Mugglenet Academia Reloaded

At half past two on Sunday morning, I wasn’t tucked up in bed, I wasn’t having sweet dreams and I wasn’t in my pyjamas under a cosy duvet.

 

No, I was in the sitting room talking to about 15,000 people.

 

Yeah, okay, they weren’t all in the sitting room. Not only is neither the sofa or the house that big (some people would have to stand in the hall and that’s not very hospitable)  I’d have to shout very loudly if they were, the dogs would probably sulk- the cats certainly would - and the neighbours would be liable to complain.

 

No, what I was up to in the wee small hours was podcasting on http://mugglenetacademia.libsyn.com/ or https://itunes.apple.com/gb/podcast/mugglenet-academia/id523481044

 

The half two in the morning slot isn’t because of any fixed idea that authors and academics are naturally night owls, but simply to fit in with the way American time works in relation to British time.  So yawn and bring it on!

 

As you might have gathered, if you’ve kept up (and, naturally, you have kept up!) with D.Gordon-Smith’s various doings, I’m a real fan of Harry Potter and, much to my delight, this Sunday I was invited back to take part in the show celebrating the first anniversary of the Mugglenet Academia podcast.  There were all sorts of academics and professionals gathered together who had brought their expertise to cast their own particular light on the Harry Potter books, seen through the prism of their own particular subject.  There’s been law, philosophy, political science, folk tale structure and a shedload of other subjects.  Including, of course (this is me!) mystery writing.

 

So pour yourself a nice cup of tea or open a beer or have a glass of wine, go on over to Mugglenet Academia, put your feet up and enjoy some great chat.  What’s more, you can download it to listen to any time you like so you don’t have to wait up till gone two in the morning!

 

Blood From A Stone

I’m delighted to say that my new book, Jack’s seventh adventure, is out! If you look at the Books page on the website, you’ll see it in all its glory, but here’s a picture of the cover anyway.

The core of the mystery concerns a mega-valuable string of sapphires (this is fiction; those sapphires can be as valuable as you like. A merely Quite Expensive string of sapphires isn’t nearly as much fun to write about!) Now it’s taken for granted that the heroes and villains of a mystery have a backstory, but I pondered (as you do) about sapphires, did some reading up and – hey! The sapphires had a backstory too.

 

The best sapphires come from Ceylon or, as it’s now called, Sri Lanka, and granted that sapphires are pretty well indestructible, I thought it would be pretty cool to make them historic gems. The Ancient Romans knew about sapphires, so why not make them Roman? Yes, that had possibilities. When I was thinking about the book, there was a lot in the news about the Anglo-Saxon hoard discovered in Staffordshire, so why not make them part of a Roman hoard? I didn’t want Jack to discover them – that wouldn’t work in the story – so I put the discovery back a couple of centuries and made the sapphires an Eighteenth Century find, which gave me some great background for Breagan Grange, the country house owned by the Leigh family I was busily creating. The word “hoard” wasn't used in Georgian times to describe buried treasure, so I cast around and came up with the name “Breagan Bounty”, which seemed to fit.

 

Naturally when you get a string of sapphires as valuable as those in the Breagan Bounty, someone wants them...

 

 

 

Apparating in Chester Cathedral

I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of a Consistory Court.  I certainly hadn’t until last Wednesday, when daughter Jenny took me into Chester Cathedral and we saw one. Not any old Consistory Court, you understand, but the oldest surviving in England.  Here’s a photo of it.  It was established in 1541 and nothing seems to have changed much.   The court settles clergy disputes, but no one was disputing, so I was able to ask (without sounding too much like a numpty) “What’s that funny little chair doing, stuck out on the corner?”

The answer is that is wasn’t put there just for a laugh (although it must have made someone smile) but it’s where – get this – the apparitor or apparator.  He’s called the apparator because he serves the summons to witnesses to get them to appear.  Quite why he has to have a comic chair, I’m not sure, but there you go.

However, the word apparator immediately made me think of Harry Potter, of course, where one of the ways the wizards get from point to point is by apperating.

And why was Harry Potter at the forefront of my mind?  Because Elspeth was the student guest in the Harry Potter Podcast last week, talking about Harry Potter and history.  It’s on http://www.mugglenet.com/academia/podcast.shtml

Look, I know I’m Elspeth’s mother and yes, of course I’m biased, but I think she did brilliantly.  Listen for yourself and see what you think, but I was glowing with pride.

What you couldn’t see (as it was an audio and not a visual podcast) was the set-up.  It was tea-time in America which meant it was about one in the morning in Manchester and we had a bit of a problem.

We couldn’t broadcast from the dining room, because that’s got Granddad sleeping in it (long story, but he’s been living with us recently) and Granddad wouldn’t take kindly to his beloved grandchild bellowing about Harry Potter at one in the morning when he’s trying to have a nap.  That meant the adjacent sitting-room was out too and the internet is pants elsewhere downstairs.  So the bedroom was called in as a radio shack, which meant that Elsepth had pride of place and Lucy (who’s the biggest Harry Potter fan in the world: probably) and me tucked in round her, our place being to provide the Radio Star with red wine and scribbled notes and thumbs-up of congratulations.  Proud mum?  You bet.  It rocked!

