Maggie Knutson

THE GOOD HOUSEKEEPING NOVEL COMPETITION 2012

2012-01-21T18:46:00.004Z

I have just entered my novel Cyprus Blues into the Good Housekeeping novel competition which closes on March 31st.

I sent in the first chapter, a synopsis and a short biography as required and I'm now just hoping and praying that it will make a good impression.

I read about the competition in Mslexia, which is an excellent magazine for women writers. I've never read Good Housekeeping before and it's actually a very good read with some recipes I'd like to try out.

But back to the competition - just before I sealed the envelope to send the whole lot off, I had a little peek at the first paragraph of the enclosed chapter and thought perhaps that doesn't sound right… maybe I should change it. Such is the neurosis of the writer. But then I thought what the heck… I can't keep rewriting it so I sealed the envelope and off the package went. So fingers crossed.

NEW BOOK REVIEW - THE UNDERSTUDY by DAVID NICHOLLS

2012-01-17T18:58:00.002Z

If you want a new novel to read to banish the cold, dark January days, then look no further than 'The Understudy' by David Nicholls. It's funny, light hearted-and what I would call 'a jolly good read'. If you're after an intense, thought-provoking novel that requires a dictionary and a glossary of classical Greek mythology, then this is not for you. But if you wish to be entertained and to laugh out loud, then this novel is right up your street.

The plot is simple: Stephen C McQueen is an actor whose roles so far include playing a corpse in a TV crime drama, a squirrel in a children's video and understudy to the 12th sexiest man in the world, Josh Harper, in a stage play about Byron.

So, understandably, he is not totally happy with his lot, particularly as his divorced wife has married a boorishly rich man and he has a less than successful relationship with his daughter.

His misfortunes are compounded by the fact that when Josh invites him to his celebrity – infested party, it is to act as a waiter rather than as a guest. However, at the beginning of the party, Stephen meets Josh's feisty but vulnerable wife, Nora, and the two hit it off straight away. Stephen, naturally, falls in love with Nora and the novel is based around their developing relationship.

Of course, I'm not going to tell you how the novel ends but it is, in my opinion, a most satisfactory ending.

If I wanted to be picky, I would say that both Josh and Nora are presented in rather stereotypical ways. Josh may be handsome, highly successful, and by all accounts a very good actor, but he is a total bastard and is more than happy to cheat on his wife. Nora, on the other hand, is the beautiful American waitress whom Josh has catapulted into a high-profile world where money is no object. So, quite rightly, I detested Josh and really liked Nora. They may be stereotypical but they are interesting and fully developed as characters.

More interesting though, is the fact that Nicholls gives no clues as to what Stephen looks like, whether he is a good actor or not, and whether we should be rooting for him or consider him a walking accident. Therefore, we are given no indication as to how his relationship with Nora will end.

Perhaps the novel lacks variety of pace but that's not really a major problem. It's not easy to write a novel that makes people laugh, as I've commented on in previous posts, but Nicholls does that effortlessly and I shall certainly read his famous "One Day", which has been made into a film.

A MERRY XMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU ALL

2011-12-24T18:34:00.003Z

Okay, so I'm over the nightmare bit, I've enjoyed the Radio 4 Carol service this afternoon, we're just having a cold buffet this evening. NOTHING of interest on the tele but luckily we've got plenty of good previously recorded films to choose from, the wine is chilling nicely so all is well. So, I hope you all enjoy this Christmas and my best wishes for 2012. From a very chilled out Maggie.

THE NIGHTMARE THAT IS CHRISTMAS !

2011-12-19T18:42:00.002Z

THAT IS IT! I started my Christmas preparations in good cheer and with kindly thoughts but it has now become a long, arduous process rather akin to a difficult child birthing experience. Each time I think I'm nearly there and all I need is another final long push, I receive cards I hadn't bargained for and more presents to be wrapped than expected.

I have totally had my fill of unruly wrapping paper, Sellotape that wraps itself into knots and Christmas tree baubles that fall off when I pass by the tree. There is, I believe, some dark, deep evil force at work which is out to drive me totally out of my mind.

I know that something is wrong when I find myself shouting at yet another roll of wrapping paper that has decided to move from the place I'd put it. The dog is in hiding and John is keeping a low profile. And I am NOT DOING ANY MORE.

If anyone knows where to buy those lovely simple single sheets of wrapping paper and some kind of gadget that cuts Sellotape beautifully PLEASE LET ME KNOW. I'm thinking, of course, about next year although at the moment I'm not sure that I'll get past this Christmas.

And by the way, a Merry Christmas to you all.

P.S. Thank you for listening. I feel so much better now after this little rant.

BBC RADIO 4'S WOMAN'S HOUR

2011-12-10T18:46:00.008Z

For the last year I have listened to Woman's Hour on BBC Radio Four every morning between 10 and 11 o'clock. I curl up in bed with the dog curled up next to me (on his own blanket I should add) and the radio next to me. And if it's gloomy outside, I have a light box facing me from the end of the bed.

And although they don't know it, the presenters, Jane Garvey and Jenni Murray have become two of my best friends. I just love their voices and their interviewing and presenting skills. They sound kind and interesting and informative and full of good humour and compassion, and wonderfully down to earth.

The show is unashamedly for and about women, although many features can just as easily apply to men, and there is a strong male following. And since a recent survey revealed that the majority of presenters on the radio are male, the occasional male quips that in this age of equality such a programme is unacceptable are, I believe, too futuristic.

An incredible variety of topics are covered ranging from interviews with singers, actors, authors, businesswomen and cooks to 'ordinary' women with a story to tell or a view to express.

As far as feminist issues are involved, there was a feature on the role played by women in the recent strikes and how women in particular are coping or not with the declining financial situation. But interviewees don't get an easy ride. Both Murray and Garvey ask searching questions. For example, Jane Garvey took to task a female police officer who was advocating special working hours for female police officers with small children, suggesting that they shouldn't work on Friday evenings or at the weekend. "I don't want to get mugged on a Friday evening or weekend because female police officers won't work then," she said or words to that effect. "You can't demand equal rights with men and then claim special working conditions."

It certainly is difficult for women with children who wish to work and to progress in their chosen field of employment. I was a working mother for many years so I understand the demands and problems of being overstretched but the recent trend for young mothers to job share or work part-time can impair the services that they provide, particularly in such fields as dentistry and medicine, where patients are relying on them to be available for more than just a few days a week. So, I appreciated Garvey's comments.

I have certainly learnt a lot by listening to the programme. For example, Woman's Hour is following three women who have set up businesses. They feature them from time to time with the mentors who are helping them. They discuss how the businesses are going and how they can move forward. I find it fascinating stuff.

And last week, there was an entire programmes devoted to a phone-in with the cook Mary Berry, who was answering questions about cooking for Christmas. So, I now know how to cook the perfect turkey and how to prepare chestnuts for roasting so that they are easy to peel.

There is also a slot called "How to cook the perfect…" with a cook preparing the dish in the studio with all the lovely cooking sounds and obvious delight in the tasting of the food. And by the way, the cook is sometimes male so no bias there.

And it was by listening to Woman's Hour that I first heard of the Danish TV thriller "The Killing." The feature was about the jumpers that the lead detective Sarah Lund wears. I was so intrigued but I bought the box set and watch the whole thing, often several episodes at a time because it was so enthralling. And just recently there was another feature about Lund's jumpers, one of the interviewees being a man who had me laughing out loud as he described the bobbly jumper that a girlfriend had knitted for him. Unfortunately it was too small for him. I used to be an avid knitter so I enjoyed this immensely.

Plus, there is often live music after musicians have been interviewed and that's an unexpected plus from a mainly talk programme.

And finally, the best part of the programme for me, as a writer and reader, is the fifteen minute book adaptation at the end of each show. It used to be that the book was just read aloud but for some time now, far longer than a year, the books have been serialised as mini-dramas. For the last two weeks I have been captivated by Anne Brontë's The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" and just recently there was an adaptation of Ernest Hemingway's "A Farewell to Arms" which not only had me weeping copiously at the end but also prompted me to buy the novel.

So, thank you Woman's Hour and thank you Jenny Merry and Jane Garvey. Jenni Murray has just been awarded an OBE and surely Jane Garvey should get one too for broadcasting services to women in general (and men) and for me personally.

NEW AUDIO BOOK REVIEW - THE DARK ROOM by MINETTE WALTERS

2011-12-06T18:38:00.005Z

The main action in this novel, although it could hardly be called action, takes place in the bedroom of a private clinic. Hence the title, although it could also refer to those dark parts of the brain which some call rooms, closed off and not wished to be accessed. For this is a psychological thriller and dialogue is key.

The occupant of the room in the clinic is Zinx, a young woman who it would seem has tried to commit suicide by crashing her car. But she can't remember and, most importantly, she does not seem the suicidal type. She is strong willed and highly intelligent. The daughter of a ruthless, ex-underworld boss, now businessman, she seems terrified of him and despises her drunken step-mother and irresponsible step-brothers.

Add to this, her recently ex-fiance, Leo, and her best friend, Meg, who is now engaged to Leo, are missing, supposedly in France, there are two unidentified bodies, beaten to death, plus violent attacks on prostitutes, and you begin to get a picture of one hell of a complicated mess which the police are having difficulty in resolving. Not to mention the fact that Zinx's husband was also so beaten to death. So there's a lot of beating and battering in this novel although, thankfully, not described in detail.

