Keith Sheppard's Blog

Bring back the grammar police

2011-05-18T11:12:00.001+01:00

What's with this modern habit of gluing words together for no valid reason? I have a suspicion that it's born out of a generation who had no training in formal grammar.

I just picked up a leaflet from my local Focus DIY store advertising a discount card for the over fifty-fives. Do they not realise that their target audience is the last bastion of formal grammar and a generation likely to contain more than its fair share of linguistic pedants?

The leaflet tells me that if I apply for a card I can enjoy "10% off with this card everyday" Er, no. "Everyday", when written as a single word, is an adjective meaning run-of-the-mill, commonplace. The word "everyday" carries connotations of being a bit dull or boring. I don't think that's what they meant. No, Focus, it should be "10% off with this card every day" - two words

The leaflet then goes on to encourage me to "apply instore today". By now, I am resisting the urge to scream. This has to be my biggest pet hate of them all. Who was it who decided it was OK to write "instore" as one word? The OED only admits to the existence of the hyphenated form "in-store". This can be used as an adjective or, according to OED, as an adverb. I suppose it parses as an adverb in the context used in the store leaflet but "instore" isn't even a word. At the very least it should be hyphenated but why even that? What's wrong with "apply in store today"?

I know language is constantly changing but there's usually a sort of logic to it, and it's normally driven by spoken usage. Writing "everyday" when you really mean "every day" is just a mistake, plain and simple. I am confident that if you asked the author of this leaflet to read it out there would be that almost imperceptible pause between "every" and "day" that implies it to be two separate words. As for "instore" why is it OK to join these two words but not others? Would it be OK for me to write that I am composing this blog entry athome?

Yes, language is changing, but is that an excuse to throw away all the rules and write things any way we please? Personally, I think there have to be some rules. Without them, I might have chosen to write "anyway we please" in the first sentence of this paragraph, and that would have meant something else entirely.

I think I'd like to start a subversive movement. I encourage you all to join. Whenever you see missing spaces on signs outside shops (can you see something that's missing? I guess so) correct them in felt tip pen. Cross out erroneous apostrophes and ink in the missing ones. There's a billboard in my home town advertising "tattoo's by Seth" that upsets me so much whenever I drive through that it distracts me from my driving. Perhaps I should make a stand and cross out the apostrophe. Even my local medical centre has one: "please respect other patient's privacy", begging the question which other patient?

Or am I the last of a dying breed and I should just let the younger generation get on with it, flouting the rules of grammar and punctuation without let or hindrance?

Towards a Homogenised Society?

2010-03-09T11:39:00.002Z

Yesterday, in Waitrose, I chanced across a bottle marked "traditional" milk. Could it be? Yes! The label confirmed it. Unhomogenised. What joy.

I have always thought of homogenised milk as one of the scourges of modern life, depriving us of such simple pleasures as top of the milk on your breakfast cereal. I remember with fondness the breakfast times of my youth, racing my siblings to see who could get to the bottle first; berating any adult thoughtless enough to invert the bottle before opening it.

I grabbed the bottle (not too harshly, don't want to shake it) and nestled it into my trolley. This morning, once more, I was able to delight in my simple childhood pleasure. As I did so, though, I started to ponder on the parallels between milk and other aspects of life. Has society itself become too homogenised?

These days, it seems, we fear and discourage the exceptional and celebrate the mundane - the "norm". The education system is the worst culprit and has slowly been promoting the cult of the mediocrity for years. Even as long ago as when my children were at school, the different sets of kids were not labelled A, B, C but using successive letters in the school's name, because they didn't want any children to think of themselves as, say, an E and therefore a failure. I suspect you had to be in the bottom ten percent of the E set for that subterfuge actually to work but the idea behind it was an early symptom of the desease of homogenisation.

Today, inter-school sports competitions are considered subversive as they may be disheartening for the losers. So called celebrity TV reality shows abound with celebrities whose only claim to fame, that I can discern, is that they are famous. The media world rejoices in the number of channels now available through digital TV without, apparently, the slightest concern about the quality of programmes broadcast by those channels. Everywhere you look, mediocrity abounds and society is gradually turning a homogenised shade of grey.

Cream always rises to the top, they say. That hasn't applied to milk for many years. How long before it ceases to apply in the figurative sense too?

The Book Signing

2010-03-01T13:53:00.000Z

Well that's it. My first book signing completed. I have finally arrived as a writer? Er, maybe not. This writing business is a real roller coaster of triumphs and knock backs. Read on for one writer's experiences of trying to climb the slippery pole...

When I first started this writing malarkey I used to think that getting published was the holy grail. Get published and you had made it as a writer. Actually, that's not entirely true. When I first started writing, getting published wasn't even on the radar. I wrote my first book because it had to be written. Only when I'd finished, and ended up with something I reckoned was on the "really-quite-good" side of "not-bad", did my thoughts turn to the publishing world. I was confident publishers would be queuing up to help me unleash my masterpiece on the eagerly awaiting public. How naive can you get?

Dozens of rejection slips later, the truth finally dawned on me. There was more to getting published than just writing a decent book. This was a commercial business, not a literary club. The book had to be good, yes, that goes without saying but that, on its own, wasn't enough. Unless you had a "name" then you either needed something so gob-smackingly unique it was going to take the world by storm (and I'm not even sure those types of books exist) or you had to have the right product at the right time. I crawled back under my stone and continued to write more books that had to be written but which, I accepted, probably very few people would ever read.

My luck changed about eighteen months ago when my wife came home and told me that some director called Tim Burton was making a new Alice film so why didn't I try sending out my Alice book manuscript again. Older, wiser and considerably more cynical, I tried again without much optimism but, to my enormous surprise, the book got picked up - not by one of the big publishers, it was a small independent but, nevertheless, it was real publishing. There was someone out there with enough faith in my product that they were going to use their money to publish my book. Finally I had made it as a writer. I had achieved the holy grail. I was to be a published author. How naive can you get?

