Ye gods, but it’s been a hellish morning. I ran around replacing arrows directing Freshers to places for the second day of multiple registration, discovered that the big chocolate tin in the office was empty when I came back (oh God, empty – how can such things happen???), panicked because we seem to have missed a talk and left students waiting for someone who never turned up, and was given a hugely patronising bollocking (in an irritatingly smarmy way which of course made it ten thousand times worse) by one of my (thank God) more geographically distant colleagues who then decided he hadn’t browbeaten me enough and rang back to make more criticisms. Plus a request to go and get him something from the Health Centre. Which is next door to where he works, and I am near neither of them. Harrumph. I ended up simply putting the phone down on the smarmy bugger and felt a lot better for having done so. Last time I do something nice for him then … And thank the Lord I don't have to speak to the mealy-mouthed b*****d very often ...

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My hands hurt. It's been a long time since this last happened, since my last bout of repetitive strain injury. Maybe 8 years. Back then, my whole arm went numb, I had to stop typing for several months, which is very difficult for a journalist. I remember I dabbled in voice recognition software but just couldn't get used to talking to myself. I had to stop knitting, too, which I was sad about. I had a lot of chiropratic treatment etc.. and that helped. Then I discovered yoga, and that really really helped.

I haven't had pain for years, I've been doing yoga regularly, sitting properly at the computer (I think), not really knitting. Then a few months ago I took up knitting again, delighted, because it's pretty trendy now, I don't get called "Grandma", everyone wants hand-made jumpers. But I must have overdone it, or over-used my laptop, or been careless about posture or something, because now I have those familiar twinges, mostly when I am not typing, not writing.

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This from the BBC
"Fantasy author Jordan dies at 58
Author Robert Jordan, whose was best known for the Wheel of Time series of fantasy novels has died of a rare blood disease aged 58.
Jordan - whose real name was James Oliver Rigney Junior - died at the Medical University of South Carolina.
His personal assistant, Maria Simons, said the disease caused the walls of his heart to thicken.
Jordan's first fantasy book, The Eye of the World, was published in 1990 and went on to sell millions of copies.


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The book, A Short History of Nearly Everything, introduced me to Bill Bryson. I love the way he communicates with his reader. It's direct, like a friend sharing their experience, it has all the wonderful ebb and flow of a really good conversation, mainly of the listening kind.

So, while having a luxurious slow browse through my local bookshop recently I came across "A Walk in the Woods: Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail". I was interested but I didn't think the American Appalachian Trail was a subject that would get me. On the front cover it said "a seriously funny read". They weren't wrong. I laughed out loud so many times, in coffee shops, on the bus, in company, every time I read a few paragraphs, real belly laughs. This book was in the travel genre, if it had been in the comedy genre I would have missed it (I'm a bit of a serious person) I rarely if ever would read a book written purely for laughs.

What I loved about the book was the way he wove interesting bits of information and personal insights into his human experience. And that's how it is when you walk, thoughts and insights drift in and out all the time, it's one of the joys of walking. There was a bit in the book about a place called Centralia in Pennsylvania. It's a town slowly disintegrating because there is an underground coal fire that has burned since 1961 underneath it. Apparently it could burn for 1000 years. I went onto www.youtube.com (have you discovered it) and was able to find a video showing exactly the place Bill was describing. How wonderful is the internet when combined with "active" reading. And when you are reading something geographical you can't do without combining your reading with Google Earth. The main thing is to remember to continue reading your book and not get tooooo distracted.

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Well, they’re here. The campus is full of confused-looking students clutching maps and frowning. Lordy, but how it takes me back. I absolutely and utterly hated my own Freshers’ Week up in Durham about 120 years ago now – I seem to remember I spent most of it sobbing and wondering how I could escape. Well, really, can you imagine it? – I was forced to meet people, go out in the evenings and look as if I was having fun whilst doing it. Three of my Worst Nightmare Scenarios – at the same time. The relief when my Freshers’ Week was over and I could actually get down to doing some study (bliss!) was indescribable. I can only hope that now our new first years have a better time.