As Jinx talks with Adam, the clinical director of the clinic, we strive to unravel the truth and to distinguish between what she can remember and what she chooses to forget.

I have to say that I enjoyed listening to this audio book although at times I found it somewhat pedestrian and there was far too much talking and not enough action. There wasn't sufficient change in pace and I felt that more could have been made of the young couple who found the two bodies and Walters didn't make use of building suspense and menace in the attacks on the prostitutes. At the end, after we discover the identity of the perpetrator, which came as no surprise, events were explained through telling and not showing, which all writers are advised not to do.

Strange, then, that I enjoyed it but I'm certainly glad I only paid my 6o pence at the library to borrow it rather than pay to buy it.

NEW PEARLS OF WISDOM

2011-12-06T18:35:00.002Z

If you want to be listened to, stop talking – Maggie Knutson

NEW PEARLS OF WISDOM

2011-11-13T18:20:00.000Z

If you want the rainbow you have to have the rain – Dolly Parton

MESSAGE TO KAREN !!!

2011-11-12T18:18:00.003Z

Hi Karen,

hope you are enjoying the extra space at home. That short story I was telling you about "The Dog in the Pram" can be found in the short stories section. It comes after "Drinking our way round Cyprus."

If you have a chance to read it, I would be very keen to hear your comments good, bad or indifferent!

See soon,

Maggie xxx

TREME - the last two episodes

2011-11-01T18:42:00.003Z

Woops. Whilst sorting out my DVDs the other day, I discovered that I had not watched the last two episodes of Treme. Therefore, my recent post about this latest HBO television drama, set in New Orleans one year after Hurricane Katrina, is incomplete. So I am now going to put that right.

And boy, was I glad to find this final disc because the last two episodes are terrific.

The first thing to say is that the music is absolutely riveting. New Orleans jazz. Wonderful. Weaving its way in and out of people's lives, giving hope and encouragement and joy amidst loss and turmoil.

Lots of storylines are brought full circle, mainly in a deliciously pleasing way but not always. I'm not going to give too many details because you really need to see the drama for yourself. All I will say is that the ending is the beginning, the big man takes a tumble, the Indians in their gloriously outrageous costumes face a stand-off, a red traffic light drastically alters lives, pretty little missy violin player finds a home and bouncy, cheeky musician/DJ at last finds success. "What did I do to be so lucky?" he asks, beaming happily.

Buy the box set and enjoy.

NEW BOOK REVIEW - THE REVERSAL by MICHAEL CONNELLY

2011-10-27T18:48:00.005+01:00

The only complaint I have about this novel is that it is just too darn short. I wanted it to go on and on and on because it was such a good read. There were so many interesting subplots and relationships that it could have been twice as long and still as riveting. Who knows, perhaps, Connelly intends to pick this story up at a later date and write a sequel, in which case I shall most certainly read it.

The plot is as thus:-

Jason Jessop, who is a really nasty piece of work, has spent 24 years on death row having been convicted of murdering a young girl, Melissa Landy. However, new DNA evidence has revealed that traces of sperm found on her dress came not from Jessop but from her dead father and so a retrial has been ordered.

Enter Mickey Haller, normally a defence attorney, who has been recruited as a special prosecutor. He is to be aided by Maggie McPherson, a highly effective deputy district attorney. And by the way, she is one of his ex-wives, his secretary being his other ex-wife. Now that's an unusual triangle.

And the wonderful detective Harry Bosch, who is my favourite literary detective, has been hired to act as Haller's investigator. Bosch is a solitary character, dedicated to his job and bloody good at it. His way of relaxing is to drink beer on his balcony overlooking the noisy LA freeway, which quite clearly doesn't bother him, listening to jazz music. He's pretty hopeless at relationships but I, for one, adore him. Above all, I like his integrity and total disregard for authority. And yes, he always solves the crime.

Both Haller and Bosch are regulars in Connelly's novels but this is the first time that I've read a novel featuring both of them. They are very different in personality and since both are strong-willed, tensions arise. But they are united in their desire to re-convict Jessop, particularly as they have teenage daughters whom Jessop could very well target.

Bosch feels sure that Haller has killed before but this is not fully explored hence my suspicion that there is another novel concerning Jessop in the offing.

Most of the action takes place in the courtroom and Connelly gives a fascinating insight into the tactics of both prosecuting and defending lawyers. The most disturbing aspect is the attempts by both sides to destroy the credibility of witnesses. Character assassination at its very worst.

And now you know what I'm going to say. If you want to know more, buy the book and read it and you won't be disappointed.

Unlike many successful authors who produce novels at an alarmingly fast rate, Connelly maintains a consistently high standard of writing and his plots are fresh and riveting and very topical. If I want a novel that I know I will enjoy, particularly if I'm going on holiday, I always turn to Michael Connelly.

Enticingly, the first chapter of Connelly's next novel – The Fifth Witness –is included at the end of The Reversal. Mikey Haller features in this one and it is quite clearly based on the sub-prime scandal. And yes, I'm hooked already!

GADDAFI IS DEAD

2011-10-20T18:13:00.000+01:00

Good

NEW PEARLS OF WISDOM

2011-10-17T18:38:00.001+01:00

Time flies like an arrow - truth travels like a banana

TREME

2011-10-01T18:39:00.003+01:00

Treme is the latest HBO production to be available as a box set and since it is advertised as being the first season then hopefully more are to follow.

Set in New Orleans six months after the devastating hurricane which caused massive flooding and thus loss of life, loss of homes, and loss of livelihoods, it tells the story of individual musicians, chefs and residents struggling against the odds to restore some normality to their lives, in many cases to actually find out if close relatives are still alive, to find somewhere to live and to earn a living.

Characterisation is developed very quickly and so you get involved in their lives very quickly. Not surprising really since it comes from the creators of The Wire, which is, of course, the best TV series ever created. YEAH !!!

And it has all the hallmarks of The Wire: a multitude of scenes involving easily identified characters and the subtle weaving together of different plot strands. Plus, many of the actors were also in The Wire. Wendell Pierce, for example, plays a happy-go-lucky charasmatic trombonist who has an eye for the girls, and the wonderful Clarke Peters plays a steely willed musician who concentrates on Native Indian music.

But perhaps the dominant character is the music itself as we see musicians striving to re-establish the great New Orleans tradition of jazz, so there is hardly a scene without wonderful jazz music as the focus or in the background.

Life is exceedingly difficult, money is scarce and it is a struggle to survive. And, as with The Wire, it presents a powerful condemnation of the political situation in America. In the case of Treme, it is the reluctance of the government to help rebuild the city of New Orleans and to help its residents.

This is made abundantly clear by the podcasts of the University academic, played brilliantly by John Goodman, as he berates the government for its inactivity, using very forceful language. These podcasts are very funny but poignant at the same time.

A production like Treme can explore and expose inadequacies in the system far more effectively than a documentary.

Despite this bittersweet underlying theme, Treme is a delight to watch and I shall certainly be getting Season Two if and when it is released.

daftnotstupid at THE VILLA DES ORANGERS, MARRAKECH, MOROCCO - JUNE 2011

2011-08-29T12:20:00.002+01:00

GNAOUA ALL STARS: MAALEMS MAHMOUD GUINEA, ABDELKEBIR MERCHANE, MOHAMAED KOUYOU et HASSAN BOUSSOU - THE ESSAOUIRA FESTIVAL 2011

2011-08-28T12:07:00.000+01:00

As I wrote in a previous post, the emphasis this year was on gnaoua music. Thus it was most fitting that the Festival should close with four Maalems.

It was an emotional performance, the Maalems working well together, not trying to upstage each other. You have to remember that for Moroccans, gnaoua is their own special music of which they are very proud, and quite rightly so. And they adore their Maalems. Each Maalem has his own recognisable sound and their interpretations of the same piece of music can be very different.

I had hoped that the stage would be flooded with all their dancers because the dancers bring tremendous energy and skill and colour. Over the years, I have learnt to recognise individual dancers and to appreciate their abilities. However, each Maalem brought with him just two of his dancers and there were two extra dancers who acted as Moroccan flag bearers, although it was impossible for them not to do their own little dances, despite carrying these enormous flags.

Those of you who follow my Festival posts will know that I have a very special place in my heart for Maalem Mahmoud Guinea and since I hadn't seen his performance at the awful Scene Medital on the beach, I was pleased to be able to see him in this grand finale. Disappointed, though, that neither of his sons had been chosen to dance. But pleased to see that Hassan, whom we met a few years ago, was one of the flagbearers.

As you can imagine, this was a very popular performance. Each Maalem led a number and then, to finish off, they all played together. What was particularly exciting was that towards the end, the music was enhanced by a group of horn players. This provided a spectacularly vibrant sound and really got the audience going. So this year the festival was literally blasted to a close.

Afterwards, we managed to blag our way backstage again through the hordes of people trying, mainly unsuccessfully, to talk their way beyond the guards.

Again, we found frantic activity as well as exhausted performers. To the right, Bob Wisdom was giving an interview, and to the left, at the entrance to one of the tents, Maalem Mahmoud Guinea was also being interviewed.