I now started to learn that being published isn't a goal. It is a step on the ladder - and only the bottom rung at that. The next problem I had to face was that no one had ever heard of me. The publisher, bless him, does his best but in all honesty he doesn't have any more publicity resources than I do. I badgered the local press and they promised to write and publish a review, but didn't. I approached the local radio offering my witty repartee, free of charge, as a chat show guest. I even had an "angle" - the problems facing the new author in a competitive publishing market, but my offers fell on deaf ears. I did manage to mention on an Anne Diamond phone-in that I had had a book published, and she was obligingly interested, but I was too startled, polite and embarrassed actually to mention the title. Some publicist I'm turning out to be.

The only places I achieved minor successes was with the local libraries, schools and bookshops. It was the local bookshop who offered me my next big break. Last Saturday, with everyone talking about the imminent premiere of the Tim Burton film, they were kind enough to organise a book signing for me. Last week, their entire shop window was taken up with my book. There were advertising banners, tee shirts and dozens of copies on display, covers outwards. I have never walked down the high street so many times in one week. I had butterflies every time I saw someone peering in the window. The shop was advertising my product and I was to spend Saturday afternoon servicing a queue of eager readers just itching to get an early signed example from the upcoming, and soon to be famous, new author. How naive can you get?

Saturday afternoon arrived. It was raining and there was an England rugby match on the telly. I sat, smiling beatifically at those few customers who passed. It was over half an hour before any customer actually spoke to me. At the end of the afternoon, I asked the manager what her expectations had been. She was kind but clearly a little disappointed. She said the public were fickle, such occasions could be very variable, and one might sell as many as fifty or as few as a dozen. We both politely avoided mentioning the fact that I had only sold seven. I enjoyed the experience but it was a humbling one. Divide seven book royalties by the two and a half hours I spent there and the hourly rate is humiliating. Yet I would not have missed it for the world. It was seven books I would not otherwise have sold and the thrill you get the first time someone comes up to you, someone you don't know but who has nevertheless forked out their hard earned money for your book and now wants you to sign it, that is undescribable.

I think I am slowly coming down to earth and my targets are more realistic. I would like to make enough money in royalties to cover the cost of the hundred author copies I optimistically ordered, nearly half of which remain unsold. I don't think that's far away. I have already recovered the cost of the illustrations I commissioned before I secured my publishing deal. Beyond that, I would like to earn enough to finance the up front self-publication costs of a collection of comic verse that no one, not even my current publisher, seems remotely interested in but which I think I could sell in modest numbers off the back of my school and library visits.

I would like to become interesting enough, or well enough known, for the local radio to show some interest. Local publicity is going well with gigs lined up in local schools and libraries but it would be nice to break out of the local area a bit. The Oxford Alice shop has apparently ordered twenty copies, which is a start.

I guess the next target is for sales to get into four figures, but that is going to be a struggle. There is still a small voice inside that keeps telling me that one day, just maybe, I will hit the big time - attract queues at book signings, creep into the lower echelons of the best sellers list, get talked about in literary circles. But then there's another, slightly louder, voice inside that keeps saying "how naive can you get?"

Alien abduction of buffalo

2009-11-03T14:38:00.000Z

According to local radio, a Berkshire resident has witnessed aliens abducting buffalo from a farm in Overton, near Basingstoke.

My initial reaction was "why buffalo?". Could this be a case of mistaken identity? Perhaps, if you're an alien, all earth life looks much the same. I can imagine the conversation now...

"We have tuned in to your radio and TV broadcasts. We know you are an intelligent species so take us to your leader."

"Moo"

"Moo? Lieutenant Zog, run that through the ship computer's language analyser. What's he saying?

Of course, I could have got it completely wrong. Maybe aliens are just excessively fond of mozzarella.

Five Ages of Man

2009-08-03T14:12:00.000+01:00

The five ages of man (or woman)

Childhood: My parents are always right.

Teenage: My parents are always wrong.

Maturity: My parents are sometimes right, sometimes wrong.

Middle Age: I have to tell my parents what's right and what's wrong.

Old Age: My parents, God bless them, were probably right all along.

Finding an illustrator

2009-06-12T15:10:00.000+01:00

Suddenly my publishing project has got real. I have hired an illustrator. In the process I have discovered there's one thing worse than being rejected (something with which we authors are all too familiar) and that's having to reject someone else.

When my first possible illustrator fell through, I was quite down for a while. In retrospect it had all been too easy. I had stumbled across a young art student on the recommendation of an internet friend, and everything seemed hunky dory at first. The only downer was he was often a bit tardy responding to my emails. Finally he admitted the reason was he didn't really have time for the project - well at least he told me before it was too late.

It took me a few weeks to pick myself up and have another go. I was finally inspired to take action when I had a couple of recommendations from contacts on the Lewis Carroll discussion group on Yahoo. In the event, finding an illustrator turned out to be a much less painful process than I had expected - at least, in some respects.

By this time I had become aware of a number of web sites where you could post projects inviting tenders from folks all over the world. I was a bit intimidated by the idea but decided I had nothing to lose as the site I had chosen made it clear the service was free to the "employer". So I went ahead.

In only a few days I had received more than 20 offers. These seemed to be divided into two categories. Some were from professional design studios, or full time designers, who had mistaken my budget of "up to 500 dollars" as being per picture rather than for the whole project. One studio, who had correctly interpreted my budget, took the trouble to write and tell me off for offering such a derisory sum but I was vindicated by the other responses. The majority of the responses were from individuals who were more than happy to take on the whole project for sums considerably less than my asking price.

