‘It was a lovely evening wasn’t it?’ said the woman next to me, and indeed it had been. The Nicholson Gallery, hosting the event, had provided us with the perfect relaxed, informal ambience, comfortable chairs and a blazing fire by which to listen to our local poet Eileen Carney-Hulme read works from her two published collections, along with some poems that I’m sure will be included in the next one.

Eileen’s poetry is deceptively simple, images of cut-glass clarity painting backdrops of skies, seas, dunes, cafés, rain, or simple interiors, against which the events play out, moments of pleasure shared, sadness, joy, love and loss, obviously personal to the poet but also universal, recognisable to all listeners, evoking more than one laugh and one tear in her audience. She never lays a brush-stroke too many, never adds superfluous ornamentation.

The evening of poetry was almost unique in my experience of this small town where musical performances are more usual. It was sponsored by the local arts council . I hope there are many more like it.

More reading.

Tess Gerritson, ‘The Silent Girl’ I was given for free so skidded through it, half enjoying and just enough intrigued to keep going, but they are ephemeral so today when I came to write about it I had to search the book out because I’d forgotten title and theme. That’s forgivable in a genre meant to entertain rather than enlightenment or bother ones head with the exposition of new ideas. Still, I only keep books that I know I’m going to want to read again so it’s off the the charity shop with it next.

In a mood for something - slightly - different next I opted for a thriller and read a Sophie Hannah, found for £2 in a bric-a-brac store. “The Other Half Lives’ infuriated me with it’s contortions, hidden secrets and yet more dreadful revelations constantly hinted at. The characters were two-dimensional, cardboard cut-outs, the settings sketchily drawn, but it was still rather better than the last of hers I read.

Next (I’ve been reading a lot lately, not sleeping well) the new Elizabeth George, 'Believing the Lie.' EG's satisfyingly long novels I have always liked, some more than others. For an American she does quite well at evoking the unreal but cosily imagined life in England that makes 'Midsummer Murders' a TV money spinner. She does much better than MM because her characters are fleshed out, have substance, are much more than name on a page. Still the analogy holds, she creates stories that might almost be from the ‘Golden Age’ of crime novels with stately homes, disaffected nobility, beautiful villages and countryside, in this case Cumbria. Her cast of regulars is, in my opinion, getting a bit unwieldy and the threads become distorted to include their personal angst. Still, this book will stay on my shelves. 

Today I started ‘The Cleft’ by Doris Lessing. The difference between her writing and the other authors aforementioned is marked but difficult for me to put into words not being a professor of Eng. Lit.. She isn’t a self-consciously ‘literary’ writer; there’s no artifice, just straightforward story telling, but she always has a point to make or an idea to explore, this time the difference between men and women, and the effect they have on each other. The blurb says: “Imagine a mythical society free from sexual intrigue, free from petty rivalries, a society free from men.’  Difficult to imagine, and even more difficult to imagine a writer pulling this off in a credible way. Her own foreword sums up better her interest in the creation and the exploration of a myth:

‘In a recent scientific article it was remarked that the basic and primal human stock was probably female and that males came along later, as a kind of cosmic afterthought.’ I cannot believe this as a trouble-free event.’

I’d like to quote more but the laws of copyright probably should be observed.

I’m on page 81. Totally absorbed.

Herman's Big Day

Herman is certainly heavy, stolid and - Germanic! But with some nice sharp cooking apples in him he is rather more-ish. Lots and LOTS of sugar though. I suppose I shall have to give him away!

It's been a funny old interlude since I last wrote here. Lovely day out on Sunday, taking in Cullen which whilst I wasn't looking has turned itself into an Antiques Town. Happily an old friend from book-trading days is still there in his delightful little bijou boutique selling books, bric-a-brac, the occasional real antique and plenty of jewellery to entice the ladies, some of which he makes up himself. I, ladylike, couldn't resist another pair of ear-rings and a necklace with elephants. My eccentric friend David came along for the ride and we had a delicious carvery en route. D never cooks for himself, survives on Tesco's finest and green smoothies so he does like one square meal a week and usually has two puddings. This day we had been told of a proper 'Tea Room' that opened fairly recently and managed to find it though I was surprised there was anyone there because it's very poorly signposted and definitely off the main track. tea was served in real pots with a strainer and taken in pretty little cups like my mother bright out for visitors. There was also a quite exotic choice of blend for this part of the world. I had Russian Caravan tea, very light and aromatic, not tall how it sounds, (black, gritty and oily with sweat from the horses backs... ) It's ages since I last tasted it, in Brussels I think, so that's over 25 years ago...  Wonderful cake too. Probably the last I'll eat... more of that later....

When we got back into the car D proclaimed himself sad. Why? 'Because this lovely outing is coming to an end.' I was touched.

Around this brief one-day idyll were wrapped various visits to the Health Centre for  routine blood tests and a quicky with the doc because I thought my heart had been behaving funnily. He listened, pronounced atrial fibrillation, I envisaged stents and such nastiness, then I got an ECG which showed only normal pounding. Phew! However, when the results of the blood tests came back later in the week I heard that my blood sugars are way up and - oops - that's probably Type 2 diabetes.  What annoys me is that it has probably been caused by all the oral steroids I've had to take in order to breath. There's a name for this which I am about to look up.... Iatrogenic illness, that's the one... More tests to follow. Bleur!