But when that was finished, I was able to give Mahmoud the photograph album which we had prepared for him consisting of various photographs that we took of him and his group last year and at the special Lila we attended at his home a few Christmases ago. It was our tribute to him. He has given us so much pleasure over the years that we wanted to give something back.

So then all that was left to do was to stagger to Bab Lachour (our favourite restaurant in Essaouira) to drown our sorrows in beer and rosé wine. Another Festival over, hundreds of photographs to file, reports to write. It's tough going, but someone has to do it!

DARGA - THE ESSAOUIRA FESTIVAL 2011

2011-08-28T12:06:00.000+01:00

This set took place on Saturday, 24 June at Scene Meditel on the beach and I found it an absolutely dynamic performance despite the difficulties detailed further down this post.

Darga is a young group from Casablanca with a charismatic lead vocalist who, like Errol of Jazz-Racines Hiati, reminded me of Freddie Mercury because of his energy and the way he not only used the stage but climbed up some of the side rigging as he kept on singing. And at one stage he took off his top and sang bare chested.

The audience, which was spread right along the beach on both sides and towards the sea, went wild with enthusiasm.

The music itself was a fusion of a whole range of styles: reggae, ragga, funk, jazz and trad jazz. It was all very exciting and this is a group that I'd like to learn more about.

BUT the area in front of the stage, for VIPs and press ( a large stretch of concrete in-between the stage and the beach wall) was highly dangerous and the guard's identification machine wasn't working so there was no vetting of entrants.

To get to this area we had to walk down an unlit sloping, narrow sidewalk of rough ground, which was tricky to navigate.

The raised sections for photographers in front of the stage consisted of two shabby sets of two steps which were so insecure that John and I had to hang on to each other from time to time to prevent ourselves from falling. Anyone taking photographs or a film of us trying to do our work would have ended up with very amusing photos/films.

To add to this, there was a long drop between the top of the steps (which were very difficult to manoeuvre along) and the stage. There was nothing to get hold of except each other.

And, the only way to get onto the beach wall in order to sit down was via a number of high, rough steps with lots of cables in the middle and a piece of cloth roughly covering the steps which was loose and flopping over the side.

It would take a lot of persuading to get me to photograph at this stage again unless safety was significantly improved.

BUT Dargo were fantastic!

MAALEM HASSAN BOUSSOU AVEC JAZZ-RACINES HAITI - THE ESSAOUIRA FESTIVAL 2011

2011-08-28T12:04:00.000+01:00

THE RESIDENCE

There is a delicious irony to this report and it's proof that sometimes the best things can happen by pure chance.

But let me explain first what a Residence means.

For several years, John and I wondered how so many gnaoua groups were able to fuse their music with musicians from other genres e.g. jazz, hip-hop, heavy rock, reggae etc. Such performances were always so professional and one of the questions I wanted to ask in an interview was how they managed to do it when they had never played together before, had probably never even met before, and for it to sound so good.

Well, now we know. What happens is this: – the performers practice together over a period of several days before their performance, often all day, in a private venue, to acquaint themselves with their particular types of music, experiment with ways that they can fuse their music and to establish a playlist that has been rehearsed over and over again.

And we know this because months before the Festival, Hassan Boussou e-mailed John and asked him to film the practice sessions and then the performance onstage to show the progression from practice to performance, which, of course, John was very happy to do. However, somewhere along the line, we arrived at Essaouira without knowing where the private venue actually was.

Luckily, though, John met the manager of Jazz-Racines Hiati at the Sofitel hotel when he went to pick up our press passes and they went along to the Residence together, which was in a restaurant down a side street.

So, John was able to meet Hassan Boussou, whom he had interviewed the year before, and was also introduced to the members of Jazz-Racines Hiati, whom he found to be very friendly and hospitable. And he took a lot of brilliant photographs at the Residence, which he will no doubt be posting at some stage, and, and I write this through gritted teeth, are far superior to my pathetic efforts using my little Lumix. As you can see quite clearly from the examples at the beginning of this post, I didn't get the lighting right although I had been practising for months previously.

But the reason why I was able to take these photographs was as follows: the next day I ambled along to the Residence just to see how things were going. John was already in there because he was wearing his press badge. However, there were guards at the door and they wouldn't let me in because I couldn't show my press badge because it wasn't ready.

Undeterred, though, I explained that John was already inside and, standing on tiptoes and raising up my arm, described John as being very tall and all they needed to do was to ask him to come out and confirm my accreditation. To my astonishment, and possibly because they wanted to get rid of me, they simply ushered me in without finding John.

The restaurant was very pleasant indeed and it was easy to find where the practice session was located. There were several other photographers/filmers there as well as John. I gave him a wave and then looked for a good position to take photograph. I hadn't planned to do so but it was too good an opportunity to miss.

The musicians were in the left-hand corner at the back of the restaurant and directly in front of them was a sunken fountain area which was totally dry so I clambered down and knelt on one of the steps.

I was clicking away quite happily, totally unaware that my lighting was wrong, until Erol, the charismatic lead singer of Jazz- Racines Hiati, started to sing a solo number that was so beautiful that I instinctively switched my camera to recording. Then it developed into a duet with Hassan Boussou. It was so haunting and so powerful that I just kept recording. And then the gnaoua players and Jazz-Racines Hiati musicians joined in, totally changing the mood into a forceful, full-bodied fusion of gnaoua and jazz.

John, however, had already been asked to leave the venue, having been told that he had been there long enough. Apparently, photographers/filmers were only allowed to stay for a short time so that they didn't record too much of the practice. I, on the other hand, was left totally alone to do my recording. Am I really so ferocious that I am best left alone? I certainly do hope so.

Therefore, I was able to record the same song in both the practice session and then the polished performance onstage, although I didn't realise at the time that this would happen. Thus, I was able to do what John had been asked to do: to show the difference between practice and performance.

John, of course, took enough footage at the Residence and the performance to show that progression as well and he has, as I write, just finished a lengthy film weaving the two together. And, of course, it's infinitely better than mine. But I am a writer, I don't claim to be a proficient photographer or filmer but if I'm there in the right place, at the right time, then I'll do what I can to the best of my ability even if I don't have the best equipment. It's the story of my life, I suppose. And I have to laugh at the irony.

to watch my recording click here

THE PERFORMANCE

Friday 24th of June at Moulay Hassan.

This was a stunning performance. Hassan Boussou and his gnaoua group is one of the best that there is. Hassan Boussou is a highly versatile musician, playing not just the gumbri but other instruments too. Plus, he's very pleasing on the eye; a very handsome young man, totally dedicated to his music. Therefore, it is always a pleasure to watch him and to see the good rapour that he has with his group.

I have never been a great lover of jazz but Jazz-Racines Hiati has changed that. It was a delight to hear them play, particularly when members played a solo piece. And as for Erol, the lead singer, he has a tremendous stage presence and a sense of theatre. In fact, so dramatic and dynamic that he reminded me of Freddie Mercury.

Erol is also a voodoo priest with several churches and you get a sense of that in his performance. He, too, is a strikingly good looking man with strong cheekbones that many women would die for and he takes full advantage of that. He appeared to going to some form of trance and with large, startled eyes he went into some sort of primaeval dance, bending low and staring out at the audience, the dance enhanced by his long white wrap over skirt which revealed very shapely legs.

(After the performance, John and I were able to go backstage and I was able to shake Erol's hand and compliment him on the performance. That has to be a first for me – shaking hands with a voodoo priest. The drummer is also a voodoo priest so the whole experience for me was unique.)

As with the practice, I was busy taking photographs until I heard that beautiful, haunting song and so instinctively I switched to filming. In the practice, the piece was relatively short but

the actual performance lasted about 14 minutes.

Because I was so tired and hungry (I hadn't eaten since breakfast), I was stuffing down crisps right in front of the performers as I photographed and filmed. And eventually, I just had to take a break. So, as you will see from the film of the performance, I left the photographers area, put my camera down facing the sky, had a drink of diet cola that I had brought with me in a plastic beaker, and had a cigarette. So all you can see for a while it's the sky, a brief view of my face, and a whiff of smoke.

MES ENFANTS

Last year, one of the best experiences for me was to be befriended by a group of small children whom I called 'mes enfants.' We danced together and I gave one of the girls my white cap. So, I was hoping to meet them again this year and to my delight, I spotted this particular girl in the VIP area at Mouley Hassan. I recognised her immediately but it took some time for her to remember me. But when she did, she cuddled me and pulled me out of the VIP area to meet her dad, who was one of the Festival's officials.

John joined us and then Hischam from our hotel, Heure Blue, and we all sat outside the café for VIPs and just chilled out. Grandmother was also there and it was a lovely to meet so many friendly people. Getting back into the VIP area was rather tricky because I hadn't formally left so we went through this funny ritual of me being signed out and then signed back in.

At some stage, John lost an important piece of equipment and thought it was gone for ever. But the next evening it was returned to him via my little friend's father for which John was very grateful.

BACKSTAGE I had never been backstage before and had previously thought it would be a wonderfully calm place for the performers to relax before and after their performances. However, it turned out to be a stiflingly hot and claustrophobic place and far more hectic than outside. There were a lot of interviews going on and a multitude of photographs taken in it seemed quite clear to me that for the exhausted performers, their work had not as yet finished.

