Christmas Card 2010

I have every reason to feel aggrieved by the weather. I had plans for this weekend. Plans which involved other parts of the country. Plans which were scuppered by the snow which fell for most of yesterday and made setting out in the car seem more dangerous than climbing Everest. Oh well.

Birmingham has had a make over to match scenes from the Christmas cards propped up indoors. Well it would match, if the post office were delivering Christmas cards to prop up, or indeed anything at all at the moment.

Let's focus on the positives. I had a wonderful walk through the park this morning and found these snowflakes iced onto the railings surrounding the frozen lake. There was the vandalistic thrill of ploughing a calf-deep path through pristine snow along an alternative route to that normally marked by asphalt. But for the crunch of my boots imprinting the pattern of their tread into soft powder, all was quiet. Infrequently worn clothes came into their own.

Tomorrow the snow will be compacted, icy, slushy and grey. More people will decide they have to dig their cars out from under the frozen candlewick bedspreads the weather has draped on them. The transport chaos whinging will become seriously boring and the snow will have outstayed its welcome. Today though, just for a short while, this corner of Birmingham was a winter wonderland. Happy Christmas.

Postcard from the stage

Birmingham's Symphony Hall has perfect acoustics. This means it's a fantastic venue for classical music. It doesn't mean pop music should not be heard there; although the plush auditorium can have a restraining influence on the crowd.

The last time I saw Chris Difford, he was playing an intimate gig in an organic garden centre/cafe. So to find him reunited with Squeeze in grand surroundings was quite a contrast. In a good way. All the classics (my photo captured Difford and Tilbrook during the nostalgia of 'Pulling Mussels from the Shell') and a few new songs made for a great gig. There's been yet another change to the line up and the fantastic Steve Nieve on keyboards, for me, stole the show.

The popularity of the old songs is testament to the quality of the songwriting. Living up to the reputation of Symphony Hall was testament to the musical talent on stage. Good things come out of Greenwich...

Postcard from Edinburgh

A belated posting this time; I was in Edinburgh back in August but somehow failed to add anything about it here. This picture I took came to mind again recently, for a couple of reasons.

These windows are on the side of the Scottish Parliament building and each is a little reading pod provided for the MSPs to use in quiet moments to catch up on briefings, emails, perhaps even paper backs. Having always had a weakness for window seats, I quite fancied one. Sunlit and secluded, what more could a reader require? One problem: I don't fancy ploughing through parliamentary briefings for the privilege.

Some places where I've recently attempted to concentrate on a book include Pendolino trains (no chance - makes me travel sick), a hospital foyer (too much life going on around me), and the sofa in a serviced apartment (chosen for style rather than support). So my own personal reading pod, equipped with comfortable seating, table placed for convenient positioning of tea, and natural light, would be a luxury.

Of course, a really good book will take me away from anything that's happening in reality. And reality was the other thing which reminded me of my visit to the Scottish Parliament. While there, I viewed the Press Photographer of the Year exhibition which was set up in the foyer. There was a sign warning visitors that many of the images were not suitable for children, but I found some of them so affecting, disturbing and thought provoking that they brought the news story home to me far more effectively than 24 hour rolling news channels can achieve. A colleague saw the exhibition in London recently and agreed with me that, hideous and shocking though many of the photos were, the photographers are doing an important job. Much though I love fiction, reality will intrude and should not be ignored. It's certainly a field where a single good picture can speak louder than words.

Postcard from GMT

Synchronise your watches. Greenwich Mean Time rules again and I for one am relieved. I understand the arguments about children crossing roads and farmers milking cows and how both activities would be best carried out in daylight hours, however; at my office all systems and data remain referenced to GMT year round. British Summer Time does nothing but confuse me.

This clock, at the Royal Observatory in Greenwich, is where all time is controlled. It is Greenwich Mean Time. How powerful is that? The big orange ball sitting on the building behind rises to the top of its post just before one o'clock every day, and drops on the dot of one. That's one o'clock local time, not GMT - see how easy it is to get muddled?