Typically these were art teachers, students or others for whom this was a little bonus on the side rather than their bread and butter. They were darned good artists, though. A browse through their portfolios revealed some stunningly good pictures and illustrations. I was genuinely spoiled for choice. Meanwhile, one of my Caroll group contacts had also got back to me with some pretty good artwork and an unbelievable level of enthusiasm - at times I thought this lady had more confidence in, and enthusiasm for, the project than I had.

It was a really difficult choice but I finally had to go with an art teacher from New York. Her sample sketch of a scene from my first chapter was the closest to my mind's eye picture and the other artwork in her on-line portfolio convinced me she was more than good enough for the job. Oh yes. That was something else I got ticked off for. Apparently it was against the rules of the web site to ask prospective illustrators to provide a sample. I was supposed to go purely on their portfolios - though how I was supposed to tell from their illustrations of other things how they would interpret my Alice, I don't know. Anyway, against the rules or not, I got away with it. Several of those who tendered for my project did provide a rough sketch of my "Alice and dog" scene and it was these sketches which helped me most in making my final choice.

So what was the hard part? Saying no to those clearly very talented and enthusiastic artists who didn't win the contract. I didn't have time to respond to all but I felt I owed it to those who had so nearly made it, particularly the lady from the Yahoo group. Call me an overly sensitive old what's it but I find it really hard having to turn people down, particularly if they are clearly so enthusiastic. I'd rather have a dozen publishers' rejection letters any day than have to write one myself. I wonder if publishers and agents find it similarly agonising. Nah. They have to write so many, they must be immune to it.

Book launch? Help!

2009-04-20T09:26:00.001+01:00

I just started to dip my toe into the things you need to do to launch a self-published book onto an unsuspecting world and frightened the life out of myself.

You need a press release. OK, fair enough, but where can I find out what a good one of those looks like? What should go in it and who to send it to? I guess none of these problems is unsurmountable but it looks like I'm committed to a good deal more research here.

Then you need a book-launch party? A what? Does that mean party in the sense of drunk people in the kitchen debating how to set the world to rights; Mrs B girating seductively in the lounge, bouncing all her wobbly bits, whilst Mr B stands, dejected, in front of her, his hands held slightly higher than normal occasionally bending his knees not quite in time to the music. It takes you the next day and a half to tidy the house and the next fortnight to finish off all the opened bottles of cheap plonk. Are we talking one of those sorts of parties?

Why? I expect most of my friends will buy my book even if I don't invite them to a party and I don't know anyone in the publishing industry. That's the problem. Who on earth should I invite to a book launch party and why on earth should I suppose anyone who matters would have the slightest interested in turning up?

Interviews in the local media. Maybe. I occasionally phone in to the local radio station. I wonder if they'll remember me enough to be interested in my imminent book release. Probably not. They say you need to start planning six months in advance. It all seemed so possible when it was tomorrow's problem but six months before release is getting horribly close to the time I generally think of as "now". It seems almost pointless contacting anyone in the media six months in advance. By the time the book is actually released they will have forgotten all about me.

It's clear I have a lot to learn in the next nine months or so. I'm planning on a February launch so, if this were a human baby, the gestation period has just started. What a frightening thought. I have found a lot of very general information out there but the devil is in the detail. Help! And I mean that most sincerely, folks.

The publishing game

2009-04-16T12:56:00.000+01:00

This week I sent, to a select group of UK publishers, what I believe to be the last submissions of my Alice manuscript - ever. There's actually a part of me (and like most parts of me these days, it's growing) that hopes these submissions will be rejected.

The selected publishers were the last three stragglers in the Writers' and Artists' Yearbook who are prepared to consider unagented submissions and who don't explicitly discourage either children's or fantasy or both. Why do I not continue to try via agents? Is it because I fear these modern day bouncers at the publishing club door will turn me away as unsuitably dressed or, for some equally trivial reason, not the sort of person they want to admit to their industry? Well it's partly that and partly down to a question of time. To have any chance of even modest success I believe my book launch should be timed to coincide with the release of Tim Burton's new Alice film.

I have severe doubts whether the lumbering dinosaur of a commercial publishing house is capable of moving sufficiently quickly to achieve that objective in the ten and a bit months remaining. Some of them, I understand, can take almost that long just to decide whether to take on a manuscript. Introduce the additional delay of going via an agent and the project is doomed.

I am also, like many writers today, becoming disillusioned with the whole publishing industry. The problem is right there, in that second word: "industry". It is a business so who can blame them, especially in these troubled times, for rating every incoming manuscript using the single selection criterion "how much money can I make out of this?". I would too if my livelihood depended on it. Unfortunately quality of manuscript and commercial viability don't necessarily go hand in hand - and I don't think that's just sour grapes.

It was brought home to me by my most encouraging and, simultaneously, most painful, rejection a few weeks back. A major UK publishing house wrote and told me they thought my book was an excellent pastiche, very well written, and of a genre very much in vogue at the moment. Despite all that, they felt unable to publish it because items of that nature, apparently, only sell well off the name of a celebrity author. Doesn't that just about say it all? It doesn't matter how good your product, if you've not got a name then you aren't going to get anywhere.

So how does anyone break into this closed shop? To be honest, I don't know. You've clearly got to be lucky, or know someone, and have a book which is more than merely good. It has to knock a reader off their seat but commercially. The reader, be they agent or publisher, needs to see pounds and dollars in front of their eyes either because your work hits whatever nerve is in vogue this (or, to be more accurate, next) year or because they see a constant stream of saleable merchandise from the same stable.