TRILOK GURTU - THE ESSAOUIRA FESTIVAL 2011

2011-08-28T12:03:00.000+01:00

This was the final set at Moulay Hassan on Thursday the 23rd of June and I certainly missed a trick with this one. It was way after 10.30 when the performance started and I was so tired that I just took a few photographs and then made my way back to the hotel. However, John recorded the music for his daftnotstupid You Tube site and he played his recordings a number of times when we were in our room and it sounded wonderful so do go to his site and check the music out. It sounds sublime.

MAALEM MOHAMED KOUYOU - THE ESSAOUIRA FESTIVAL 2011

2011-08-28T12:02:00.000+01:00

This was the second set at Moulay Hassan on Thursday 23rd of June – a traditional gnaoua group. This year the emphasis at the Festival was definitely of gnaoua music, both traditional and fused with a variety of world music genres.

these photographs give a flavour of the performance

MAALEM ABDELKEBIR BENSELOUM KBIBER with BABA SISSOKO and MALI TAMANI REVOLUTION - THE ESSAOUIRA FESTIVAL 2011

2011-08-28T12:01:00.000+01:00

This was the opening performance at Moulay Hassan on Thursday 23rd of June. With its mixture of traditional gnaoua and African drums, it was an excellent start to the Festival –colourful and joyful with an exciting variety of sounds. The performers were obviously enjoying the experience and they really got the audience going, even some of the seated officials, which is quite an achievement in itself. these photographs give a flavour of the performance

GLORIOUS GNAOUA - THE ESSAOUIRA GNAWA AND WORLD MUSIC FESTIVAL 2011 - 1ST REPORT

2011-08-28T12:00:00.000+01:00

Each year is different at the Festival and this year was particularly so without our beloved Bab Marrakesh Square as a venue.

It made a massive difference in two ways: –

* In previous years, when the square was used, we had a ring side view from our hotel balcony. This included watching the stage go up, and, at the end, being dismantled, the lighting checked, the sound system tested each day using the most delicious of music, and various rehearsals by performers. This all added to the atmosphere and the increasing excitement beforehand. This year, however, the square was used as a car park and so there was no atmosphere there at all. In fact, you would hardly know that the Festival was taking place.

* Normally, I would watch all the performances at Bab Marrakesh on the Friday and Saturday nights so I would see at least eight performances from start to finish. This year I saw far fewer because the remaining venues were some distance away. This meant that I spent a lot of time walking from a venue to venue zigzagging around a multitude of pedestrians and very often actually missing what I intended to watch.

However, having press badges again this year meant that the performances I did see I saw close up and I can't tell you just how exciting that is. So I can't really complain too much, plus I reckon I've lost about half a stone in weight because of all the walking, which is no bad thing.

And yes, it was a great festival again and I have come away with countless photographs which I shall be posting as soon as I can, and many wonderful memories, not just of the music but also of the people I met from all walks of life from the old lady begging on the street outside our hotel to meeting the American actor, Robert (Bob) Wisdom again plus his lovely wife.

Also, I have come back in a much better state physically. Last year I seriously compromised my back so this year I had small magnets placed all the way down my back on either side of my spine, plus, for performances I wore a support belt for my lower back and a tens machine. And that worked an absolute treat.

What I shall be doing next is to post individual reports on each of the acts that I saw at the Festival. But I will leave you with a brief summary of what lingers on my mind: –

*People are more important even than music.

*I never before realised how fortunate we are in Great Britain to have freedom of speech.

*There are logistical difficulties in trying to cover several venues in an evening and, at the same time, fitting in intake of food. So I now know what it is like to eat 'on the hoof'. One evening, for example, I ate nothing from breakfast until 11.30at night, when I managed to buy a barbecued corn on the cob which tasted far less appetising than it looked. And another evening, and I can hardly believe this, I found myself, at 1:30 am, shoving crisps into my mouth as I took photographs of Hassan Boussou and Jazz-Racines Haiti right below them on the photographers' plinth.

*Treating my time in Essaouira during the Festival as a job rather than a holiday worked well for me. My typical day was as follows: sleep in until about 11.30, have breakfast in bed, eventually wander up to the roof terrace, have a coffee and ciggie, do my exercises, have a swim, a spot of lunch if I could be bothered and then a kip on one of the wonderful space-ship shaped loungers protected by a blue latticed wooden covering, another drink and ciggie, wander back down to the room, have a bath, get ready, leave the room about 7.30, off to a venue or two to take photographs, grab some chips and crisps if possible, return back to the room in the early hours. Listen to some of John's recordings, check the photographs and get to bed about 4 AM. A very pleasant routine indeed.

*Meeting Bob Wisdom again was a pure pleasure. He is such a genuinely nice person, so charismatic and fun to be with and with a real generosity of spirit. Plus, he's a great fan of gnaoua music, which makes him my kind of person. And, it was lovely to meet his wife too. She has a serene air of composure which I found very calming.

*I now, much to my surprise, like jazz thanks to Jazz-Racines Haiti and Salif Keita.

*And, finally, I have found a new exciting band from Casablanca called Darga who I definitely want to learn more about.

P.S. For some strange computer-is-stupid reason these posts are all in the wrong order. I shall get my computer manager to fix this at the week-end.

PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE BOMBED ARGANA CAFE, MARRAKECH - JUNE 2011

2011-07-09T18:37:00.006+01:00

This is what the bombed Argana cafe in Marrakesh, Morocco looked like in June. As you can see, the building work has been covered by enormous plastic sheets and large paintings have been hung from the top.

It looks eerily beautiful.

And life goes on around it. The shops next to it and the entrances to the souk are still busy. Opposite, the colourful stalls, with their delicious displays of fruits and nuts operate as though nothing had happened.

There is no obvious indication that people were killed and maimed here. Thankfully, none of our friends in Marrakesh were involved but it has left people angry. They are peaceful people and terrorism plays no part in their lives.

Tourism was adversely affected for a while but seems to be picking up again.

Hopefully, when we return next year, the cafe will be up and running and, of course, we shall frequent it.

THE PHONE HACKING SCANDAL

2011-07-07T18:24:00.006+01:00

I wrote in my last post that as far as I was concerned, people are more important than anything else. Therefore, instead of spending this valuable computer time sifting through my photographs of the Essaouira Festival in readiness for further posts, I want to comment about the phone hacking scandal.
You would have to be stupid to believe that newspaper reporters don't play dirty at times. For example, investigative journalists probably need to bend the law a little in order to expose corruption and wrongdoing. However, this scandal that has imploded onto our TV screens is in a different class altogether.

I think the general public weren't too concerned about the hacking of the phones of the Royal family and celebrities, and perhaps this is why the ensuing police investigation seemed rather lack lustre, although for the individuals concerned it was a matter of great concern. I never thought I'd be backing John Prescott in any way shape or form but in this matter I am 100% behind him and applaud his persistent efforts to get to the truth.

But to hack into the phones of missing children who are later found dead is hideous beyond words. And now we're learning that the relatives of the victim's of the 7/7 bombings and soldiers killed in Afghanistan have also been targets. Probably, there's even more to come and it makes me feel sick to the very core of my being.

I heard just half an hour ago that the main culprit, the News of the World, is to close after next Sunday's edition, but this is no cause to rejoice. Not only is it a blatant attempt by the Murdoch Corporation to distance itself from the actions of some of its staff in order to achieve its main goal of owning British Sky Broadcasting, but probably it will re-emerge very soon under a different name.

It appears that the police have over 4000 names of people targeted. Why only tell us this now? They have had this information for years. Added to this, it is now being claimed that Andy Coulson, one-time editor of the News of the World, lied not only to the committee investigating this hacking into the phones of private individuals, but also to the Prime Minister. Hence his appointment as press officer to the Blair government until the allegations about him were so persistent that he also resigned from this position.

But even worse, and it is this that has troubled me more than anything, is the Metropolitan police involvement in selling phone numbers of the families of victims and soldiers to newspaper reporters. So, as investigations have been in their infancy, some corrupt police officers have taken time out of essential work to make a substantial amount of money by selling phone numbers of very vulnerable and distraught people given at a time of extreme stress.

And it poses the question about the integrity of that initial police investigation. Hints of the TV drama 'Shadow lands' comes to mind and one wonders just how far up the chain of command the corruption ends.

At the moment, we are still at the allegations stage but I will eat all of my hats if they prove to be false.

For me, the word integrity is key to all this and reaches far beyond not just the newspapers, the police, and possibly the courts, back to the MP's expenses scandal, the crisis in the banking world because of unscrupulous and dishonest dealings, and fanning out into the general public, society as a whole, and how we all behave.

I have lived for over 60 years now, and I see an enormous decline in standards, behaviour, what is acceptable, and how we do or do not consider other people apart from ourselves. There is no doubt in my mind that Margaret Thatcher started this slippery-slidy slope into hedonism and that it has become normal for a substantial number of people to consider first and foremost number one, i.e. themselves, and to discount, ignore or actively persecute other people, with no sense of shame or an understanding that they are actually doing anything wrong.

Of course, I'm talking in generalities here and there are still many people who have a strong sense of integrity. I feel great sympathy for the majority of police officers and reporters who are not corrupt and are appalled at what is being revealed. But corruption is, and I apologise for using the cliche, the tip of the iceberg. For beneath what is obviously criminal, is this pervading sense that we have, in this country, a lack of respect for others. And this lack of respect has a drip drip drip effect on the morality of the country.

