Family beware

My Facebook friends will already know that I had a great Christmas by the photo that has collected masses of likes and comments. Of all the photographs that have me in them, this one is officially my favourite. I've posted it below in case you didn't see it on FB.

For over thirty years I've shopped, cooked and entertained all the family over the Bank Holiday period - but not this year! Daughter booked us into a lovely hotel near where she lives. We had a four poster bed and wonderful views of the countryside AND she booked the three of us in for Christmas Day lunch. I know sometimes these kind of lunches can be a bit 'mass-catered' but this was most certainly not. It was delicious. She joined us for Boxing Day breakfast too - perfect.

So from now on - family beware - I'm hanging up my mass-catering apron and tearing up my detailed shopping list and lengthy to-do list. I'm replacing them with a luxurious, feet-up-on-a-stool, gently-dozing type of pamper. Well if I can't do it at my age then when can I?

Happy New Year and here's hoping for a healthy 2018. 

(Yes, we do appear to have caught that coughing/sore throat lurgy! Sigh!)

A Multi-cultural Week

Tonight I lit all of the Chanukah candles. Adding one each night makes the eighth night feel special, a climax of light. No matter how old I get I will never tire of looking a these nine candles burning (eight Chanukah candles plus the lighter candle).

I'm not going to tell the story of Chanukah again, or go on about miracles and about the magic of a tiny candle flame and how it has the power to light up a whole room. I've said all that before. I just wanted to share with you my multi-cultural week. So here is my fully lit Chanukiah:

The other morning I popped to Marks & Spencers for a few bits and who should be helping out at one of the checkout tills, but Father Christmas himself, in person! I nipped to the front of the queue and asked if he minded me taking a photograph. Well, it seemed only polite to ask even though I'm sure he's quite used to paparazzi media attention. He enthusiastically agreed and flung his arm around my shoulder. Strange, I thought, and then I realised that I was meant to take a selfie. After an embarrassing fumble to work out how my phone takes selfies, I did it. 

Before you glance down any further, 

I must warn you that I was not looking my best that morning! 

This evening, after my Chanukah candles had burned down, I went out for dinner to the Leicester Dialogue Society. This was a true multi-faith event. The Dialogue Society is run by a group of local Turkish Muslims. Their aim is to get people from all faiths to talk to each other - to have a dialogue together. There were talks given by representatives of a range of faiths including the Christian Church, the Islamic Foundation, the Jewish Synagogue, the Secular Society... and then we ate. 

The Dialogue Society call this type of shared meal Abraham's Dining Table. I think I'm right in saying that it's a Turkish Muslim tradition derived from both the Torah and the Koran where it says that Abraham always welcomed people to his dinner table... and we were certainly made welcome with lots of delicious food, all freshly prepared by the group. 

This evening's dinner has given me food for thought. It would solve the problems of the world if we only talked and listened to each other. 

Quote from this evening's meal: 

We have one mouth and two ears - let's use them in the correct proportion 

(In other words we must listen to what others say rather than always try to have our own say.)

A book, a talk and one of my poems

Gosh! What happened to November? This year is going too fast. I don't want my time at Uni to end. I'm enjoying my MA Course too much. I'm working on my assignment and starting to plan my dissertation now but thankfully I've another nine months before I hand my dissertation in so I can still wallow in all the library books, seminars and lectures. Did I mention that as an MA student I'm allowed to borrow 40 books!? I did? Oh, I'm becoming a book bore!

As well as my course I've been working on a history book recording the story of the Leicester Progressive Jewish Community. That book, I'm delighted (and relieved) to say is now published. We had a launch last week and so far it has been well received. Mind you, in my launch party speech I did give a dire warning that if anyone spots a mistake they were not to tell me. My old history professor always insists that all books have at least a few typos in them and even the odd historical inaccuracies...so if it's good enough for him it's certainly good enough for me.

Last Sunday I gave a talk at the local Secular Society about Richard III and how the book was created. I used a power point to illustrate, showing them all the fun we had promoting the book, e.g. Dr Richard Buckley, head of the archaeological dig, with his colleague dressed in full Wars of the Roses armour. I even did my Witch of Daneshill act with silly hat, the lot. It seemed to go down well but the next day a friend told me that he had been to a number of their talks and they were usually very serious affairs. Oh well, it is the season to be jolly...allegedly.