 

 

 

 

 

 

When there’s crows in the tree, we’ll always have potatoes

It has, as you might have noticed if you’re reading this in dear old Blighty, been blinking cold lately.  Perishing, in fact.  This time last year, this was my island in the sun, this year it’s an Arctic wilderness.  Spring has sprung, but, as you might say, the bearings have gone.  Now, the thing is I, like many other people, have a repertoire of phrases to express the fact it’s cold.

It can be – as above - “perishing” or “parky”.  I also use the occasional homely metaphor, such as “brass monkeys” (as in “it’s brass monkeys out there”) or “It’s as cold as a landlady’s heart”.

This is where my daughter Jennifer finds fault.

“Honestly, Mum,” she said.  “What do you mean?”

“They’re well-known phrases,” I said, defensively.

“No, they’re not,” said the rest of the family, rounding on me.  “For instance,” said Lucy, “what does “brass monkeys” mean?”

I explained.

It’s a little bit rude and made her say, “Well! Really...”

I felt crushed.

“You’re always coming out with stuff like that,” said Elspeth.  “Weird sayings that no one else has ever heard of.”

“There’s a flea in your ear,” put in Jennifer, helpfully.  “That’s one.”

The rest of the family demurred.  That is a well known phrase.

“No it’s not,” argued Jenny.  “You just make them up. Up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire, for instance, when we’re going to bed. Ne’re cast a clout till May be out. Something’s like a violin with one string.  In and out like a fiddler’s elbow.”

“Up and down like a bride’s nighty,” I murmured, lowering the tone somewhat.

“And that one you say that you shouldn’t.”

“As queer as Dick’s hatband?”

“Mother!”

“But I just mean something’s odd, that’s all.”

“You still shouldn’t say it.  Seriously, you just make them up.  I can do it.  For instance, I could say something like, when there’s crows in the tree, we’ll always have potatoes.

I thought that phrase was so inspired, it went straight into the repertoire.  So now you know.

When there’s crows in the tree, we’ll always have potatoes...

 

 

 

 

Taking the Biscuit!

One of my oldest friends (in every sense of the word as she’s just celebrated her 89^th birthday) is Kath.  We were talking about what kids did in the days before TV.

Well, according to Kath, one of the odder things that kids got up to was to go and look at corpses.

Nowadays, when someone dies, it’s almost de rigueur that the undertaker scoops them up and takes them to a Chapel of Rest, but that wasn’t always the case.

I can remember Grandma laid out in her coffin in the front room (lid off) and the neighbours coming to pay their respects, but although I might very well have seen other people’s deceased relatives, I can’t honestly say I remember it.

Kath, however, led by her pal Aileen, made an absolute hobby of it.

Now, before you think this is too morbid for words, I should explain that although Kath and Aileen were perfectly well fed, this was about 1933 and treats such as sweets and biscuits were rare.  So Kath was a willing listener when Aileen came up with A Plan.

“Have you noticed,” said Aileen, “that when there’s a corpse laid out in the house, everyone who comes to see it gets a biscuit or a piece of cake?  Why don’t we,” continued Aileen, getting down to brass tacks, “go and look at corpses and then we’ll get a biscuit too?”

It was dead easy (if you’ll excuse the expression) to spot the house with a corpse in it because the curtains were drawn at the front of the house.

So those two little girls went round knocking at doors to offer to “say a prayer,” (Kath’s exact words) “over the corpse”, upon which they were ushered into the parlour and, having admired how beatifully laid-out the corpse was, they’d get cracking.

Usually one Hail Mary would do the trick, but sometimes they had to throw in an Our Father as well before the biscuits were produced, while the householder looked on, sometimes moved to tears by this display of infant piety.  There was one occasion, however, where Aileen decided to cut and run when, after a whole decade of the Rosary (!) no biscuits were forthcoming.  “All that praying,” said Aileen in disgust when they were out on the street again, “for nothing!”

It came to an end, however, as all good things do, when the Headmistress of the school, a ferocious nun of the old-fashioned type, wise to any form of rannygazoo, called them into her office.  “I hear,” she said, “that you’ve got a new hobby.”

Kath and Aileen looked at each other for moral support and Kath demurely said, “We’re only saying prayers.”

Even the most clued-up nun couldn’t actually object to that, but she wasn’t fooled.  “In future, I think you should restrict your payers to church.”

So that’s what they did

Pretentious Chocolate

A regular feature in the magazine, Private Eye, is Pseuds Corner, an absolute delight for anyone who enjoys reading pretentious language popped and brought down to earth like a bust balloon.  So that's one pleasure, yes? Call it P1.