What I was sure of was that it was the perfect time to be in Greenwich Park. The trees are dressed in a palette from sunshine yellow to peachy pink. Squirrels are sneaking around to set up their winter food stash. And my watch is definitely reading the correct time.

Postcard from autumn

Autumn is aflame across Shropshire, where I spotted these glossy, plump berries.  As alluded to in the previous post, I do have a fondness for the season when leaves deck themselves in their party gear.

I wanted to come back to the theme of 'Red Leaves' to let you know how I got on with the Paullina Simons book I was sent by HarperCollins.  The climate confusion on the cover was down to artistic licence - the book is set in winter and the only red leaves are in the name of a building which plays a key role.  Slightly odd title to have gone with, I thought.

Sad to report, I didn't love it.  While the cover intrigued me, the prologue and first section were not compelling.  It perhaps had something to do with the US accent in the narrative, which, to a UK ear, can lead to some phrasing sounding odd. The details of basketball and Ivy League colleges passed me by too.  My main concern was that none of the major characters who appeared in the opening section were likeable though.  Yes, one was particularly enigmatic to make the reader suspicious, but it felt contrived.  I didn't get into the book until Detective Spencer Patrick O'Malley arrived on the scene and had all the charisma and appeal the others were lacking. Shame about the first 150 pages, the events of which we then had to revisit as Spencer investigated them.

The next book on my 'to read' pile promises to be much more gripping: Remix by Lexi Revellian.

Postcard from the bookshelf

I belong to a reader's panel run by HarperCollins.  They recently sent me a questionnaire about the author Paullina Simons and whether various cover designs and blurbs would entice me to look at her books.  As I'd not heard of her, I had nothing to base the decision on but the pictures and words presented. Writers may not like it, but cover design is critical to the process of a reader deciding to buy or not to buy.

I've now received the one whose cover most appealed to me; but the style was similar across the titles: young, thoughtful woman with partly obscured face and suggestion of outdoor background.  So it passed the first test of intriguing me enough to look further.  Nothing to do with the story - I'm a fan of autumn leaves and my first impression of the woman wasn't off putting as it may have been were she more glamorous.

There are a few differences from the version I saw in the online survey.  The author's name is plastered over this one in larger font than the title.  It's put me off a bit.  I don't know her, I don't know her work, it seems a bit presumptuous of the publisher to assume that it's her I care about.  It's not.  I want to know what that thoughtful woman's doing in among the leaves.  I'm having a bit of climate confusion about the snow covered ground and autumn colour, but it's set in the US so I'll put it down to my unfamiliarity. The little teaser sentence was 'Some friends are not what they seem' in the version I 'chose'.  A minor thing, but it had a slightly different tone. The lack lustre title and vague claim of 'International Bestseller' worry me.  The picture worked for me; the words so far don't.

I'm prepared to give the book a go now it's here, but the huge name might have been enough to make me keep walking past the shelf in the shops.  I'll let you know how I get on with the story. It's the bit which counts, after all.

Postcard from Winterbourne Gardens

Wild mushrooms can evoke unease. A sighting of a strange form blossoming forth when the spring and summer growing season is nearing its end, brings a slight frisson of fear that it may kill you. Unlikely; as I never pick them to eat, preferring to admire them in situ. Especially when they look so charmingly like discarded pencil shavings.

Winterbourne Gardens are lovely, the house delightful and the food in the tea rooms reassuringly edible.  Delicious, in fact. With such huge grounds to wander around, it's easy to justify eating both lunch and afternoon tea there. From a table on the terrace, the views of the walled garden, lawns, pergola and woodland are almost as tempting as the cakes.

My (very brief, internet based) research into the fungus pictured tells me it's a Coriolus Versicolor and is inedible. It is not, however, poisonous. Panic over. Time for tea.