The losers in this game are those who's books are merely very good, those whose work isn't "commercial" for any reason and those who are likely to be one-book-wonders (no matter how brilliant that one book might be). The other losers are the reading public who might actually have liked the good-but-not-so-saleable, the books that don't happen to conform to whatever here-today-gone-tomorrow fad is flavour of the month.

So why am I almost hoping for rejection? Partly it's that time question again. If a commercial publisher were to take me on now, would the product get to market in time to catch the bow wave of publicity from the film? Quite likely not. I understand that, in the case of new or untried writers, the lion's share of the responsibility for publicising a book rests with the author rather than the publishing house. I'm none too sure how to achieve that without the film to lean on. Which is better, to be commercially published and shown to be a failure than never to have been published at all?

The other part is that I have convinced myself I actually want to have a go at publishing myself. It sounds like an adventure. If it all goes pear shaped then, at worst, I will have lost a few hundred quid. It's probably no more than, say, a golfer here in the South East would spend in a year on his hobby. The only drawback I can see is that moment when you admit to someone that you published it yourself. I have a feeling that, in some people's eyes, that's only one step up from child molesting, but that's their problem, not mine. If I sell a couple of dozen copies at least that's twenty-odd people (not too odd, I hope) who will read my work. If sales get into the hundreds I shall be ecstatic and into the thousands? Well let's not even go there. It would be like planning what to do after you win the lottery.

I even have this dream, if it all goes well, that I shall publish further titles and not necessarily all my own. I quite fancy the idea of becoming a publisher myself.

In the likely event that the latest submissions come to nothing, it is my intention to maintain a journal, in this blog, of my learning curve and the ups and downs on the path to self publishing my book. I plan to do it properly - getting my own ISBNs, illustrations, design etc. I certainly won't be investing in any of these £700+ DIY publishing packages. Anything that expensive would torpedo any chances of showing a modest profit.

If this an area of interest to you then please follow along for the ride. If you have already trodden this path before then your contributions and experiences would be welcome. Follow me on Twitter (WriterManUK) to keep posted on updates to this blog.

Cerrie Burnell

2009-02-24T10:18:00.000Z

I was appalled to learn that some parents are apparently objecting to the BBC's decision to employ disabled presenter, Cerrie Burnell, to host programmes for young children.

Astonishingly, some parents are so psychologically disabled themselves that they cannot find a way to explain to their kids that, in nature, not everything turns out the same size, shape and colour - that people are natural things and, unfortunately, not everyone comes out absolutely perfect. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the children of these repressed parents are also psychologically damaged to the extent that they are frightened by the sight of Ms Burnell.

At last I understand how we managed to breed a generation of Eurocrats who believe in the value of straight cucumbers. I guess it's the same philosophy as objecting to organic apples because they're not all the same shape (incidentally, what do you call the other sort of apples - inorganic?).

Presumably these same parents would also be objecting if a disabled child were to join their offspring's nursery school or playgroup. Perhaps we should have more consideration for these unfortunate souls and pass legislation forcing all disabled people to stay at home, thus avoiding the possibility of scaring their sensitive sons and daughters.

Or maybe we should be doing the more sensible thing of seeking out these parents and gently persuading them not to have any more kids, or even to relinquish the ones they've already got, as they are clearly not up to the job of bringing them up.

Snow, snow. Quick, quick? No.

2009-02-02T10:43:00.000Z

If there's one thing we Brits have never quite got our head around, it's the fact that, occasionally, at this time of year, white slippery stuff falls out of the sky. It always takes us by surprise.

I woke up this morning to find most of the south east covered with a thin, but very pretty, white blanket. It's like a Chrismas card which has come about six weeks too late.

The list of school closures on the local radio goes on for several minutes. It would probably be quicker to list those that are open. There is stationary traffic in the main road outside my house. In fact, there's stationery traffic too. I spotted a W H Smith's lorry. The busses and local trains aren't running.

I am in the fortunate(?) position of being able to walk to work so I feel smugly superior as I effortlessly overtake the traffic queued on the A329. On my journey I pass several groups of school children who have set off prematurely. My route takes me past a number of bus stops, and a local railway station, where stranded passengers are talking anxiously on their mobile phones, trying to let offices or loved ones know they are going to be several hours late.

A Danish lady phoned the local radio station this morning. When she was a child, growing up in Denmark, her school never closed because of snow.

'In Denmark,' she tells us, 'we have a special word for this kind of weather. We call it "winter".'

An open letter to manufacturers of hair care products

2009-01-29T12:49:00.002Z

Picture this (not too vividly if you don't mind) - I'm standing in the shower, stripped of all my usual clothing including, significantly, my spectacles. I reach for one of your excellent hair care products. What is the most important information to me at this time?

Is it your branding? Much as you might like it to be, alas it is not. I already made the decision to purchase, several days ago, in the supermarket.

Is it that it's new and improved? Well, no. I was actually quite happy with the old formula, otherwise I wouldn't have bought your brand again. I do have an optimistic hope that if change it then it will be to improve it - although I accept it might just be a cost saving exercise.

Is it the fact that it contains ceramide B? If truth be told, I've never heard of ceramide B outside of your TV commercials and have only your word for it that it's any better for my hair than lard.

No. What I really want to know, more than anything else at this precise moment, is which of your identically styled bottles contains shampoo and which conditioner. Unfortunately, this information is consigned to a tiny font and is hidden somewhere near the bottom of the label.

Please spare a thought for your more myopic customers who all too frequently end up putting conditioner on unwashed hair. Let's have it nice and big and obvious - what's in the bottle.

Christmas Soaps

2009-01-07T15:14:00.000Z

Did your household's Christmas festivities get brought to a shuddering halt by that scourge of the modern British family Christmas, the Christmas holiday soaps?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not against Christmas TV on principle. It can help to fill the quiet periods or keep the children out of mischief. For those unfortunate enough to be on their own, it can be an invaluable public service.

