Lord H and I had great fun last night (steady, people, steady …) watching a juvenile green woodpecker hopping about next door’s garden. Fabulous. We’ve never seen a young one before, so another tick on the great Bird List of Godalming, hurrah.

Meanwhile, here in real time, I am easing through the day, whilst thinking about the annual report. Mind you, as we don’t usually panic about it until September/October, I’m only thinking. For the moment ... Was also planning to have a coffee and catch-up with Sally from Student Advice at lunchtime, but she had to sort various domestic stuff out this morning so we’ll have to escape later. So went for my usual walk round campus instead – and very pleasant it was too, though my own personal lakeside bench in the shade was already in use and the two lads on it wouldn’t move no matter how much I glared balefully at them. So I had to make do with the sunny side, sigh … Anyway this afternoon, I signed off the Student Care Services Mini-Guide – so here’s hoping it’s 90% right! It does look lovely though, all thanks to the super-talented Emily in the Marketing Department. Who is an Official Genius and All-Round Nice Woman. Thank you, Emily ...


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My name is Irene and I am a blogaholic! There, I’ve said it. Oh, the loneliness of the serial blogger. I switch on in the mornings, check email, wonder why no-one has left me any comments, then swing right on over there to the blogs; checking stats is also becoming addictive – when I first got a site-counter at Blogger I was all over that map and it was soooo exciting, but I got bored with the non-readers, all those searchers looking for granny-sex.


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There were lots of things I didn’t expect to happen as a result of me getting a publishing contract.

I didn’t expect loads of money. I didn’t expect people to recognise me in the street. I didn’t expect to be invited to glamorous parties or to have gorgeous men throwing themselves at my feet.


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One of the tricks (techniques? tools?) that few aspiring writers of fiction would probably think of on their own is to read their work aloud. Poets, yes, these days, lyric-writers perhaps, playwrights and scriptwriters obviously. (Well, not actually obviously. Many a script that lands on many a literary director or manager's desk has obviously never been vocalised at all, just as many a novel in the slushpile has clearly come from someone who's never read a novel. But anyway.) It certainly doesn't occur to many university students that they should try reading their essays aloud, and they're very surprised when I suggest it.

But to my mind it's essential. As well as reading aloud many a phrase or sentence which refuses to flow, I also read aloud every word of every novel at some stage or another.

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Really pleased to get a lovely comment from Sarah Watts (Optimist on the Writewords site) about Maloney’s Law (see full post for links) today. Sarah says: “Anne - I am as ever in awe. Your books are all so different and so very well written. Let's just say you surprised me again.” Thanks so much, Sarah – that’s great to hear. And I’m also glad you enjoyed the Egypt scenes – for those of you who get to read the book, the scene with the boy, the bread rolls and the Americans did actually happen when Lord H and I were in Cairo. Scary for sure … Ooh, and two more lovely people have ordered Maloney from Amazon, so thank you, Jane H & Vicky – much appreciated, both! Paul is even now making sure he looks his best for you ...


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Okay, I’m taking back the word fatty and wrapping myself in it, wholesale, till I don’t resemble it anymore. Someone asked me recently what shape I was; bell, pear, apple, stick, cylinder, triangle or square – I have to admit to apple, or perhaps orange is a much more concise description, in texture. We’re dealing in honesty here people, so let’s be having it; I’m a 5’2” albino (Glaswegian) orange, and the legs get sturdier by the minute.



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I've always wondered how I'd fare living in a small town. I've wondered, calculated I'd feel exposed and scrutinised, and chosen to squish myself in with about 4 million others, in a place where I could blend in and go about my barmy little ways in peace.

What I wasn't prepared for was moving into a street that thinks it's a small town...

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He went to cleanse the seas
of bombed and battered wrecks

to dredge iron debris from man-made
canals, stoked fierce fires in the belly

of his ship and breathed the black air
deep into his lungs. He thought of life



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Jolly hot again today, Carruthers – what is the government up to? Really, I blame Gordon Brown. Well, he’s responsible for every other disaster, so no reason why he shouldn’t have this one too. However, there are rumours that it might be cooler tomorrow, and maybe rain too, so there’s hope. It might even be turning cloudier right now – or is that wishful thinking?

Anyway, joy and rejoicing in the office as Ruth is back from her campervan holiday, so we’ve spent a long time catching up. Apparently she has visited the whole of the UK, apart from East Anglia and Cornwall. Two of my favourite areas really. And the van survived the experience relatively intact, hurrah!...


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A few months ago I applied for the wildcard fellowship for a month's paid retreat at the gorgeous-looking La Muse Writers and Artists Retreat in southern France. La Muse offers one unaffiliated fellowship a year, during November. I had my fingers crossed and crossed again, the place looks amazing and is set up for writers to be able to focus on their projects without too many other distractions (apart from French food, French wine and every other French delight!). I put together what I thought was an interesting application: how many other ex-British former science journalists living in Israel and working on a series of linked stories about a young Irish girl in the 1950s and a flash fiction collection would there be??....

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