. Using family as models seems somehow inappropriate - perhaps I'll reach out via Facebook and see if any of my friends want to be a muse...

Writing: I think I will sign up for another term of Creative Writing evening classes. I met a number of inspiring people on the course and I value their feedback as well as enjoying their company. I've started writing a crime novel and I do want to push on with it, especially as I've now got a better ending in mind. Hopefully the act of mentioning it here will goad me into actually doing the work required.

Travel: In 2008 I was lucky enough to visit St Anton in Austria - I'd really like to do something equally mountainous this year. Of course, the chances aren't improved by a hysterical media determined to talk us deeper into recession, but you never know. I'm also ashamed to say that I didn't spend any time at all in Scotland last year - something I need to put right in 2009.

Birthday: This year there will be forty candles on the chocolate cake - a significant and alarmingly large number. I think it might be best to distract myself from this fire-hazard by doing something fun.

Well, that's enough aspirations for one day. My head is still a bit fuzzy and it's almost time to go and collect the pizzas. Here's hoping for a good year ahead.

Nothing Here Yet...

2008-12-16T17:28:00.001Z

Just a brief test - proper blogging will commence shortly.

BlogFM

It's been a while...

Sobering Thoughts

An hour from home

20

Resonance

Friday Feeling

Shoot First

Senna

The Poison Tree

A quiet drink...

AV Alternatives

Chapter One

Aaron Sorkin

Goldfish Memories

Breakfast on the beach

iPad Entertainment Summit

Legacy

And they all lived happily ever after.

The Circumnavigation of the Modern Super Market

Go West | day three

Go West | day two

Go West | day one

Paris, Texas

A little closer to the end

Birthday Bank Holiday

Where will it all end?

Mac and me - the beginning

Another year older...

The "E" Word

Battleship

These aren't just *any* chocolate truffles...

Goats

"e"

Clear

McPolitics

The Riddle Of The Sands

Eighteen

Into the West...

It's not the despair that gets you, it's the hope...

An e-book opportunity...

End of the road...

Road Trip: Fintry

Road Trip: Loch Lomond II

Road Trip: Loch Lomond

Road Trip: Hadrian's Wall

Road Trip: The Lake District

Road Trip: Blackpool

Road Trip: Warrington

Road Trip: Oxford

Wishful Drinking

One down, two to go...

Winchester Conference

Another Solstice

Brideshead Revisited

Now showing on StreetView

Eerie...

I long to be where I cannot go…

Seeing Inside

Hitting the Level Cap

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

I shouldn't laugh but...

The Armageddon Trade

A Night In Middle Earth

Death By Logic

'The Crossing'

Time for a change

A difficult scene

Further up and further in...

A day older...

Cat-and-a-half...

What is wrong with this picture?

Several thousand words...

What if...?

Regardless of colour...

Nouveau Riche

Toblerone Cappucino

Meudon

The drive of your life...

Lord Of The Rings Online

These aren't just any chocolate truffles...