Lilac Morning, on the nose

Don Bridge 1948

Don Bridge 1948 (credit Jerripedia)

Tess fished around and pulled out thruppence.. ‘What do I say?’ she asked.
‘Just tell him your horse’s name and the amount you want to bet.’
Taking a deep breath, Tess stepped up. ‘Lilac Morning please, thruppence.’
Smiling at her the bookie said ‘Thruppence. Lilac Morning, on the nose.’ He wrote in his book and she took the slip that he handed her. Together they made their way back to the seats to wait for the race. At 10/1 Tess calculated that she stood to win half a crown when Lilac Morning romped home. Plus her thruppence back. Maybe she liked horse racing after all!
From A Jersey Midsummer’s Tale

Don Bridge modern

The present day cycle track follows the lines of the old racecourse




Write What You Know?

The common advice to ‘Write What You Know’ really is lazy, negative and limiting. The whole idea of creative writing is to explore new ideas, learn new storytelling techniques and to engage the reader. But admittedly, one’s writing is coloured by life’s experiences. And occasionally I have unashamedly fallen back on the comfort blanket of that bad advice.
My debut novel Barry features an Irish character, Jimmy. Now Jimmy had a shady background – certain persons want him eliminated. Changing his appearance, he rocks up in Birmingham and ends up working as an assistant groundsman at Edgbaston, home of Warwickshire County Cricket Club. I watched plenty of cricket there in my younger days.

warwickshire crket1
So anyway, Jimmy got a job at Edgbaston. Here is a paragraph describing his days there.

warwickshire crket2
‘He continued to work at the County Ground and was enjoying the outdoor life. Still, he was the cod Irishman who was puzzled by everything about the game of cricket. Though he naturally sided with Warwickshire and now recognised most of the players, he relied on his work colleagues or the reaction of the few people in the seats to tell him when the team were doing well. He realised that it was a good thing if a local man whacked the ball to the boundary, thus earning four runs. And if a Warwickshire bowler managed to knock down the stumps with the ball that was good also. But for the rest he was lost, though quite content to remain so. He no longer worried why, if the match was a draw at the end of four days, there was no extra time or replay. He was happy to follow orders, to enjoy his work and the company of the other lads and then pick up his money.’

warwickshire crket3
Happy to hear your views on whether that common advice accords with mine.

Famous First Lines.

‘It was a cold, bright day in April and the clocks were striking thirteen.’ Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four.
‘The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.’ Hartley, The Go-Between.
‘All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.’ Tolstoy, Anna Karenina.
‘‘’Oh, sod this!’ Barry ground to a halt.’’ McCarthy, Barry.

You see? Work at it long and hard enough and pure talent will shine through. Just three words into my debut novel and there’s an exclamation mark which I now wish I’d left out. At a guess, I think I wrote that first line, that first chapter, in about 2007. It was to be several years before I embarked on Chapter 2, and started to enjoy the writing process.
That first chapter really summed up all that I wanted to say at the time. A middle-aged ex-runner gone to seed, attempting a comeback. It was at the end of that chapter that I began to realise that there was more to this writing malarkey than I might have imagined.Writer2
Then it began to dawn on me that I could write anything, that there were no boundaries. I could go off on tangents, introduce new elements, unrelated storylines which came together. New characters who were different from the somewhat one-dimensional Barry. For example, Barry’s daughters Lauren and Michelle. It was my first self-taught lesson in characterisation. Obvious now maybe, but here I found an opportunity to differentiate between two sisters. Chalk and cheese, but with common ground.
And with this gradual realisation of possibilities I began to enjoy writing, and that has continued ever since.Writer1
But a few more famous first lines:
‘Elmer Gantry was drunk. He was eloquently drunk, lovingly and pugnaciously drunk.’ Lewis, Elmer Gantry.
‘It was the day my grandmother exploded.’ Banks, The Crow Road.
‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.’ Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities.
‘He looked at his watch – 7.33am.’ McCarthy, A Jersey Midsummer Tale.
They just keep coming, don’t they? Have you got a favourite first line? What is one you’ve written yourself?

Choose a Title

OK, I need your help. I need a title for my new novel which is nearing completion.

It’s a novel based on what I know of human trafficking and modern slavery. A young woman and her friend are trafficked from a Nepal village to Kolkata, India. They are forced to do sex work in a brothel there. Her story is told through her own eyes. One of her frequent laments is ‘My god is dead.’




In the unfolding of the story I try to explain the reasons behind this ghastly trade, all of which are, of course, financial. The grim truth is basic economics.

I have narrowed it down to a choice of two, both of which would carry the sub-title along the lines ‘A story of the world’s most inhumane trade.’

Thank you for taking the time to vote.

Mental health, 1935-style

”As the gale tore at her with renewed frenzy Tess put up her arms as if to fly. She closed her eyes, her legs wobbled and buckled.


La Fret Point, Portelet, Jersey

She visualised the rocks rushing up to meet her, the agony to follow. Slowly, very slowly she opened her eyes, lowered her arms, tucked her collar closer around her neck and struggled back to the cottage.”

From ‘Tess of Portelet Manor‘. Mental health, depression, suicidal thoughts – all are openly talked about these days. Help is available. Not so in 1935 when you just had to deal with it. Or not.