JB Priestley, in his play "An Inspector Calls", warned that it is the little lies that people tell, seemingly not too serious, that can, collectively, snowball into something catastrophic. In the case of the play, it was the First World War.

It must be said that having integrity does not mean that one doesn't make mistakes or sometimes do something that is wrong. We are all human and we are all fallible. But, if we allow ourselves to lose sight of what is right and wrong then we not only damage ourselves but we also damage others. And we also damage not only society but also our standing in the world. If this country is seen to be riddled with corruption then it has no authority whatsoever to expose the corruption in other countries.

I sincerely hope that the British public will look deep within themselves to find that sense of integrity that we all have and demand that those involved in this disgusting case of corruption and withholding of evidence will be exposed and prosecuted, and to boycott any newspaper in the Murdoch Corporation until it has proved to be beyond reproach. I also hope that BSkyB does not fall into the hands of this insidious, self-seeking and over – powerful man who is not even a British citizen.

And finally, it is such an irony that I wrote so recently in my last post that we had in this country freedom of speech. Because now I'm wondering if my phone has been hacked and should I be careful about what I say during phone calls. My freedom of speech and yours and everyone's is under threat here and then we will be like all those people who live in countries where there is no freedom of speech.

There are many people, for example, in many Arab countries who are at this moment fighting for freedom of speech and are prepared to die in the process. We must not allow ourselves to get into the same position.

ESSAOUIRA GNAWA AND WORLD MUSIC FESTIVAL 20O5-2010 - PHOTOGRAPHS FROM OUR BALCONY

2011-05-22T18:50:00.005+01:00

These will go up when my technical manager has put them in a flickr album, hopefully sometime this year!

John adds: It's coming along. This is still work in progress, so check back in a day or so for more of Maggie's great photos.

NOW COMPLETE

FILM REVIEW: THE STIEG LARSSON TRILOGY

2011-05-21T18:39:00.004+01:00

For those of you who follow my blog, I am a great Stieg Larsson fan. I soaked up his three novels, which seem now to be unofficially called the Millennium trilogy (based on the name of the magazine published by investigative journalist Mikael Blomkvist in the stories), in a way I haven't done with any other novelS for a long time. And I still haven't found anything to read as yet that comes even close to capturing my total concentration as they did.

Therefore, I was very keen to see the film versions and having done so I wish to give my verdict. These were the Swedish versions and I chose to watch them in Swedish with English subtitles. Therefore, the essence of Swedishness, already very vibrant in the novels, particularly through the scenery and the different institutions exposed, was reinforced by the natural language.

And what can I say? They were all brilliant but particularly the first two.

There's always a danger when watching the film based on a novel, particularly one you have just read, because it's all too easy to look for differences between the two. And that can lead to a great disappointment. However, I can honestly say that I spotted no important differences in the first two films and although I already knew the plots, I was completely absorbed all the time.

The enigmatic and fascinating heroine/anti-heroine, Lisbeth Salander, is played beautifully by Noomi Rapace. She looks and behaves exactly as the Salander in the books. So much so that it is a surprise to see and hear the actress giving interviews. You would hardly recognise that this was the same person. And Michael Nyquist, who plays Mikael Blomkvist, really brought his character alive. Seeing him play the role, gave me a full understanding of just how attractive the character is.

And film can do what sometimes a novel can't do – that is to show visually information that can take a long time to be covered on the written page. So, in the first film we get a really clear idea of all the different members of the Wenger family, who are central to the plot, in a very easy sequence – large photographs of each of the members are used by Blomkist to show who is who. This took a very long time in the novel and I still got confused from time to time.

Now, onto the last of the films. I enjoyed this one nearly as much as the other two but some of the subplots had been altered to fit in with the main plot and I did find this a tad distracting. But I can see the logic in doing so because the film really had to be focused on what was happening with Salander and her story.

Conclusion. Excellent films, all three. Totally worth watching first in Swedish and then in English or the other way round if you so choose. It shall be interesting to see whether Hollywood can produce anything nearly as good. I doubt it but who knows. Having become a fan of European detective drama series e.g. Wallender, Spiral and The Killing (BBC 4, Saturday evenings), I am really enjoying listening to other languages in the context of the countries in which the dramas are set. Makes for far more gripping television.

THE ESSAOUIRA GNAOUA AND WORLD MUSIC FESTIVAL 2011 - AND THANK YOU WANKER BANKERS !!!

2011-05-18T18:59:00.007+01:00

The good news

The programme for the Essaouira Gnaoua and World Music Festival 2011 has just been released. Again it lasts for four days and we were pleased to see that many of our favourite Gnaoua groups will be playing, including those led by Maalems Mahmoud Guinea, Hassan Boussou, Hamid El Kasri, Mustapha Bakbou and Omar Hayat (John calls him the Little Richard of Gnaoua). There will also be a liberal sprinkling of World Music musicians from other countries, including Haiti and Afghanistan. Plus, and of course this is brilliant news for John and I, we will be getting press badges again. YIPPEE and thank you God.

The bad news

However, the festival has been scaled down, with no big performers like Ki-mani Marley and Youssou N'Dour. And, and this is terrible news for John and I, the large square outside our hotel, Bab Marrakech, is not to be used so we will not have the great pleasure of sitting on our balcony to watch some of the acts. I shall miss this dreadfully.

We really were lucky to have found this hotel, Hotel Blue, with its two rooms with balconies facing onto the square. And equally lucky to have been able to book one of the rooms each year. I can't remember how many years but it's probably six. Amazed actually. It has been an absolute delight to have been so close to the action and I think we were incredibly blessed to have had this experience. In fact, we used to pinch ourselves each year, almost in disbelief, that we were able to do this.

And it was wonderful not just for the evenings of live, fantastic music and dancing: we really enjoyed watching and listening to the crowd, whose enthusiastic rappour with the musicians was so infectious. There was one time when I was dancing on the balcony and a guy below saw me and started dancing in time to my dancing. It was such fun.

Plus, it was so exciting watching the stage being erected and the sound system being tested over and over again all day using the most marvellous of music. It was on such an occasion that we discovered the singer Jeff Buckley. We were in great awe of the professionalism and skill of the guys involved. Unsung heroes of the festival.

But probably the main disadvantage will be that John cannot record the music being played on the Bab Marrakech stage whilst videoing at Mouley Hassan. Therefore, it will reduce our recording capacity.

The setting of Bab Marrakech as a venue meant that all of Essaouira was buzzing to the sound of music during the afternoon, evening and late into the night. It was so exciting. Magical. This year, however, it will be a large, empty, quiet space and I'm sure that the tens of thousands of people who watched performances there will feel the loss just as much as us.

Who's to blame?

The wanker bankers, of course. Perhaps this is being too simplistic but I doubt it. Because of the greed and the unscrupulous financial dealings of so many bankers, including knowingly selling mortgages to people who quite clearly could not afford them, we have all been left in a financial state of bankruptcy. So it's no surprise then that sponsors such as Pepsi have pulled out of the festival. The fact that it actually taking place in such an uncertain financial climate is a small miracle in itself and one I am grateful for. As for Bab Marrakech and the enviable position of our hotel room, we always knew it would end one day because nothing stays the same. But it's very sad for us nevertheless.

Back to the festival

This year there will be two large open air venues: Place Moulay Hassan and Scene Meditel, on the beach. Both of these venues will be free and obviously bursting to the seams. And there will be two venues which will be chargeable: Bastion de Bab Marrakech and Zaouia Sidna Bilal, both inside. I have no doubt that the festival will be a huge success as usual and John and I intend to make full use of our press badges. I have been learning how to use a larger and hopefully better camera because I want to take even better photographs this year. And, of course, I am really, really, really looking forward to being back in my beloved Morocco. So, again, thank you God .

AUDIO BOOK REVIEW - WHO THE HELL IS WANDA FUCA? by G.M.FORD

2011-05-02T18:36:00.003+01:00

I have been listening to audio books for years and never thought to review them. Strange really, because listening to a book is just as valuable as reading one. I think it's because I associate listening to an audio book with total relaxation whilst I'm having a coffee break plus a ciggie, doing some embroidery or sewing. However, I have heard so many good ones recently that it has spurred me into action.

So, here is my very first audio book review.

I still have no idea who Wanda Fuca because it's not mentioned once in the book but that just shows how zany the book is. Set in Seattle, and written I guess by an American, it's a very light, funny, entertaining detective story.

The detective in question is P.I. Leo Waterman, who doesn't take himself too seriously, which I really appreciate. Leo has been asked by an ageing gangster friend of his father, to locate his granddaughter, Caroline Noble. She has loads of money and loads of attitude and loads of 'no one has the foggiest where she is'.

Leo, of course, with the help of a most unlikely crew of homeless, dithering, booze-loving friends, finds her pretty quickly. She is hiding out with a dodgy section of the green movement and Leo becomes involved with the illegal dumping of toxic waste and the various plans to sabotage it. Needless to say, this is putting Caroline at great risk.

And that's all I'm telling you because, as I always say, if you want to know more then buy or listen to the book.

I thoroughly enjoyed it. Characterisation is excellent, particularly of Leo and Caroline, who are both a lot of fun although in different ways, and the plot moves along in a most satisfactory manner. I particularly liked the dialogue, which seemed very naturalistic, and the writing style generally suits the 'this is a detective story but not as you know it' mood of the book.