The other week, in one of our poetry seminars, we were looking at iambic pentameter with rhyming couplets. The next day I was in the GP's waiting room and was inspired by events that occurred to write this:

You think the door's an automatic one.

It's not and what is more it weighs a ton.

You take the blow full force right in your face

but people see and so you have to brace

yourself pretending that you've not been hurt,

leap off the floor and brush away the dirt

and as you walk you hold your head up high,

ignore their giggles and the urge to cry.

Finally, I'd like to send special wishes and prayers to our blog friend, Carol Hedges, who is in hospital after an operation for breast cancer. Get well very soon, Carol. We all miss you xxx

Meet the Author

"Did you really write this book?"
I love it when children ask me that, not because it makes me feel good about myself (well, OK, maybe that's a little bit of the reason) but mainly because it means that they're learning to appreciate books. They're realising that books don't just appear as if by magic and that writing can be fun, extremely satisfying and done by ordinary people like myself.

This week I went along to Leicester Cathedral for a Meet the Author session. For those who are not familiar with Leicester Cathedral, it's where Richard III has been finally laid to rest. Directly opposite the Cathedral is the Richard III Visitors' Centre. This is Leicester's half term holiday week. (I know! The rest of country are about to have theirs but Leicester's holidays have been different for many years.) Anyway, during this half term week the area has seen a steady stream of visitors, young, old and all ages in-between.

On Wednesday, I spent a most enjoyable morning chatting with visitors, signing books and helping the Cathedral staff cut out coloured paper shapes so that visiting children could make a Tudor Rose. The children made some amazing Tudor Roses and I had some fascinating discussions with parents, grandparents and, in one case, great-grandparents whose great granddaughter knew the route round the Visitors Centre and Cathedral so well she was leading them.
"Is it lunchtime yet?" asked a weary great granddad.

A big thanks to Andy Heafford from the Leicester Cathedral for organising the morning and I have a momento of the occasion, a lovely photograph taken by a member of staff showing me signing a book for the Richard III Visitors' Centre.

A 'Beyond Busy' Week

Sometimes weeks are beyond busy. Those kinds of weeks slay me and have me grabbing a duvet day before I can face any more. Today is that duvet day. I’m sneezing and coughing and the activities of the week are rolling round in my head so I thought it might help to share them with you now.

On Monday it was the first day of my second year at University studying for my MA in Creative Writing. The first year was very much theory based. This year is all about work-shopping our writing. I hit the ground running. We had to post up a poem onto Blackboard, the dedicated website, by Thursday teatime. No problem, you might think but…

Leicester is celebrating an Everybody’s Reading Festival this week so I was part of a poetry-reading group with the Soundswrite Poetry Group one evening and I was on a panel of writers at The Leicester Writers’ Club talking about using social media to reach readers on another evening. Still no problem, you might be thinking but…

This week we are celebrating the Jewish Festival of Succot. It’s a bit like a harvest festival. Outdoor booths or huts, called Succahs, are built with rough frames and lots of greenery and branches covering them. You’re meant to eat out there. It’s been rather a wet week but at least I managed some Kiddush wine and honey cake in the one at the Synagogue.

I then settled down to finish my poem and post it up but remember this has been a week that I describe above as ‘beyond busy’ so you won’t be surprised to hear that Blackboard denied me access, refused to accept my password, told me I was illegal. I know that I’m not illegal and I told the technical support desk as much over the phone.

It’s all sorted now and I’m tucked up on the settee, reading a book called ‘You Can’t Make This Stuff Up’ by Lee Gutkind. It’s all about creative non-fiction and it’s going to help me with my dissertation about which you will definitely be hearing more during the year and that’s a promise.

An Elephant in Town

The other day I popped into town to buy a few bits and pieces. My first stop was Boots on Leicester's busy Gallowtree Gate but as I approached the store I couldn't help noticing an elephant moving along majestically. It's trunk was swinging and its body swaying as it glided towards me.

Ok, so it wasn't a real elephant but it made me stop and smile. I was intrigued. I was attracted by the sound of Indian music. My purchases from Boots would have to wait. At the Clock Tower a troupe of acrobatic dancers were flipping and flying through the air. Their movements were accomplished. The music was rousing. I stood on tiptoes to see over the heads of the crowd. The atmosphere was good. Everyone was smiling and clapping.