A spot of light entertainment? Fine. You can even have it on in the background, if you must, whilst normal family life continues around it. A high profile film? Excellent idea. If it happens to hit a lull in the proceedings then the family can settle down to watch it together. If the party is in full swing, you can just let it go in the certain knowledge that it will be on again before too long. If you’re really keen you can always record it or rent it when the family have finally gone their separate ways.

Not so the soap. For those following any particular series, every episode is mandatory viewing lest some vital event be missed. The chances of anyone else wringing a crumb of entertainment from it are minimal. The witty one liners lose their sting, and the significance of those knowing looks evaporates, when you don’t even know who the characters are, who hates who (everyone hates someone in soap land) and what circumstances led to their current crises.

You can be assured, too, that every soap dweller's situation is one of perpetual crisis. Even during the supposedly happy festive season, practically everyone in soap land is thoroughly miserable. Perhaps this is supposed to make us ordinary folk feel more contented with our lot but, for the most part, it’s just plain depressing.

Recording the soaps isn’t an option because the episodes have to be watched in the correct order and in most cases there’s another one due along tomorrow. Once you start the recording game you’re into an ever increasing spiral of debt, like a painter on the Forth Bridge, desperately trying to catch up. Also, if it's for granny's benefit, you can bet your bottom dollar that she won't be able to play back whatever format of recording you use at home so you're committed to screening the lot before she leaves.

So, at the appointed hour, the TV has to go on and all other distractions must cease.

This Christmas Day was pretty typical, with back to back soaps monopolising many a living room from 6pm until 9:30 with just one, brief, half hour break. By the time that lot was all over, the magic must have evaporated in many households. "Quiet kids, Granny is trying to hear Coronation Street" is hardly conducive to the spirit of Christmas.

Most years I end up forced out of my own living room to do the washing up - an activity marginally more entertaining than Emmerdale. Come on ITV, don’t let the ratings war blind you to your obligations to British family life. BBC, we rely upon you to do what is right rather than what is commercial. Do you think we could possibly make next year a "soap-free" Christmas?

Christmas - Bah Humbig

2008-12-10T13:06:00.001Z

Christmas comes just once a year (thank heavens). Here's my contribution to the Christmas spirit. I call it Bah Humbug.

Christmas comes but once a year
Just as well, ‘cause more I fear
Would send me screaming up the wall
I couldn’t cope with it at all.

The panic, starts as I remember
Round the middle of November.
Rush and tear, the crowds, the cookin’
Jesus doesn’t get a look in.

A neighbour calls. She looks unflapped.
"My presents? They’re all bought and wrapped."
Then adds, with face as smug as Larry,
"The puds I made last January."

In every neighbourhood has he
Who thinks his house a Christmas tree
And buries it beneath a maze
Of gaudy flashing Santas’ sleighs.

The ad men say the world will end
If you do not go out and spend.
The shops perpetuate the lie:
It’s all about how much you buy.

And then those shops assault your ear
With tacky songs of Christmas chear.
Whilst products lined along the shelves
Are daubed with Santas, trees or elves¹.

"Stocking filler" Twenty quid?
Just who d’you think you’re trying to kid?
Stockings should hold simple things
Like sugar mice on candied strings.

"Who’s turn is it for Auntie Joan?"
"She cannot spend the day alone."
How is it our more aged guests
Get classified as household pests?

I do believe we’ve lost the plot
True Christmas spirit’s been forgot
Simple presents. Sing Wassail²
Help the meek, the poor, the frail.

Have a lovely Christmas day
But love thy neighbour³ on the way.
Enjoy yourself without a doubt.
Just don’t forget what it’s about.


	1		Even my milk had Santa on it last year. What's that all about?
	2		Traditional greeting, to which the traditional answer is "It’s a sort of beer you daft ha’p’th".
	3		Yes, even the one with the eight foot flashing reindeer on his roof.

Russell Brand and Jonathan Ross

2008-11-20T12:46:00.002Z

I was amused to see that OFCOM's web site, complaints section, is still sporting a notice to the effect that it has had over 1900 complaints about the Jonathan Ross & Russell Brand phone calls fiasco and implying that enough is enough. I would be fascinated to know how many of those now voicing their righteous indignation actually heard the offending (pun intended) broadcast.

I must confess that I didn't. However I did take the trouble to look up transcripts on the Internet before arriving at an opinion - unlike the lady who phoned my local radio station. After a tirade telling us how offensive, disgusting and un-funny Russell Brand was, she then admitted that she never actually listened to him - apparently changing the channel whenever he came on, because he was so offensive etc. I have a nasty feeling this is not atypical of the multitude champing at the bit to condemn Ross and Brand, preaching to anyone who'll listen about the "filth" they've heard about but not actually heard. There's nothing like a good bit of righteous indignation to clear out the sinuses and generally allow you to vent your disatisfaction with the world.

My first impression from the transcripts was that it was Ross who started it. I feel a bit sorry for Russell Brand. He's not the first epicene youth to be led astray by an older man and certainly won't be the last. OK, he went along with it but once banter like that gets going it's much harder to stop than it would have been not to start it in the first place.

Did they go too far? Quite possibly, but not so far OTT as to merit the furore now raging. It wasn't a huge amount more than you'd expect from two broadcasters at the forefront of the modern "shock to amuse" school of comedy. A little ill considered, perhaps. About the most intelligent comment I've seen from the hordes of critics is the rhetorical question "how would you feel if Russell Brand claimed, publicly, to have had sex with your granddaughter?" I'm assuming here it was the claim, rather than the sex, which was public.