Anyway, first thing this morning, Ruth and I were out treading the campus and placing stickers on walls and floors and pavements to try to explain how to get to Registration. Then from Registration to Health Registration. Then from Health Registration to Library Registration. And if they manage to do all that, then they definitely deserve a beer or two at the bar tonight. But – alas – we have no stickers for that route, so they’ll just have to find their own way there. And back ...

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There was a documentary/fan worship programme on BBC 4 the other night; Jonathon Ross in search of Steve Ditko the co-creator of Spider-man.

I have not watched the whole show, as I taped it but I did see contributions from Neil Gaiman and Alan Moore, so I expect the comments to be meaningful.

But what I want to consider is how much of an impact on writers of a certain age did Marvel have on us to nurture a need to tell stories and expand our imagiantion.

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In the perennial argument about whether you do research before, during or after you write a novel, one answer is that you do it when the children are away, the hangover's wearing off, and the bailiffs are out of the house: in other words, whenever you can. But given the choice, I found myself saying the other day on a forum thread, there are some kinds of research you have to do first, so that you've got something 'to start thinking against'.

Something to start thinking against. It was one of those ideas I didn't know I had till I saw it on the screen...


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This was when he lived! He would have dressed like that! This was me, finding a link to Allan Cunningham in everything I see, read and think. Yes I agree a little obsessive, possibly very obsessive, but I love it. A bit boring for others unfortunately so I try to keep my excitement short and sweet. They humour me and sometimes find it interesting. My close friends and family have been listening to me discuss this subject for over two years, so it is understandable that it sometimes is more humorous than interesting.

We were watching "Becoming Jane", a wonderful movie set in the late 1700's. I was taking note of the atmosphere and the way they all dressed and trying to place my botanist in the middle of it all. In particular, there is a scene in the law court where all the solicitors are writing madly with pen and ink, wigs in place, as some poor person was being sentence to transportation for life. AC trained as a solicitor early on, at Lincoln's Inn. He never married, possibly because his future was unsure. He was well educated possibly because his family had a patron. His father was the Head Gardener at Wimbledon House, so possibly the lord of the manor financed the education of the Head Gardener's two sons, Allan and Richard.

Allan Cunningham lived in London between 1791 and 1814, he would have understood society's rules, he would have witnessed Nelson's funeral on the Thames and walked the streets of London and rode in the transportation similar to that shown in the movie. Oh how I wish I could show the life of my character as well as the movie makers showed the life of Jane Austen.

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Yesterday, a dull Saturday morning in Glasgow, Govan rang to the sounds of 24 orange bands parading through the streets; I could imagine all the pillows over hung-over heads – I mean it was 11am for God’sake! My head was clear and zinging with caffeine. It took them almost half-an-hour to pass. What I like about high-rise-living is the view and the muted street noise; not that muted really; we’re only eight flights up. I stood at the window and watched as they drearily marched through the grey day…and there might have been a little rain in the wind.


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I forgot to say (and I really ought to have remembered!) that, after Friday's debacle with my attempt to get Godalming Pharmacy to sell me a bottle of Carex, I was having a much-needed nap when Lord H came home from work. Well, I do like to look like a hard-working author, you know ... Anyway, I told him my Friday disaster in great and gory detail and he listened with all due sympathy. When I finally shut up grumbling (not something that happens often, really), he produced not one - not two - but three bottles of the said Carex from his briefcase, saying he'd found me a happy Friday present, as Lightwater is still living in the '50s and the news of a product's discontinuation has not yet got through to them. Hurrah! No, triple hurrahs! And Lord H is now officially a SuperSaint Husband with extra Holiness points. And very smug about it, he is too, ho ho ... The Pope is due to ratify the sanctification any day now, I'm told.

Anyway, today we have gone to church in Peper Harow and all very jolly it was. The organist played some of the tunes I love - including Bach's "Sheep May Safely Graze" and Purcell's "Come Ye Sons of Art" - so what could be nicer? The hymns were okay too. At least they were low enough set for me to sing. How I hate the high notes. To cap it all, we managed to escape before having to talk to anyone, which is always a plus point in my book ...

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