With the end of Barefoot on the Cobbles almost within touching distance, I’ve been thrashing out details of print runs, prices and other such mundanities. I need to make a decision about a hardback edition. Now, personally, I am not a great fan of hardbacks. They are, after all, just that, hard. I read in bed, lying down. It is how I get to sleep. This means that, when I do doze off, whatever I am reading inevitably falls on my nose. This makes hardbacks somewhat of a health hazard. I am aware that there are those who read in a more conventional manner, sitting in chairs for example – how radical. Perhaps these folk would appreciate a hard back version? Can I canvas the opinion of one or two of you who are eagerly anticipating the publication of my magnum opus? Would you pay perhaps an additional £5 for a hardback version? There will be a ebook option for those who prefer reading on an electronic device. Publication and launch day is set for 17 November and the opportunity for pre-publication orders will be available shortly. I am not prepared to commit to how shortly but I am aiming for the end of March. Anyway, please let me know if you are a hardback lover, so I can judge if a hardback run is viable.
Some of you will know that this year is set to be a whirlwind of overseas travel. Planning these trips has been beset with irritations and anxieties and at one point I was heard to exclaim that I was going no further than Cornwall in 2019. So much for that idea. It looks possible that I will be working overseas twice next year as well. With all this trans-continental travel, you would think I could get myself to and from a rural village about fifteen miles away without incident wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t? – Ah, you know me so well. I set off in thick fog yesterday morning, fog that became ever thicker, to the extent of being impenetrable. By some quirk of fate the powers that be have got it wrong. They have inexplicably decided to shut the main holiday route at a time when tourists are not in evidence. This is a radical policy change but I digress. I was thus obliged to go ‘the back way’. ‘The back way’ gave me an opportunity to post a parcel. When our village post office was arbitrarily closed we were reassured that we could use the next nearest post office (in a village 6 miles away, which you wouldn’t want to go to for any other purpose – perfectly pleasant village and all that, just not much reason to go there). Inevitably that post office is now also shut. Never fear, we have a post van that visits our village daily, except when it doesn’t, due to there being a mechanical failure/operator illness/lack of internet access/two flakes of snow/an ‘R’ in the month. So the non-appearance of said van on Friday meant I had a parcel to post yesterday. I visit a fog bedecked post office, what can go wrong? I kid you not, the post office was closed for a computer upgrade. Onwards through the fog to my destination, parcel unposted. I arrive unscathed.
I spin away for a few hours. Well, actually I was plying and lucetting but I don’t want to get too technical. I set off home, deciding on a slightly different ‘back way’, in order to avoid having to execute a three point turn in a road barely wider than a car, at a time when several other cars are also manoeuvring. The fog had lifted, this should have been fine. Except that the other ‘back way’ was also closed for repair. The council are obviously using up their meagre road mending budget before the end of the financial year. I use a combination of common sense and sign posts before realising that I have no clue where I am, I haven’t seen another vehicle since I set off, the last building was two miles back and that was a barn. Do I have my ‘emergency’ phone? Well, no – how did I know there might be an emergency? I do however have a sat-nav. I unplug my cosy seat heater in favour of the sat-nav and follow the directions. Now I am more than comfortable with narrow, winding muddy road but I do like them to actually be roads. I bounce along muddy tracks that could not with any stretch of the imagination be described as roads, even by rural Devon, pothole laden, grass-in-the-middle-of-the-road terms. I idly wonder what would happen should I get a puncture. Even the emergency phone would be useless as I would be incapable of describing where to find me. Fortunately, I eventually arrive home. Forget going to Cornwall, I don’t even want to leave the house.
Just as I thought my confidence in my own ability could not get any lower, I go spinning. This is not the extreme gym activity, that really would be depressing but the crafting variety. I manage a business called
On the subject of self-doubt, as
Shortly, I am off for what I am laughingly calling a ‘writer’s retreat’ aka three days in a caravan in the soft south of the county. Part of Daisy’s story takes place in Torquay, which is not a town I know very well, hence the need for a field visit. I spent yesterday researching the back stories of some of the minor characters she encounters during this part of her life and needless to say, found others I would like to include. A newspaper article mentioned that Daisy shared a house with six others whilst in Torquay. The identity of three of these was obvious. I had the task of pinpointing plausible candidates for the other three. I am happy to report that I have positively identified one and have come up with two others who are consistent with the information I have. Google earth suggests that the house they lived in was a three bedroom Victorian terrace and I cannot work out who might realistically have shared a bedroom with whom but perhaps, when I see the property in reality, it may look larger. A servants’ attic would be handy! I’ve also immersed myself in stories of VAD nurses and located routes I need to retrace. Hopefully this visit will enable me to write two middle chapters of the book then I really am on the home straight – yippee!
So we open the final ‘window’ in our social history book advent calendar. Given that this time of year is stuffed full of ritual and tradition, it seemed fitting to save Ronald Hutton’s
I’ll be honest, today’s offering has just arrived on my book shelf, so I have only had time to skim through it but it looks like a gem.
If anyone is still reading these, congratulations and I refuse to be responsible if you have succumbed to my suggestions and blown your book buying budget. Today I would like to introduce you to Pamela Horn’s
I could not compile a list of social history books and omit the ‘Farm’ series. They have already warranted a couple of passing references in other posts but today’s belongs solely to them. Many people, especially in Britain, are family with BBC TV’s living history series Victorian Farm/Edwardian Farm/Tudor Monastery Farm/Wartime Farm. All of these are now available on DVD and are a wonderful insight into rural life in the period specified. What is less well known is that each series also has an accompanying book; I have them all. These are ‘coffee table’ books: beautifully produced hardbacks with lavish coloured illustrations. There are contemporary illustrations as well as scenes from the programme. I have no idea how well this translates to the e-reader editions. The books are nonetheless well researched and the insight into the experimental archaeology carried out by the authors, Peter Ginn, Ruth Goodman and Alex Langlands, is invaluable. For those who are unfamiliar with the series, three historians/archaeologists spent a year recreating life in a farm of a particular period. The books describe the highs and lows of their experiences.