A stage on Humberstone Gate was attracting another crowd. I made my way past the Haymarket and watched as dancers moved their arms, telling stories with their hands. Then the presenter introduced the next act shown in the picture below. He was a singer whose voice was clear and beautiful, leaping up and down the scales in a hypnotic way.

I turned back towards the Clock Tower. Now there were youngsters dancing. They were throwing coloured powder into the air. The wind caught the powder and the crowd became speckled with blue and red. I laughed, cleaned my glasses with a tissue and moved on. In the newly created Market Square there were drummers. I stood and watched, feeling each drumbeat vibrating in the air.

As I returned along Granby Street I was offered Masala tea which was rich and spicy. The first sip caught my throat. The man who had served me smiled. Would I rather have orange juice, he asked, but I persisted and I'm glad I did. The tea gave me a warm glow. I may go and buy some to make at home but I suspect it would never taste as good as it did that afternoon from a paper beaker in the middle of town.

These events were part of Leicester's Night of Festivals to celebrate the spirit of South Asia and mark the 70th anniversary of Pakistan and Indian independence.

Me and Distance Driving…

…Pathetic but true

I have been driving for over 50 years (yes, I'm that old!). This means that I’ve had more than enough time to hone the craft and I am fine around town but distance driving has never been my strength. Last weekend I visited family in North Manchester. I’ve done it before but will I ever be brave enough to do it again? It was so traumatic that I need to share the experience, by way of therapy. Please don’t feel obliged to read to the end. This one’s for me!

The Journey there: I thought I’d try a different route, avoid the dreaded M6, so I went up the M1 and over the top of Sheffield. That’s a pretty road, especially where it crosses the Pennines. I even pulled over on a lay-by for a few minutes to admire the view. I wouldn’t have done that if I’d known what was round the next corner. I’d never heard of the village Tintwhistle before. I have now. I spent almost an hour crawling towards Tintwhistle and then through Tintwhistle and then out the other side of Tintwhistle.

The Journey home: I was resigned to taking the dreaded M6 route but thankfully the motorway was clear… clear for the M6, that is. I transferred from M6 to A500 feeling smug until I reached the A50. There is a large roundabout on that road with signs saying how many lorries have overturned there during the year. That weekend I don’t suppose any lorries were about to overturn because the road beyond was shut, barred with red and white striped barriers.

Any seasoned traveller would have stopped and reassessed. I panicked. I went round the roundabout and drove back the way I had come. I had crazy thoughts of driving back to Manchester but knew that wasn’t an option. I drove all the way back to the M6. I drove South to the A5. I drove through a place called Cannock. I drove through numerous other places that I had never been to before. I was gripping the steering wheel, ‘rabbit in headlights’ mode. I should have stopped. Why didn’t I stop? I drove on for four hours. When I got home I sat on the settee with a substantial whisky and didn’t move for several hours. That night I had flashbacks of red and white striped barriers. Pathetic but true.

Thank you for allowing me to off-load.

Fledgling Alert

So there I was, pegging out the washing, with Charlie the Cat looking on, when the garden became filled with a-screaming and a-squawking. It was a family of blackbirds, mummy, daddy and an unsteady fledgling. The fledgling had come closer to us than it should have done. Mummy and daddy blackbirds were screaming,

      "Get away from the human!" 

      "Avoid the cat at all costs!" 

but the fledgling didn't understand or maybe it was going through that teenage stage of thinking that it knew best.

By now Charlie's taste buds had been whetted. Cats will be cats, I'm afraid. She went into hunting mode, started to creep across the path towards the fledgling but the parents were having none of it. They went for Charlie, pecking at her head and neck. Charlie, who is not as young as she used to be and is now rather small and skinny, fled to a safe place under an acer bush but the blackbirds continued their screaming until I ran out, scooped Charlie up and brought her into the house.

Mummy and daddy blackbird are now sitting in strategic positions calling to the fledgling. I hope it makes it. It doesn't deserve to end up in Charlie's mouth. So far, so good. Charlie has fallen asleep in the house and the blackbirds are still busy outside.

This photo of mummy blackbird on the corner of the shed roof is blurred. It was taken from a distance. I decided that the birds had had enough trauma for one morning.

A Memorial After 72 Years

It is some time since I mentioned the Jewish Gilroes Cemetery website. This does not mean that it is being neglected. On the contrary. As well as keeping it up to date - sadly several members of the community have died since we completed the project - there is also the chance to add to the stories about those people buried there.