It's a good question and worthy of consideration, so consider it I did. I don't actually have a granddaughter but I do have a daughter which is a similar sort of concept. My first reaction would, I think, be silly girl. You can't associate with the likes of Russell Brand unless you're prepared to end up under public scrutiny. My second reaction would be wow - look at all that publicity. How can I capitalise on that? I don't think taking deep offense would come very high on my list of priorities but then everyone's different.

Talking of publicity, hands up anyone who had actually heard of the Satanic Sluts before this scandal broke. No? I thought as much. Do you think their ticket sales are up or down as a result of this row? I rest my case.

Gunpowder, Treason and Plot

2008-11-03T17:33:00.002Z

With the imminent arrival of 5th November I thought it was about time for an educational account of what this bonfire night shenanigans was really all about. Read on for a humerous, but historically accurate, account of some goings on in 1605 - all in verse.

Gunpowder, Treason and Plot.

My story begins quite a long time ago
In the springtime of sixteen-oh-five.
When some angry young men vowed the king had to go,
They could no longer bear him alive.

	The reason that tempers were running so hot
	Amongst some of King James’ minions
	Was that he and a few of his subjects had got
	Wildly different religious opinions.

The king was a protestant man through and through,
And he drove all the catholics mad,
For his treatment of such folk, between me and you,
Was really a little bit bad.

	The leading dissenter was one Robert Catesby.
	His friends gathered round him and cried:
	'We agree James must go, so how long must the wait be?'
	Mr Catesby stood up and replied...

'Oh please do remember the fifth of November,'
'For that's when the evil King James'
'With his parliament sits. We shall blow them to bits.'
'We shall send the whole lot up in flames.'

	'It's a gem of a plan, but there's danger, that's why'
	'It's essential that nobody talks.'
	'And a gunpowder expert is needed, so I'
	'Have recruited some guy they call Fawkes.'

So Catesby and his group of like minded fellahs,
Who all bore the king the same malice,
Put their plan into action by renting some cellars
Which ran under Westminster Palace.

	Then into this pit the conspirators stowed
	Quite a number of barrels of powder.
	It was more than enough so that, should it explode,
	As bangs go, there are few would be louder.

Then, for the duration of summer recess,
The gunpowder plotters dispersed,
Believing the start of November was best
For powder kegs doing their worst.

	It was whilst the assassins were biding their time
	'Til parliament next was in session,
	That one of their number committed the crime
	Of careless unwise indiscretion.

It seems Francis Tresham's own brother in law
Was a member of parliament so
Of course Frankie warned him 'my lord I implore,'
'When the house reconvenes, please don't go.'

	'I hope you won't think that there's something awry,'
	'It's just that I think that it's best'
	'If you let the first day of the session go by.'
	'You look tired and in need of a rest.'

Young Frankie's relation, by name Lord Monteagle,
I'm sorry to say, smelt a rat.
'I'm sure,' he said, 'Frank's up to something illegal,'
'Else why should he speak out like that?'

	Suspicions thus roused, on the eve of the day
	That parliament met once again,
	A search of the buildings was put under way
	By some of King James' best men.

They searched and they searched to see what could be found.
They searched the whole place top to bottom.
If only they'd done it the other way round,
Then much quicker would they have got 'em.

	For down in the cellars, amongst all the rats,
	Was where the king's men apprehended
	The unfortunate Fawkes and his gunpowder vats,
	With which the king's life could be ended.

In those days, of course, people had no idea
Of a criminal's right to be silent.
Their questioning methods were sometimes, I fear,
A little bit gruesome and violent.

	And so it is only a matter of time
	Before our friend Guy Fawkes confesses,
	Revealing the nature of his would-be crime
	And accomplices names and addresses.

So that was the end of the violent schemes
Of Catesby and Winter and Wright
And others whose mark on our history, it seems,
Was giving us bonfire night.

	So please do remember the fifth of November,
	Gunpowder, treason and plot,
	When the guy they called Guy tried to blow them sky high,
	All that parliamentarian lot.

My Book on Authonomy

2008-10-17T18:04:00.001+01:00

I guess most blog writers are frustrated authors and I'm no exception. This is a shameless plug for my children's comedy novel "Fair-Eyes" which has just been posted on Harper Collins' "Authonomy" web site (http://www.authonomy.com).

I say children's novel but it's probably more appropriately described as "young adult" - say 12+ through to adult. It's kind of in the fantasy genre but not really. There are elves, it's true, but their society and foibles are just a thin disguise for a parody of our own society.

If this interests you at all, please take a mosey on down to Authonomy and take a look. If you like it then register with the site and put it on your bookshelf. The more people who do that, the higher my ranking.

To give you a flavour and whet your appetite, here's the "blurb"

"Saving a nation can be a tricky business at the best of times and being adopted by a pet dragon pup, who can cock its leg and melt a lamp post, really doesn’t help." [from "Once a Hippie" by Bartholomew Harvester, Books-Elf Publications].

Trapped by an underground rock fall, Eve and Paul stumble upon the bizarre world of the "Fair-eyes", a subterranean elf clan whose society and foibles are curiously reminiscent of our own.

The kidnap of a princess catapults the children into a desperate and dangerous rescue mission but is everything as it seems? Could the pathologically stupid Goblins really have hatched this plot on their own or are there darker forces at work? Was the princess the real target or is someone playing for even bigger stakes? Why do all your biros go missing and you keep finding unidentified keys at the back of the kitchen drawer?

Suspend your disbelief from a clean pair of suspenders and let’s go rescue a princess. She’s a celebrity for heaven’s sake. Get her out of there…

Long haul, but without the plane

2008-10-07T17:36:00.002+01:00

Arguably one of the most boring things in the entire universe is when folk regale you with a detailed account of their last holiday. It is perhaps a close run thing alongside what they dreamed last night or how well their kids are doing at university, but it's certainly up well up there in the yawn stakes.