According to the blurb on the back of the box, this is the first in a series of Leo Waterman stories and I look forward to listening to or reading further adventures.

There has been enormous trend during the last few years for detective novels to become as gory and scary as possible and I for one have had a stomach full of this trend. I want to be entertained, not sickened. And the novel that I am now writing, Winchester Blues, is, hopefully, part of the movement that Ford belongs to (if there is such a movement), which aims to buck that trend.

The version I listened to was a BBC audio book production, read by Jeff Harding. And I should add here that the reader is crucial to the enjoyment of an audio book. If I don't like the voice, I stop listening and pop down to my local library to choose another one. Luckily, Jeff Harding has a voice I could listen to all day. Pretty yummy in a cool American kind of way.

THE BOMBING OF THE ARGANA CAFE/RESTAURANT, MARRAKESH, MOROCCO.

2011-04-30T18:21:00.004+01:00

As a regular visitor to Morocco, I have often been to the Argana café/restaurant. With its position next to the Souk and with two terraces overlooking Djema El Fna Square, plus an excellent menu of really good food at really reasonable prices, it is popular with locals and tourists alike.

On the ground floor is a pastry shop and then there is a wide sweep of marble stairs leading to the first floor and another to the second-floor. Both these floors have plenty of seating both covered and terraced and so it has a large capacity. All the times that I have been there it has been pretty full. And it should be mentioned that it is spotlessly clean, which is not always the case in Marrakesh.

I have very fond memories of the Argana.

The first time that John and I visited Morocco together was at Christmas-time a number of years ago. We first stayed at a secluded hotel in the Atlas Mountains and then travelled down by taxi on Christmas Day for our second destination of Marrakesh. It was beautifully hot day, nearly 30°, and we ended up on the first-floor terrace of the Argana for lunch.

It was there that we surveyed, in sheer wonderment, the diverse activities going on in the square: transvestite belly dancers, snake charmers, drum players, medicine men, henna artists and much more. So much entertainment that I had never seen before. I think John had kebabs and chips but I know I had Salad Nicoise. Fed up with the cold weather and over-commercialism of Christmas back in England, it was deliciously different way to spend Christmas Day.

The weather changed in Marrakesh after that day. It became colder and it rained a lot, so swimming outdoors was out of the question. And it was this that prompted me to visit a hamman (the Morocco version of Turkish baths) for the first time and I discovered, to my delight, but although it was a scary experience stepping into a dark, humid cavern, it was absolutely fantastic to be scrubbed and massaged, covered in mud, and almost drowned when buckets of water were chucked over me. Not surprisingly, I went every day after that first visit.

With my wet hair covered, turban like, with a large Moroccan scarf, I would meet John afterwards at the Argana, sometimes with people I had met at the hamman, for a delicious hot chocolate and, of course, it being me, a ciggie.

These are memories that I will never forget.

But on Thursday, some misguided, delusional, fanatical man or woman, placed a bomb in this lovely cafe and blew it up. How clever! Didn't even have the guts to stay there to be blown up him or herself.

What a contribution this person has made to a world that is already facing countless difficulties! What great act of heroism this was! How admirable to kill and maim dozens of people, leaving families and friends distraught and grieving!

Well stuff them. Stuff all terrorists. I am disgusted. And of course, John and I will be going to Marrakesh again soon. And if the Argana is in any way open for business, we shall be going there. Do what you will, terrorists, you will never win.

Maalem Aziz Bakbou with the Armenian Navy Band and Daniel Zimmerman

2011-04-17T15:03:00.005+01:00

This Flickr slideshow has the photos that I took last year in Essaouira of Maalem Aziz Bakbou with the Armenian Navy Band and Daniel Zimmerman:

John was at Place Moulay Hassan recording a different band, so we have no video of the Armenian Navy Band, but he left his audio recorder running (attached to our bedroom balcony!), and he's put together this video with one of their numbers along with some of my photos:

P.S. This was the first time (i.e. at last year's festival) that I'd ever attempted to take photographs at a live concert with moving subjects. In fact, I hardly ever take photos generally and you might well say that it shows!

The camera I used was a small Lumix DMC-FS6, which was the subject of much teasing by the professional photographers with their enormous cameras. I hardly knew how to operate my little 'tourist' camera at first so was really learning on the 'job'. But I have to say how surprised I was that I loved the whole experience of being both close to the performers and close to the crowd, trying to capture as best I could what I was seeing first hand.

Some of the photographs on show here are particularly amateurish and slightly out of focus, as you'd expect. However, there are some, paricularly of the dancers, that I'm really pleased with. I certainly hope that the collection give a flavour of the performance.

If I get a press badge for this year's festival, I hope to use a better camera and am already practising, which I'm finding a lot of fun. I should really be spending more time on my second novel, but the fesival is so important for me and I want to do a better job if I'm given the chance. Fingers crossed and all that.

Maggie on duty at Essaouira 2010

2011-04-11T17:05:00.000+01:00

Here is a short video of me taking some photographs at the Gnaoua and WOrld Music Festival in Essaouira last year. John recorded the video from our balcony, but I took the photos that are merged in with it.

PUB REVIEW: THE THOMAS TRIPP PUB, CHRISTCHURCH, DORSET

2011-04-06T18:48:00.003+01:00

There is a large board outside the Thomas Tripp Pub, on Wick Lane, close to the main shopping street in Christchurch, which describes the food as award winning. I just wonder what type of award it was. Possibly, for the worst food in Dorset.

John and I spent a dismal lunchtime in this cold, unwelcoming pub just a few days ago. We should have realised our mistake when we were told that they did not serve fizzy water or have an espresso machine. However, we were too hungry and tired to try elsewhere.

John's meal was marginally better than my own. It consisted of frozen cod, fried probably in a coating of meanly thin processed breadcrumbs, tasteless chips and an unappealing salad.

But my meal was actually inedible. It was supposed to be bacon, liver and mashed potato. What eventually arrived was a bowl of greasy gravy with packet mashed potato plonked in the middle. There were a few small pieces of tough bacon, thin slices of cheap, tough liver and strips of the outer layer of an onion swimming in the gravy. I don't even want to try to remember the taste.

Yes, award winning indeed!

P.S. I forgot to mention that the pub offers live music in the evenings. But the only 'music' that we heard was the sound of the side door banging merrily away in the wind.

NEW PEARLS OF WISDOM

2011-04-06T18:44:00.001+01:00

Come gather ye people all over the land
and don't criticise what you don't understand – Bob Dylan

What I don't understand is why Bob Dylan has agreed to have his lyrics censored by the Chinese authorities before his concerts in China. Because I don't understand, I won't criticise but surely it goes against the spirit of his protest songs. What do you think?

HOTEL REVIEW: CHRISTCHURCH HARBOUR HOTEL, CHRISTCHURCH, DORSET

2011-04-03T18:57:00.007+01:00

Last week, we spent a few days in Christchurch, Dorset because it's a beautiful place, particularly its beaches and views, and we wanted to see whether we'd like to move there because one of our dreams is to live by the sea - probably the same dream that the majority of the population have.

And my choice of hotel was The Christchurch Harbour Hotel so it was all my fault.

The first problem with this hotel was that it was not in the right place. To be precise, it was 1.8 miles not in the right place.

My map of the area is in the form of a booklet and the section on Christchurch is on several pages. If I'd had a copy of a map just of Christchurch on one page, just like the one we bought belatedly at The Tourist Information Office, I would have seen quite clearly that the hotel was not on the waterfront close to the centre of the town but actually on the waterfront of Mudeford harbour 1.8 miles away.

Therefore, instead of taking a casual walk to the centre and the surrounds to get a real feel of the place, we had to drive or take taxis to get in and out.

Now, don't get me wrong. Mudeford Harbour is a beautiful place, with walks along the beach and several good pubs around. But it's not the right base if you want to get to know the town well.

The hotel itself is an imposing white building, partly old and partly new, although you wouldn't notice that from either the outside or the inside. And it has spectacular views of the harbour at the back with terraces which lead down to the water's edge.

This is the view which we would have seen from the large dining room were it not for the fact that the terrace was being re-laid with wooden flooring. So what we actually saw were noisy builders at work. Rather pee-ed off that no mention of this was made when we booked.

It also meant that instead of the soothing sound of water lapping against the shore, we heard, both in the dining room and bedroom, that wonderful sound of banging, drilling and sawing plus the cheerful banter of men at work/lounging around having a fag break. (Which was very naughty of them 'cos even the terraces are no smoking.)

Our first bedroom was a great disappointment: too enormous, too impersonal and too cold (the radiator didn't work.) Plus, and this was very important, there were only two single beds which were acres apart. Therefore, the pleasure of the views from the windows (which didn't open properly) were negated. To add to this, a couple in the room below were talking so loudly that I felt like an eavesdropper. (And it wasn't even an interesting conversation.)

So, whilst John was searching for access to the beach, I used my great negotiation skills (start off quietly, resort to firm assertiveness if necessary) to secure another room. This one was smaller, with windows that opened, a view of the harbour if you stood on tip-toes over the wall in front, and a double bed. Now there was just the background symphony of the builders at work without the distraction of intrusive conversation.