Sometimes a very special story comes along and I feel privileged to be the one to bring it to light. It has been written by a very old friend of mine. We both grew up in the small Leicester Jewish community but he moved to Israel and I stayed in Leicester. Recently he told me about an amazing series of incidents that resulted in him going to Berlin for a greatly belated memorial service to his grandparents and the presentation of a very special gift. It's heartwarming to hear about the kindnesses that people do, especially when the news is so filled with cruelties.

I don't want to say any more about his story here because he tells it so well himself. I hope you've got a few minutes to go and read this very special story here: A Memorial After 72 Years

I Have Happy Feet

There's nothing that lifts the spirits more than a bit of escapism and that's what we got yesterday. We went to see 42nd Street at London's Drury Lane Theatre and I have to say that 'escapism' is an understatement. If you get the chance to go then please do. Compared to the film, they paint the love story angle with a very light brush. On the other hand, to continue a painting analogy, the dance sequences are produced in primary, poster-paint colours. They are amazing, truly stunning, a stage full of glittering, tap-dancing stars, all moving in perfect formation, in perfect time with the music. There are fabulous stage effects too, one uses a mirror lowered slowly onto the stage to change the effects of the sequence-style routine. You've got to go and see it, really!

I could enthuse about the dancing all day but there's more. The Victorians really knew how to design a theatre. The ceilings and walls are so highly decorated that as soon as you step into the Drury Lane you feel as if you've entered a fantasy land. It sets the scene so perfectly for this kind of show.

During the interval, in the queue for the ladies, a young girl wearing a pretty, red party frock was tapping away, throwing her arms around, twirling her skirt.

"Do you have tap lesson?" I asked.

"No," she said looking at her mother longingly.

It reminded me of when I was a kid. I used to pretend I could tap dance. I'll let you into a secret, between you and me, I still do, in the kitchen when there's no one else around. Those dance routines yesterday had me wanting to get up and dance just like when I was a kid. I'm convinced that tap dancing is inside every excited young girl and it stays there as we grow old. We just learn to hide it - most of the time.

I'm adding below a link to the official site where you can get a taster of the show with all those famous songs including We're in the Money, The Lullaby of Broadway, Keep Young and Beautiful, I Only Have Eyes For You and of course, 42nd Street.

42nd Street Musical

Cat Update: I've taken both cats off that medication (see previous post) and I have my happy, relaxed girls back again. I've spoken to the vet and he's agreed we keep a low-key eye on them and let them get on with their lives without being dosed up to their little feline eyeballs.

MA Update: Crikey! (polite expletive replacing what I really was thinking!) I've only got another two weeks before I hand in my assignment and I'm barely halfway through it. Best be going...

A Masterclass from Bali Rai

The MA in Creative Writing at the University of Leicester joined together with Literary Leicester today to bring us an inspiring masterclass presented by Bali Rai.

Bali Rai was born in Leicester. He grew up in a multi-cultural, multiracial community, an experience that has had a definite influence on his writing. His first book was the best selling (Un)Arranged Marriage and he went on to become one of the UK's most successful YA authors. Today we were given a glimpse into his writing world, a chance to see how he has become so successful in his craft.

Bali Rai's enthusiasm was infectious

"All humans are nosey parkers," he told us. We must make sure that our audience wants to know more. We must elicit in them first sympathy and then empathy for our characters. Throughout the afternoon he kept bringing us back to this point, to considering who our audience is when we are writing. How we can connect with the audience became his mantra.

He stressed how important it is to analyse each section, each paragraph. Every sentence needs to be there for a reason. If it doesn't have a reason then get rid of it and make sure all the content will connect with the audience. 

How well do we know our characters? He asks his characters questions about their habits, desires, emotions. Only when he knows the characters really well can he portray them in a three-dimensional way. Only then will they connect with the audience.

He dropped in many pieces of advice as he spoke, sharing lessons that he had learnt from experience. The beginning of a novel is the hardest and most important to get right. Character is more important than setting. If you find yourself staring at a blank screen then turn it off and take a break. And yes, as a writer he believes in ghosts. Why be rational? You're a creative writer! 

"Everything comes back to connection with the audience," he reminded us and he practiced what he preached. For this afternoon we were his audience and he certainly connected with us. We were with him all the way.