I was therefore surprised, and not a little apprehensive, when approached by my firm's in-house magazine for a description of a trip earlier this year. Perhaps I should explain a little more. My nearest and dearest doesn't like flying. Indeed it would be more accurate to say that she doesn't fly. It's simply not an option. Any suggestions that she could overcome this by going on a course or taking therapy fall upon deaf ears. To her it is not an irrational fear to be surpressed with suitable training. It is a healthy survival instinct to be nurtured and encouraged.

This can be slightly limiting when it comes to holiday destinations but we were determined not to let it get in the way of our ambition to visit Morocco. Perhaps I should add that we live in the South of England. Most people seem to assume that such a journey cannot be achieved without the aid of an airoplane. Not so. I can now verify that not only is an airoplane entirely unnecessary but actually the journey is much more pleasurable without one. The journey becomes part of the holiday itself - a great adventure conducted at a pace reminiscent of a more leisurely age, with time to stop and smell the roses on the way.

It just so happened that the in-house magazine was doing a series on reducing your carbon footprint when they got wind of our plans. The notion of travelling overland to Morocco intrigued them sufficiently to generate the invitation.

I was determined this wasn't going to be the literary equivalent of imposing your holiday snaps on the neighbours so I decided it had to be funny, pithy and of general interest even to those who don't know me from Adam. What I had in mind was a Michael Palin style travelogue. Was I successful? Well the magazine editor was so enthusiastic he serialised my efforts over three issues. If you want to judge for yourself, you can find it here. If you follow the link at least you have chosen to read it so I can't be accused of inflicting it on anyone.

Off Road Vehicles

2008-09-23T11:59:00.004+01:00

After last week's carefully considered and factual review I have decided to continue the motoring theme this week, but with an unashamed rant.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve nothing against so called "off road vehicles" per se. I just think there’s a bit of a clue in the title as to where they belong.

I do understand some people genuinely need an off road vehicle. If you regularly drive across fields, pull a horse box (although I’d far rather you didn’t) or perhaps just live at the bottom of a very wet and muddy lane, there might be a case for owning one. You might then be justified in driving it on the roads occasionally. At least have the good grace, though, to leave a substantial quantity of mud and other unmentionables on the wheel arches as evidence of your credentials.

The ones which get up my nose are the pure status symbols – pristine shiny new ones on the morning school run or in Sainsbury’s car park. The closest these vehicles get to off road is on a front drive - no doubt in one of those front gardens concreted over in the belief that ease of maintenance is worth any adverse impact it may have on the land’s ability to absorb rain.

I would love to understand the rationale behind this vehicle choice. "What do you think dear? The Centurion Tank is maybe a tad expensive but perhaps one of these would provide you almost as much protection when you take the kids to school. Yes I know it uses a fair bit of fuel but think of all the extra Nectar points you’ll earn."

Are these vehicles intended to be the envy of other road users? How sadly misguided. If I wanted one I could get one, but until they decide to plough over the A329 or turn the M4 into a cart track I really don’t see a need. I’ve read a lot of banter about the right to make "life style choices". That’s only an absolute right when doesn’t impact other people. If I made a "lifestyle choice" to hold rock concerts in my back garden I would consider the neighbours’ objections thoroughly justified.

Why do I dislike them so? I don’t want to get into the environmental argument because I don’t know the figures, although I doubt you can get away with carting around that much metal without taking some sort of economy hit. They are ugly and too tall and bulky to see past easily. If they offer extra safety for the occupants it is at the expense of the safety of those on the outside. Most of all, though, I hate them for what they do to me. They inspire prejudice. I find myself looking down on the drivers (figuratively, of course – in practical terms you’ve no choice but to look up at someone perched five feet off the ground). Without ever meeting the driver, I decide they are shallow individuals for whom status is clearly far too important. In a way I feel sorry for them, and I feel bad about myself for making such judgements about someone I've never met.

If you have such a vehicle because you genuinely need one then I apologise. I may even have looked upon you with unjustified distain at some point. All I ask is that if you are considering buying one because you think it will make you look good, don’t. It won’t.

Toyota Prius T-Spirit

2008-09-17T16:14:00.010+01:00

These are my thoughts and reactions having had access to a Toyota Prius for 48 hours.

For those who don’t know, the Prius has a hybrid petrol/electric engine. That doesn’t mean you have to plug it into the mains. Indeed, you can’t. The battery recharges when running on petrol or when braking. It’s all computer controlled but basically it uses battery at low speeds, only switching to petrol for faster speeds or harder acceleration.

It’s nickname is the Toyota Pious, because it allows you to wear your green credentials on your sleeve. The model I was testing was the top of the range T-Spirit (cue Nirvana jokes).

The initial reaction of most people seemed to be surprise that it looked like a “real” car. I think there’s a misconception amongst those who have never met one that it’s some sort of novelty vehicle – a sort of high tech 2CV.

It’s a decent size, the build quality seemed good and it was very comfortable. For someone used to a manual gearbox the continuously variable transmission took a while to get used to but I’m talking minutes, not days. The foot operated “hand brake” was also a bit of a surprise and difficult to locate the first few times.

I was expecting it to be a little sluggish. It isn’t. A sports car it’s not, but it takes off pretty well if you do feel the need to put your foot to the floor. For less aggressive driving it’s smooth and quiet.