I must say, however, that the hotel itself (probably a four or five star one) was impeccably clean and the staff were very friendly and helpful. However, the decor of dull moss green walls and modern attempts at art deco just didn't work for me. Wierd and unpleasing to the eye is how I'd describe it.

On the plus side, the swimming pool in the spa area was large enough to accommodate three or four swimmers and the jacuzzi was a welcome indulgence. However, I decided not to book in for one of the beauty treatments that looked so appealing on the website. This was partly because the prices were excessive and partly because the area was not a place I wanted to linger in. Too cold and impersonal. Instead, I booked myself a couple of treatments at the Tony and Guy Salon in Christchurch. (The beautician, Holly, was an absolute delight, and my soothing leg and eye treatments were a dream.)

Breakfast in the dining room was a noisy affair: the tables were too close together and the noise of people talking and babies crying echoed around the vast room. In fact, it was hard to hear the workmen outside. We chose the continental breakfast and the coissants, pastries and marble cake (jummy) were excellent as was the bread and coffee. The toast, however, was like limp cardboard.

On our last evening, as John and I sat on the bench close to the water and the Captains Club Hotel, a stone's throw from Christchurch town, listening to the roar of the sea beyond the headland and gazing up at the stars, we were both in agreement. Should have booked in at the Captains Club Hotel. Shall do next time.

BOOK REVIEW: The Girl who Kicked the Hornets' Nest

2011-03-23T18:43:00.008Z

Well, it had to happen and it has. I have finished the last of the Larsson trilogy. I tried to delay the inevitable by limiting myself to reading just a few sections at a time. I even re-read paragraphs that I enjoyed, but eventually I came to the end. And I have to say that it was a very satisfactory end.

This novel follows on from the second one, The Girl who Played with Fire, and so it would be ludicrous to read it without reading this second novel. The continuing theme is of prostitution and sex trafficking and we are also introduced to the workings of the powerful inner circle of Sapo, the state security police. Needless to say, it is as corrupt as many of the other Swedish state institutions already highlighted in the previous two novels.

Salander is now seriously ill in hospital and under police surveillance. Without a computer to hack into, she must rely for a time on Mikael Blomvkist, the Millennium journalist who has helped her in the past, Dragan Armansky, who runs Milton Security, and the police department who specialise in protecting the Swedish Constitution. Naturally, they have an uphill job proving Salander's innocence against what appear to be over-whelming odds.

To learn the outcome, however, you'll have to read the novel for yourself!

I can't think of a series of novels that has so absorbed me and it is a testament to the characterisation, plot and sub-plots, and quality of writing that not only do I feel as if I actually know the characters but I still think about them even though I have now moved onto another novel.

What I find particularly exciting is that Larsen has portrayed so many strong women. There's not just Salander, the weird and exciting heroine, but also Erika Berger, who co-owns Millennium with Michael. Then there's Miriam Wu, the sometime lover of Salander and just as capable of defending herself physically against much stronger men.

Salander's lawyer, Annika Giannini, who is Michael's sister, is a pretty tough cookie too, using her intelligence and integrity to defend her client. Police officer Monica Figuerola is someone you would want on your side as is Suzanne Linder, from Milton Security, who is assigned to protect Erika Berger after she receives threatening e-mails.

But mention must also be made of Mikael Blomkvist. He is the central character in all three novels and it is his journalistic investigation at the beginning of the first novel that sets the story moving and introduces us to Lisbeth Salander, who is about as fascinating a character as you would wish to read about.

As for Mikael, he's a man of great intelligence and honesty, dedicated to weeding out corruption, and I liked him right from the start. Although he's not portrayed as a 'romantic lead', he has a certain attractiveness which makes him appealing to women. He's kind and witty and extremely determined. Not full of himself, either. A man to be trusted. A person you'd like to know.

Apparently, Stieg Larsson had completed much of the fourth novel before his untimely death. But it is highly unlikely that we shall ever read it because there is litigation in process as to copyright ownership. Perhaps, in this fourth novel, Larsson intended to introduce a character only alluded to previously but whom I would have liked to have learnt more about. And that is Camilla Salinger, Salander's twin sister!

It's amazing to think that the three novels I have just read and enjoyed so much are actually translations from the original Swedish. These translations are far better than anything I can write in English, sad to say.

Drinking our way round Cyprus

2011-03-13T15:21:00.004Z

Drinking our way round Cyprus

a true account
by

Maggie Knutson

Just can’t help it! Half an hour before landing, have my nose pressed against the window, despite the thick-black outside, until I see flickers of light shining like beacons just for me, and I called out in childlike excitement There’s Cyprus!

I’m returning after twenty-five years!

The Alexander the Great Hotel in Paphos is super - a four-star complex facing the sea and harbour, friendly staff, several swimming pools and numerous cats, which animal-lovers like me feed surreptitiously. It even has its own archaeological tomb! Archaeology is big in Cyprus and sites are preserved with reverence, unlike Winchester (our home town), which has a tendency to bulldoze, its Roman finds to make way for ‘modernity’ i.e. shops.

The maid has left a raspberry sponge cake and two large balloons (it’s my birthday) in our room (a cabana, separate from the main building, and so much more intimate) and I arrange my cards around this steadily shrinking calorific delight. It would be a crime to ignore it after the hotel has gone to so much trouble!

V. disappointed with Paphos harbour, which we reach after a short walk along a coastal path surrounded by pink and yellow flowers and sea-like green foliage. The harbour used to be quiet and charming and just a delight. The Pelican Restaurant is still there (plus two live pelicans – probably not the same ones, though) but it’s hemmed in by new restaurants, ice-cream parlours, kiosks selling tat, even a candy floss stall. It’s like Scarborough without the rain. 'Pelican' food still pretty damn good, though, and Cyprus wine is now definitely drinkable.

Next morning and thank God for Starbucks! The hotel coffee is foul! (I think they use sterilised milk.) But there’s a Starbucks nearby and John (husband) trots off before breakfast to get large regular double-shot and skinny decaf lattes. Waiters aren’t too impressed but, as Rhett Butler famously said …

Check out and head (in groovy little Beetle convertible hire-car) to the Troodos mountains and the village of Kakopetria to visit my ex and his second family at their restaurant. Have to stop at Platres (charming mountain village) for double brandy and ciggie for Dutch Courage. Afternoon goes surprisingly well, though. We’re warmly greeted, join in the family meal: fresh trout, steffado (beef casserole), village salad, Cypriot dips and fabulous bread. Delicious. Wine for John but I stick to diet coke ‘cause I want to be on my best behaviour.

Head off for the capital, Nicosia, and check into a dinky little room at The Centrum Hotel with a charming view opposite a concrete wall. Later, drink a bottle of red (v. tasty) with a non-descript meal in a ‘tourist restaurant’ with ‘Zorba the Greek’ blaring out (please!). Then Five Kings brandy in the room, me hanging out of the window to have a fag.

Next day, visit the Observatory Tower at the top of Debenehams, and am horrified to see, as part of the panoramic view, massive etchings of the Turkish flag on the Kantara Mountains, which are now part of the Turkish occupied northern Cyprus. These flags are a constant ‘two fingers up’ to all those who were refugeed from that area in 1974, including me!

Have lunch at a little restaurant next to the Green Line (part of the medieval city walls that separate Greek and Turkish Cypriot areas). The narrow streets are flanked by interesting old houses and churches. We sit outside, opposite a row of lovingly tended plants in metal tins and with several cages of noisy parrots behind us. We have a bottle of white (musty) with our meal of Greek rice (couscous with fragile strips of chicken and onion cooked in stock), and tavas (lamb with potatoes).

V. hot now and we stagger back to our hotel and sleep all afternoon.

At five, meet ex sister-in-law, Patsy, in hotel lobby. We recognise each other instantly and hug for a very long time. She’s the most loving, warm-hearted, generous person I’ve ever met and I’m so glad that, at long last, I’ve felt ready to make this visit. We pick up where we left off, twenty-five years ago, chatting ten to the dozen. Luckily, her English is excellent because my Greek is etsy-getsy. She adores John already.

On the way to Patsy’s house, we zoom up the long, sweeping drive to the Presidential Palace in her rattling little Ford Fiesta, and she and I sweet-talk the guard into describing the storming of the Palace at the beginning of the Greek Cypriot coup in 1974, which sparked off the Turkish Invasion. I’m writing a novel set during that time and want to get as many details right as possible. Patsy calls him darling (she’s reached the age, she says, when she’s entitled to do that) and we describe how, during the war, the Turkish phantom jets screeched over-head and how we prayed that we’d hear the bombs explode because that meant they hadn’t landed right on top of us. You see, we mature women can still teach these youngsters a thing or two.

Patsy’s new home, paid mainly from a refugee loan, is a two storey white house with large balconies, an immaculately clean courtyard, pots of scarlet geraniums, and a sturdy tree planted as a sapling only a few years ago. Inside, she has a display of family photographs, including her lovely daughter, Louisa, who died last year. (It was phone calls with Patsy during Louisa’s illness that persuaded me to return.)

Afterwards, we all go to a kebab shop and have a fabulous half-meze (lamb chops, sausages, kebabs, salad, bread, dips) plus a bottle of mature red. We eat, talk, laugh and drink until we exhaust ourselves. I’m so glad we met up again.