Another pleasure is, I'm the first to admit, is eating chocolate.  Call that P2.

What a wonderful moment it is when P1 and P2 is combined.  Here, without a word of exaggeration, is what came wrapped round a posh box of chocs.

"Chocolate making is a science as well as an art.  (Fair enough, but here's where the writer really spits on his hands and gets going.). To be fully appreciated, my chocolates are best eaten in a quiet space with an ambient temperature of 21 degrees C and a glass of still water to cleanse the palate.  Your senses of tastes and smell are particularly attuned at 11 am and 6 pm when the distinctive ingredients I bring together will really work their magic."

Yeah, right.  That sort of thing really defies comment but it’s clearly written by someone who’s incapable of calling a spade anything but a manually operated earth moving device.  Nice chocolates, though.

On another note...(Tra la!) I use Wordpress to host my blog and one of the things it has is a nifty little device that tells you how many people have looked at the blogs.  In February it was – get this – 20,126.

Gosh.  So, if you’re reading this, you are not alone...  Well, you might be.  You might be curled up with your laptop, the cat, pretentious chocolate and a glass of something or a cup of the drink that cheers but not inebriates, as the Victorians (bless them!) used to refer to tea. Or coffee or hot chocolate with marshmallows (In cyberspace no one knows if you’ve got cream). You know what I mean.

Anyway, after having a dekko at the figures, I got my calculator out.  It’s got Donald Duck on the lid and when you lift it up, it plays “It’s A Small World After All.” which means I usually count numbers on my fingers.  However, even if I take my socks off and use my toes, I can’t get up to 20,126 (it’s an evolutionary thing) so I enlisted the help of Donald.  And Donald tells me that 20,126 divided by the 28 days of February is 718.78571 per day.  So if you happen to bump into the unfortunate soul who’s only made it to point 78571, slip them a bar of (pretentious) chocolate, treat them kindly and, with luck and your help, they may become a whole person.

Happy Mothers' Day everyone.  I hope you got some chocolate!

 

 

The refreshment of the spirit.

In The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Lucy Pevensie, after various trying events, such as falling through a magic picture into the Narnian ocean, encountering invisible enemies, sea serpents and being sold (briefly) as a slave ends up in the scary magician’s secret room with a book of spells.  What’s she’s looking for (and eventually finds) is a spell to make the invisible Dufflepuds visible but on the way comes across a spell for The refreshment of the spirit.  

I’ll be honest here; if I was asked what would refresh the spirit, I’d immediately think of a tall glass of something alcoholic with ice cubes in it, the sort of holiday that comes at the end of aeroplane journeys or, if I was being healthy, a bracing walk.  What CS Lewis comes up with is a story, the best story Lucy’s ever read and, while she’s reading it, she gets totally drawn in, so the story become real, and she’s completely refreshed.

I hope we’ve all had that sort of experience and – I’ve got to hand it to Lewis here – that absolutely is the caterpillar’s boots, as Lord Peter Wimsey said. Stories, whether printed or in ebook form, can completely refresh the spirit.  I remember ages ago reading one of those old green-and-white penguin classic crime paperbacks which had a defensive little message on the back.  “Detective stories,” it said (I’m quoting from memory here) “are enjoyed by many of our greatest minds and leading men as a relaxation after the cares and troubles of the day”.  While one part of me is muttering “patronizing gits,” another would like to point out that if you happen to be one our greatest minds and leading men (or women – I’m not fussy!) I have an excellent series of detective stories featuring Jack Haldean available elsewhere on the website or from, as they say, all good bookshops.  And Kindle.

Well, I needed some refreshment of the spirit this week.  As Marvin the paranoid android said, “Life!  Don’t talk to me about life!” and, amongst the various crumpled leaves in my bed of roses, was the fact that about the last four or five books I’d read had been complete pants. So I tried my own spell for The refreshment of the spirit and pitched on Terry Pratchett’s wonderful Witches books, starring Granny Weatherwax, Nanny Ogg and Magrat Garlick.  Wyrd Sisters, Witches Abroad and Lords and Ladies.  The redoubtable threesome crop up in many other books, of course, but what a sequence!  Do yourself a favour and read them.  I sometimes think it’s a shame that Terry Pratchett’s got such a reputation for being funny.  Yes, of course he’s funny, but he’s so much else as well.  And I love the way he bounces folklore around, like a shuttlecock at a badminton game.  Elves, for instances.  Tolkien was far too reverential about elves and gave Legolas far too much poetry. I prefer Terry Pratchett’s elves:

“Elves are wonderful. They provoke wonder.
Elves are marvellous. They cause marvels.
Elves are fantastic. They create fantasies.
Elves are glamorous. They project glamour.
Elves are enchanting. They weave enchantment.
Elves are terrific. They beget terror.
The thing about words is that meanings can twist just like a snake, and if you want to find snakes look for them behind words that have changed their meaning.
No one ever said elves are nice.
Elves are bad.”

Wow!