My ten most memorable books of the year.

I’ve read at least 56 books this year, including travel, non fiction and autobiography, but mostly fiction. I did jot them down but think one or two slipped under the radar! Add to that some text books relating to work - educational, interesting but not much fun.

Here are the ten that are most memorable in no particular order. I’m judging them in terms of enjoyment and their impact on me, which in my view, is the most important point of reading.



The Swimmer - Roma Tearne

Brixton Rock - Alex Wheatle

Brenton Brown - Alex Wheatle

Alias Grace - Margaret Atwood

For a Pagan Song - Jonny Bealby

The Shop Girl Diaries - Emily Benet

The Pursuit of Love - Nancy Mitford

Live Eels and Grand Pianos - Andrew Bradford

Finding George Orwell in Burma - Emma Larkin

The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox - Maggie O'Farrell

Wishing you a Merry Christmas

Wishing you all a merry Christmas, or Season's Greeting if you don't celebrate Christmas, and a healthy, peaceful New Year.

Presents under the tree are lovely to give and receive but the things I've enjoyed giving most this year are Kiva loans to people in the developing world to fund their businesses - it's such a joy when a loan is re-paid and I can then loan it to someone else along with a small gift to Kiva to keep their work going. www.kiva.org

One of the best things I have received this year, is the skills of a surgeon and his colleagues courtesy of the NHS and its hard-working staff (of which I am also one) and the kindness of my family and friends.

I have also seen in my local community how people working together can achieve quite remarkable things, so with those thoughts in mind I wish you all a happy, peaceful and healthy New Year.

The latest hospital drama...Introducing Lit Ward 10

Only 4 weeks to Christmas so the silly season has begun...

‘Resus to bed 101.’ Doctor de Licious, Specialist Registrar, barked the order. He noticed how efficiently the blonde nurse pressed the numbers and took a few deep breaths. He too, must be calm in the face of calamity. He couldn’t lose this patient. And he wanted to impress this particular nurse.

‘I can’t understand it,’ he said quietly. ‘When I examined her earlier, all her vital signs were good. Pulse and temperature normal, blood pressure fine. She was chatting away quite happily. I would have discharged her tomorrow. What’s happened?’

‘Don’t worry,’ soothed Staff Nurse Gorgeous, admiring the doctor’s chiselled features, and wondering how she could angle for a date.

‘Let me through.’ Doctor Read pushed through the curtains surrounding bed 101. He glanced at the patient - and checked her pulse - it was there, but barely. ‘Hmm Glasgow Coma Score 9. How long ago were her last obs?’
‘Just 15 minutes ago, doctor,’ confirmed Nurse Gorgeous. ‘This has come on very quickly. She was sitting up in bed with a big fat book and…’

‘My prescription pad, quickly nurse,’ cried Dr Read. ‘Now, this will bring her round in no time. No real harm done. Just pop down and get these, nurse. You too, doctor. Nurse can’t carry everything we need.’

As they hurried on their urgent errand, Doctor de Licious managed to ask Staff Nurse Gorgeous if she would care for dinner that evening. They staggered back to the ward with a bag containing everything Dr Read had prescribed. The nurse took the items out one by one. A classic, a thriller, a romance, a murder mystery, a copy of Do Not Exceed Sixty, one bottle of gin and one of tonic.

‘Now nurse, start reading this out loud, it’ll soon bring the patient round.’ He handed her Do Not Exceed Sixty. 'And when you judge she’s ready, a G&T will sort her out once and for all. Never fails.’

Dr Read picked up the book that had caused his patient to slip into semi-consciousness: The Latest by Will Indulge Self. He dropped it in the clinical waste bin.

‘Call the Chief Exec and inform her that books by this author will henceforth be banned from the hospital premises. I will be writing up a paper for The Lancet about the health hazards of these books that get listed for the Emperor’s Clothes Prize.’

It was only when her bleep went off during chapter eight that Nurse Gorgeous realised she was late for her date.

‘Ooh, you get off, dear’ said her patient, sipping her second G&T, ‘I’m feeling fine now. Have a wonderful time with Doctor Delicious. If I was twenty years younger…’

Extract from a Short Story.

The Depths of Memory.

I am a timid swimmer. Ten minutes of being bullied by the waves is enough for me so, toes groping for the slippery rocks beneath, I make my way back to the safe embrace of the sandy beach. I spread my towel on the warm, soft sand and feel the sun chase away the dread of the water. I lie down to read but gradually my book falls from my hand as I doze. I am dreaming the dream.