The intelligent parking assist is only really of novelty value. It took me several goes to get the hang of it and even then it seemed more hard work than parking manually. It’s also just a little bit paranoid. On the few occasions I did get it right, it sometimes cancelled itself because (apparently) my speed was to high. That’s even though I only took my foot off the brake and didn’t apply any accelerator. If it’s so fussed about speed, and if it can take control of the steering wheel, why can’t it just limit my speed rather than going on strike if I go too fast?

The rear view TV display is nice but all those red, green and yellow lines are just confusing. I tried to read in the manual what they all mean but my eyes started to glaze over.

There’s plenty of room inside to accommodate four adults comfortably. I didn’t try five but it would probably be OK provided you’re not travelling too far.

Whether you rate the boot as large or small seems to depend on what you’re used to. Compared with my old Vectra it was tiny. You could be pushed to fit in luggage for four adults on a holiday break. This is mainly because the floor is at bumper level to accommodate the spare wheel and some of the electrics. A removable cover gives access to a bit more space under the boot floor but that makes the luggage area a strange shape, not having a flat base.

Particularly liked:

“Star-trek” style central console with touch screen. This is used for Sat Nav display, control of the audio system and climate control, or it can display an animated image to show power source and power routing.
Voice control of some functions. As well as the novelty value this could help keep your eye on the road because it allows several functions to be controlled from one easy-to locate button on the steering wheel. You can say things like "18 degrees" to set the climate control, "radio" to turn on the radio and "louder" to turn it up. The repertoire of commands is perhaps a little limited and it would be nice to be able to add your own. The voice saying "say your command now" would have quickly driven me up the wall but thankfully I found a menu option to turn it off.
Rear facing camera providing full colour display of what’s immediately behind you when reversing.
Large number digital speedometer (switchable between MPH and KPH).
Fuel economy. Driving back and forth to work for a couple of days (all urban driving) I averaged just a smidgen under 50 mpg (see also conclusions below).
Total silence when you come to a halt at traffic lights and the engine shuts down. It somehow makes your contribution to a cleaner atmosphere all the more real.

Disliked:

Rear spoiler cuts a horizontal line across the view through the rear view mirror.
‘Er indoors said she banged her knees on the underside of the dashboard when adopting her preferred driving position.
Sat Nav won’t accept full 7 character post codes. After (e.g.) RG41 1 you then have to select street and house number, which is fine if you know it but a pain if you don’t.
Continuous beeping when in reverse. If a continuous warning tone is necessary then something less penetrating (like the “ping” of a lift) would be preferable. Toyota please note: the "ping" you get when the auto-park finishes would have been a much better choice.
The car’s paranoia. The display console frequently shows warnings to which you have to touch “I agree” or similar. After the first time round you don’t read them anyway and the distraction of having to dismiss the screen can end up being more dangerous than whatever it was it was trying to warn you about.
Flimsy cloth cover to boot area.
I could have missed something but I couldn’t find a way to leave the radio/cd playing to entertain a passenger without leaving a key in the vehicle.
Small boot area. I know I’ve already said that but really deserves repeating as it’s my main reservation about the vehicle.

Conclusions:

In the end, I think the plusses outweighed the minuses. It’s a decent sized family car with a performance which will only disappoint if you are a “boy racer”. You cannot argue with the fuel economy even though I couldn’t achieve the manufacturer’s suggested figures.

If you are a (UK) company car driver it could save you a fortune in income tax because of the tax breaks for “green” vehicles. If you own one yourself I believe the annual road fund tax is an incredibly low £15.

If you frequently drive into town, it’s currently exempt from the London Congestion Charge although you do have to pay an annual fee (currently £10) to register. However I hear rumours that Boris may have a plan to stop this concession so don't count on it continuing forever.

Add to that the fuel economy (who knows what the future holds for the price of petrol and diesel) and the savings could be substantial. The sums will vary with personal circumstances but I’m anticipating a saving of around £80 per month (fuel and tax combined) compared with my old Vectra. On top of that there is the thought that you are doing your bit to conserve resources and protect the atmosphere.

Given the economics I think I might be prepared to be a bit more creative when packing for a weekend away with friends.

Why blog?

2008-09-17T15:25:00.003+01:00

OK, here are my excuses for starting blogging at a stage in life where I really ought to know better. It might give you some insight into why I'm here and what sort of thing to expect on this blog. On the other hand, it might not.

This is a tad embarrassing. Despite over 30 years in the software development industry I have to confess that I have little or no knowledge of what a blog is and how one works.

I have noticed that as soon as someone learns you are "in computers" there's a tendency to assume you know everything there is to know about computer hardware and software. In truth we computer people are often highly specialised. I could answer all but the most difficult questions about the Windows API, C++ syntax or how to use Visual Basic but I'm probably no better than the man on the Clapham omnibus when it comes to the questions lay people actually ask me like "my hard drive is playing up, how do I fix it?" or "my computer's running really slowly, any idea what's wrong with it?". I guess it's a bit like being a brain surgeon and having to field Auntie Janie's enquiry about how to deal with her in-growing toenail. When you say "it's not my field" the usual reaction is "but I thought you were in computers".

So why am I venturing out of my comfort zone and launching into this new enterprise? Although I'm a software man by trade, the real me is a frustrated author. This is a bit more than a practice ground, but only a bit. Every author wants to be heard, otherwise there’s no point.

I have a lot to say. Being of “grumpy old man” age, if not a little past it, I’m forever thinking, I must write to the papers about this or that. In truth, of course, I rarely do. Maybe this will be the outlet for all that suppressed grumpiness as well as wanting to share my boundless wisdom.

If you have stumbled in here (heaven knows how) then welcome. Please feel free to contribute. I’ve made this an open forum. Hopefully in the cornucopia of opinions I intend to post here on a divers range of subjects, you will find something to interest you.

I have no aspirations to change the world (at least, not realistic ones) but if I manage to amuse then I have succeeded.