Winchester Sunday morning run

I treated myself to a day off writing – my WIP will reach its conclusion in the next couple of days. Instead I pulled on my (now slightly smelly) running gear and headed off on a sunny morning.


City Bridge

To date I’ve been happy enough to do circuits of the neighbouring facilities briefly described in my last post, but this morning I headed to the southern edge of the compact city centre to reacquaint myself with the water meadows. The trails out that way are tailor-made for pedestrians. DSCN0410Bikes not so much though they are well catered for further out. Past Wolvesey Castle (970), the Hospital of St Cross (1132) and Winchester College (1382), this part of the country would be easily recognisable to those medieval folk if they were to pop back today for a visit.

The River Itchen splits into two branches and winds its way gently, reluctantly, towards the sea at Southampton.DSCN0412

Leaving the water meadows one joins the cycle network. One curiosity is Five Bridges Road, running straight across the meadows, but which seems to have been extinguished as a highway, leaving it free of traffic. This was possibly at the same time as the controversial M3 works back in the 1990s.


Five Bridges Road, open for runners 🙂




Hockley railway viaduct was abandoned as part of the Beeching cuts in 1963. It has particular links to D-Day with huge amounts of hardware and troops using the route to the south coast in the preceding 12 months. Happily it has been recently restored and made available to the cycle network.


Hockley Viaduct

Finally, a bit of hill training up St Catherine’s Hill, an ancient hill fort, which gives great views of Winchester and the surrounding land.



St Catherine’s Hill – it’s gotta be done…


…just for the view.







(No Winchester Cathedral yet – that will be my final stop before flying home.)

Can’t beat a retreat

It’s the first one of these I’ve done since 2012 and it sure is the way to go. My hidey hole this time is the cathedral city of Winchester, a most pleasant place within easy striking distance of Jersey, and the English south coast.DSCN0405

My garret is an Airbnb in a terrace yards away from the remnants of Hyde Abbey where, in the year 1110, Alfred the Great was reinterred. A few yards onwards is the Hyde Tavern where, after a pint or two of strong ale, one can imagine the Saxons of old carousing and singing rugby songs.IMG_20180910_192545

So my days begin with a bit of a run through the spacious recreation grounds nearby, and onwards through the nature reserve along a section of the lovely River Itchen. Then a healthy breakfast in town before getting down to work.DSCN0395DSCN0397






Any blog followers who remain will know that this WIP is on the dark subject of human trafficking, particularly that of children enslaved to work in the brothels of Sonagachi, Kolkata. Whether or not anyone cares to read it, it’s a project I’ve been wanting to bring to fruition for a number of years now. And it’s going well. 10,500 words in my first three days bringing the story towards the endgame, 60,000 words in all to date.DSCN0407

Still plenty to do but now I can start thinking about edits, proofing etc. In particular I need some affirmations that, in writing of a location that I’ve never visited, and by writing the young female character in the first person, I’ve not made too many blunders.


Go forth. Act decent. Call your mother from time to time.

I rarely reblog, but here’s an exception written by Kristine, an American journo and top blogger. She sets out a single precept that we should all live by.


Author Simcha Fisher gets all the credit for my headline. It’s what was on the card I gave my recently minted high school grad last month. And it’s a mantra I wish I could brand into my fellow citizens here on planet earth.

My most cynical friends and I have been having a debate since the world got less civilized. Since it’s been ok for a standing president to insult women’s looks and intelligence. Since the Kardashians became people more interesting to the American public than authors, artists and educators with big ideas . Since we separate small children from the only people in the world who will love and protect them like no other. Wasn’t it Eminem that said: “Somewhere deep down there’s a decent human being in me, it just can’t be found?”

Let’s just say this debate amongst my friends has raged for a while.

They talk…

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In St Martin’s Church graveyard, Jersey

‘They had been married for 44 years, happily married, yet he had not shed tears at the funeral, or since.

Anne had left him quietly and in the natural way of things. Although sad, he had accepted her passing without fuss. He wondered about his reaction and had fully expected there to be some deferred effect, but this had not been so.DSCN0309

He moved on, slowly, reluctantly, before arriving at Charlie’s simple, white headstone. His great grandson, six weeks old. A simple inscription from his heartbroken parents and angels watching over Charlie from the corner of the headstone. As he knew there would be, tears streamed from Hedley’s eyes as he shook his head, turned, and walked away.’

From ‘A Jersey Midsummer Tale’

Idle Hour, Cork

I’m the opposite to a party animal. I like my pubs quiet and serving a perfect pint. But nearly seven years ago I recalled a cracking night in Cork.

Back On The Rock

Down at the fag-end of Cork city’s docks there’s a nondescript bar. Go in there most times and you’ll find it devoid of customers, atmosphere, anything. Just a wooden floor and some cheap chairs and tables. You drink your pint, read your paper and head off elsewhere. Yet venture in at weekends and you could be in a different time and place. Venture in on the Saturday night of a long (public holiday) weekend and you wouldn’t want to go anywhere else for your kicks. It’s busy getting on for 10 and good music is playing. You go in because you’re thirsty, Charlie’s Bar back down  the road was impossibly noisy and packed and anyway this is the last bar out this way.

Idle Hour, Cork

There are several barmen busy behind the small bar so you get served quickly enough once you manage to squeeze in at the counter…

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