Had a wonderful day in the Chilterns today, attempting to see red kites. (Do have a look at the photos in that website - viewable by clicking on the full post via the link below - and go and see a real one if you can as they're a hundred times more impressive in the wild). And goodness me what a lot of them we saw - and what a truly wonderful sight too. We thought we glimpsed one on the way up - it's that essential flap-flap-flap and then sooooarrrr with only the odd tweak of the V-shaped tail to keep it on course. And a pretty large bird too, so you can't really mistake it for anything else ...

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Never rely on the weather forecast. The powers that be swore blind to us that today we should expect torrential rain. They even kept up that belief through the whole day in spite of evidence to the contrary. In fact it's been crisp sunshine. Very pleasant indeed, if on the chilly side of pleasant. Oh Lordy, do I sound English here? We are all obsessed with the weather. I stare at the online forecast every day. Sadly. Anyway, encouraged by the lack of rain, Lord H and I have spent a large part of the day wandering around The Devil's Punchbowl - yes, it is a great name. We didn't find many birds, but we did manage to get so far down into the valley that it took me at least eighteen years and a great deal of moaning to climb out again. Ah, my knees just can't take it, you know. Mind you, they never could - I'm only good on the flat ...

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There's an interesting exchange here on Danuta Keane's blog, which carries on the conversation which started in an earlier piece of hers, It's the Brand, stupid, about the reasons why authors shouldn't shy away from thinking of themselves as brands. I won't summarise it here, though both are well worth suppressing your purist, anti-capitalist, art-fundamentalist knee-jerk horror at the idea of branding yourself, till you've read it. It's Susan Hill's post in the comment trail that caught my attention: she describes an acquaintance who bought books avidly when The Book People called regularly at her office, but then went on maternity leave. There were Richard & Judy's selections just asking to be read, but she lived in the country and was at a complete loss as to how to get hold of them. Susan steered her towards Amazon, and all was well. But it's a salutary reminder to us booky types that swathes of the population love reading, have confidence in their taste and money to spend on it, but never go near a bookshop.

It reminded me of a story that the chief book-buyer of W H Smith told me a few months back.


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Alrighty then, here we are in party season and I do mean party! I gave it a good old shot ha ha & had one of - if not the - best Christmas I've ever had...

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Had very noble plans today of leaping up at a suitably ungodly hour and spending some time on the golf course. Naturally this didn't happen and once again I only just made a morning entry into the day. Ah, I could get seriously used to this kind of life, you know. I think of it as a vocation.

Anyway, once up and suitably attired, we checked that our post was as boring as it was yesterday (answer: yes) and then had a brief walk into Godalming through the country routes to stare at birds and see if there was anything worth buying. Interestingly, we came back via a route I've never been, not in the 14 years of being here, which just goes to show (a) how terrified I am of new routes and (b) how often Lord H goes out prowling the woods of a dark night when the moon is full ...

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Today, a very wet mild day, I posted off Week 91 Challenge. I feel quite good about it. It was early this morning as I sat in utter peace while dog and hubby slept that I conjoured up this small scenario. Thank God we didn't have the argument required as a theme. The only truth in the flash is I hate parsnips. In fact children and their partners, ate, drank and made merry quite well. No strife over the crackers. Boxing Day, I slept all afternoon, happily tired. Glad that all catering was done. Then, slowly, brain began to function. No, I thought, don't make excuses, I must go for the challenge. Now, smug that I've done so, I'm going to have a shower followed by a glass of red wine. Amen to that.

Slightly troubled by the lack of connection between the word gimble and its function, I emailed the inventor to find out where it came from.

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So, am feeling a little dejected after a rejection today, another competition I didn't win, so I thought I would cheer myself up by looking at the year in total according to the Writingstats2007 blog Vanessa and I have been keeping since last Dec 27th. (Excuse the maths - it doesn't all add up exactly, but take it as a pretty good estimate!) It's really been a wonderful exercise which helped me keep the bigger picture in mind. So, that said, drumroll....

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I'm very fortunate to be reading an advance copy of A Vengeful Longing by R.N. Morris (the second in his Porfiry Petrovich series). Early next year I'll be reviewing it for Vulpes Libris, but the reason I mention it now is because it is currently test-driving one of my Christmas presents: the Gimble, which is a wonderfully simple device for holding your book open.

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Sound the trumpets, people, but Lord H and I have actually done the sales today. Huzzah indeed!! How very brave and British we are. I mean no other ruddy country gets themselves up and into a crowded town in order to get an item you probably wouldn't have bought in the first place at full price, do they? Or am I missing the point?

And, really, it has been a sales experience of two halves. Total failure for Lord H who managed to buy one item only: a rodent repeller, as we fear there is the scamper of tiny feet in the neighbour's attic (which due to the layout of the house is actually next door to our living room). Unless of course the neighbour has taken to running round the attic very, very lightly, whilst scrabbling at the skirting board. I would not put it past them ...

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