Falling, tumbling through water, deeper and deeper, engulfed by murky green with bubbles rising up from the depths. I feel no fear, only a sense of overwhelming relief and an inexpressible sense of escape.

I wake with a start. How can I be so calm in the dream when in my waking hours the very thought of drowning terrifies me? I scan the turquoise ocean for my daughter’s head, sleek as a seal, as she swims fearlessly and joyfully. I quell the panic that rises, knowing that Izzy would dismiss my anxiety, reassuring me that only in the sea is she truly in her element; free. She has no thought of drowning.

Was my fear of the deep born within the walls of the damp, echoing swimming pool where we eight-year-old girls changed into our regulation navy blue swimming costumes and white rubber caps that pulled viciously at our hair? Was it nurtured by the two angular swimming instructors dressed in severe grey skirts and blue jumpers, shod in galoshes as they marched along the edge of the pool?

While one barked instructions as we stood in the shallow end, the other would single out a child and picking up a curious metal hoop attached to a long pole, would loop the ring over the girl’s head and under her arms in order to drag the hapless victim along in the water. Gradually each child, thrashing her arms and legs like a captured frog, somehow learned to swim.

How I hated the humiliation of being the last to achieve sufficient mastery of breast stroke to avoid the hoop, only for my accomplishment to bring new anxieties. I dreaded nearing the deep end on each endless length but more than anything, I feared the ritual that would follow.

If you would like to read the entire story, it is published in Greenacre Writers Anthology Vol - still available for 5.50 + p&p
Greenacre Writers Anthology Vol 1
or as a download for 39p at AlfieDog

Greenacre Writers Anthology Vol 1 wins 3rd place.

Pleased that the Greenacre Writers Anthology Vol 1 was placed third in the NAWG anthology competition.

Stories for the second Greenacre Writers Short Story Competition are coming in, for which I am a reader and shortlister. The winning entries will be published in the Greenacre Writers Anthology Vol 2. There's still two months in which to enter.




Entries may be made by post: e-mail greenacrewriters@gmail.com for entry form or enter online: Here

Tutoring at Swanwick 2012

Swanwick Writers’ Summer School is a staple in many writers' calendar, so you can imagine my pleasure when asked to tutor a four-session 'Getting Started in Fiction' course for them. Planning the programme began ages ago but I was still tweaking up to the last minute. Used to running workshops for numbers between 4 - 15, I practically had a cardiac arrest when a veteran Swanwicker said numbers could be anything from 10 to 70. Seventy? I calmed myself by reasoning that Swanwick attracts experienced and published authors so my course would be for a small number of newbies, and this proved to be the case. I resumed normal breathing and took 999 off my speed dial.

There is nothing worse than a group too terrified to contribute or read back their work, but this bunch was receptive and needed little encouragement to participate. They also produced some great writing - perhaps because some weren’t quite as new to the art as 'Getting Started in Fiction' would suggest. I received some very positive feedback from students and hope the official feedback forms are as encouraging.

I also participated in a number of workshops and attended talks. I loved the session with children’s author, Steve Hartley, of Danny Baker, Record Maker fame. Steve is very serious about being silly. What do he and Bridget Jones have in common? Simply enormous pants. Steve’s were big enough to fit eleven people in and he proved it. His workshop the following day on characterization, using the concept of character based on Carl Jung’s work was inspirational.

David Nobbs’ witty talk was sheer joy from a consummate master of his art. Writing for many of the best comedy acts and sit-coms at their height in the 70s and 80s, his work formed the British collective culture of the time. I was sorry to be able to attend only the first of his sessions the following day.

The social side of Swanwick in today’s networking culture was rich. It was great to put faces to names I’d come across in various writerly forums. There were always friendly and interesting people to talk to, some quite eccentric. I was a little bemused when asked if I was ‘the one who has toothache’ and wondered if my habitual facial expression was of tortured agony. Tearing off to peer in the nearest mirror I was only somewhat re-assured. One supercilious lady queried my credentials for running a course. ‘Why? You’re not famous. Are you?’ ‘No’, I replied, ‘I’m not famous - yet.’

Greenacre Writers Anthology - Vol 1

Very pleased to hear that the Greenacre Writers Anthology has been shortlisted in the NAWG Anthology competition.


Our second short story competition is underway with stories coming in - closing date 31st October, after which the second anthology will be published early next year.


Greenacre Writers Short Story competition