Had such great plans for our visit to the occupied north, which was to drive to Kyrenia on the north coast (a tourist favourite) then take the winding road up the Kantara Mountains, past Bellapais Monastery (made famous by Gerald Durrell’s book ‘Bitter Lemons’) and right to the top, where there’s a breathtakingly spectacular view: you can see the Mediterranean on two sides, shimmering beyond pine trees, rocky crags and plains, one way towards Kyrenia, the other to Famagusta (where I used to live) on the east coast. But our car insurance won’t cover this so we compromise and decide to take a taxi to Kyrenia ‘cause I’ve been warned Don’t go to Famagusta, you’ll just cry ‘cause it’s a ghost town, inhabited by rats and snakes and I accept that, this time, too much, too soon could be foolhardy.

We walk through the buffer zone, past the Ledra Palace Hotel, once the best hotel in Nicosia. This was where the world’s media based themselves after the coup, like vultures waiting to feed off the carnage… but a week later, the Turkish army invaded the island and fighting was so fierce round here that all those reporters, cameramen and photographers were stuck in the hotel’s basement and couldn’t report a darn thing. I know they had a job to do but… for us poor sods living here, it did seem as if it served them jolly well right! Now the hotel, still riddled with bullet holes, is headquarters to humanitarian agencies and a multitude of flags wave at us from balconies. There are still several severely shot-up houses nearby, with the original sandbags at the windows, and it’s like walking through a World War Two movie set. To the right are the massive city walls of the Green Line from which a couple of Turkish flags fly defiantly, whilst two small dark-haired Turkish children watch shyly from the battlement tops.

At the Turkish checkpoint there’s just the quick filling in of temporary visas, a haggle with a taxi driver for a good price and thirty minutes later we’re in Kyrenia. After all those years of waiting, it’s that simple.

The harbour is just as I remember it: a semi-circle of tall, brightly coloured buildings (mainly restaurants) and, half way along, The Harbour Club (there’s always been a strong ex-pat presence in Kyrenia) with tables and chairs under an Acacia tree. And opposite the restaurants, the inviting setting of tables and chairs next to the water. The only difference that I can see is that all the boats boast Turkish flags instead of the very international flags pre-1974.

We walk along the harbour, ignoring the persistent invitations to taste the best fish in Cyprus, and make our way to The Dome Hotel, once the hotel in Cyprus. Before having drinks in the bar, I show John the swimming pool hewn out of rock and filled by the sea. When I first came here on holiday with my mum in 1970 (it was my twenty-first birthday present), there was a retired British Intelligence Officer called Frank who lived in the hotel and swam in that forbidding pool every day. Legend had it that he had been on his way back to Britain from the Middle East, had stayed at The Dome overnight, fallen in love with the place, and stayed. To a twenty-one year old, it was all so very exciting. But Cyprus was like that. Things happened. Interesting and unusual people lived here. It was not a boring place.

Have lunch outside by the water, surrounded by an army of hungry cats. We have fish, chips and village salad. Quite scrummy. (Cyprus potatoes make the best chips I’ve ever tasted.) Get through a bottle of chilled white. Wander round the town for a while but the shops here are also full of tourist tat but do find a splendid cake shop and buy some honeyed pastries to take home. I ask the Turkish Cypriot assistant if she comes from Kyrenia and she says Yes and I say I hope the island will be re-united soon and she agrees.

Return to Nicosia exhausted and sunburnt, but very content. I feel no anger. People are people whoever they are; it’s when the politicians get their claws in that things go pear shaped. I just feel a deep sadness that we all had to suffer so much (Greek and Turkish Cypriots and people like me who got caught in the cross-fire.)

Walk back through the checkpoint feeling emotionally lighter. Greek customs are suspicious of the pastry box but I say You’re not having these! and we walk on.

Next day, it’s off to the port of Limassol, now a horrendously massive tourist resort with white high-rise buildings sprawling haphazardly along the coast and up into the foothills. There are some fantastic hotels here, really deluxe, but the traffic is noisy and the inevitable building works (yet more hotels and flats) pound away relentlessly. And it has too many traffic lights. There’s no beach to speak of, mainly rocks, but most hotels have pools and Ladies Mile, just a few miles away and next to the British army base of Akrotiri, has oodles of beautiful soft sand but it means a drive to get there and there are too many traffic lights to negotiate.

We’re staying at the Miramare Hotel, which I already knew was pretty pucker. There’s a complimentary bottle of red in our room plus an enormous basket of fresh fruit so things are looking good! From the balcony, we watch tankers waiting patiently to dock and all we can hear is the soothing song of the Mediterranean. The blues of the sky and sea are like Prozac to me.

Have lunch at a nearby restaurant (there are more than enough to choose from) and whilst waiting for my kleftiko (lamb cooked in a clay oven) and John’s spare ribs, sample a very fine rose and chat with the owner. To our mutual surprise, we have a shared experience. During an air raid, all those years ago, he was sheltering in the basement of the hotel opposite my ex’s pub in Famagusta at exactly the same time as my ex and I were fleeing the area in our open-topped land rover. We were straffed by a Turkish phantom jet, whilst a bomb skimmed over the hotel’s swimming pool and crashed into the basement (to the dismay of the hapless people hiding there). But, miracle of miracles, the bomb didn’t go off and my ex and I escaped unhurt! We were so lucky! the restaurant owner says and I think Yes, we jolly well were!

In the evening, take a taxi to Jane’s fish restaurant (ex sister-in-law). The Petroktisto. It’s an old stone house, recently renovated. No one knows we’re coming so I’m apprehensive. There’s a young woman having a smoke in the entrance lobby and I say Have you any tables? and she says Yes and I say Who are you? and she says Eva and I say Well, I’m Maggie, your aunt from England and she shrieks Oh my God! Maggiemou! and we hug and cry. Jane comes out and stares at me in disbelief, and then she smiles a beautiful smile, like the sun emerging from behind clouds, and we go through the hugs and kisses routine again, John as well. As we make our way inside, customers are watching with such affection (Jane is very popular) that this reunion could have come straight out of a Charles Dickens novel. We meet two more of Jane’s grown-up children: the beautiful Julie and brother, Adonis, who is an absolute hunk. They are all so obviously delighted to see us that more tears come easily. Why you take so long to come back, Maggie? Jane asks Because I thought it would be hard I reply and she hugs me again. Don’t wait another twenty-five years she laughs Because I’ll be dead!

We order fish meze and as we eat the most amazing fish dishes I’ve ever tasted, each cooked in a different way (didn’t know that fish could be so versatile), and drink our wine (two bottles of white!), each of the family drift in and chat, Eva in particular, who is so spunky I’m laughing most of the time. She’s lived in Boston for nine years and trained first as an accountant and then as a masseur (accountancy is so boring! she explains). And after I’ve told her that Lou, my daughter, has lost weight, she e-mails her and says So, you’re skinny bitch now! And I just love that. And she calls me crazy aunt and I cry again because they’re my long lost family and I just adore being called crazy aunt.

After a good night’s sleep, a swim in the pool, and a coffee at Starbucks, head off back to Paphos via the coast road, instead of the newish motorway. I love this countryside: stark, uninhabitable hills and the blue, blue Mediterranean Sea glistening as if a billion silver sun-rays are dancing on the surface.

We drive through the British camp of Episkopi with its neat white houses and English road names but mainly there’s nothing, not even much traffic, except us and raw nature. Later, we stop at a lay-by and take photographs of Aphrodite’s Rock way below us. According to legend, Aphrodite came out of the sea here. Since it’s very rocky, I guess she didn’t look too dignified but it’s picture postcard beautiful: rocks jutting out from the sea and steep hills rising up to the road and beyond, towards the crisp blue sky.

But it’s getting late and the handover between day and night begins in its spectacular manner and the sky becomes a palette of reds and pinks and before you know it, it’s dusk- grey and the car lights need to go on.

Back at the Alexander The Great Palace and Sod’s Law rules! Why did I put the pastry box in with the dirty washing? Getting honey out of clothes is not easy! After hand-washing what garments I can and leaving them to dry like surreal sunbathers on our loungers, we head out along the coast road towards the southwest of the island, past the monstrosity of Coral Bay (so ugly in its overdevelopment), until we fork left onto a bumpy road close by the sea. We don’t know what to expect but we’re hopeful that whatever we find will include food and drink.

And we find it!

A lone restaurant, snug between two hills and in a protected game reserve area. We sit on the balcony underneath hands of bright yellow bananas, still on the stalks, which dangle from the ceiling. There are murals of mermaids and fish and Greek Gods, amateurish but charming; the salt is still in the shop container, the price still showing; the tablecloths a dull beige plastic. But the food, of course, is superb: grilled fish for John and lamb chops for me. The wine (white) is full-bodied i.e. deliciously strong. Afterwards, I sneak some bread out for the horse that stands stubbornly in the middle of the road, like the Dick Turpin of the horsy world, trying to blag food from passers-by. This is the old Cyprus I love so much!

Next day and home time and am never doing a late flight again. One is so tempted to drink on an empty stomach - which is not a good idea - but I did make it to the loo just in time.

Epilogue

Are we coming back next year? You bet we are! I want to re-visit my lovely ex relatives, soak in the sun, have fish meze at Jane’s, and see my lost home in Famagusta. And, naturally, sample some more of that remarkable wine!

Maggie Knutson Ó2006
Maggie Knutson has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
First British Serial Rights Offered

Wordles and shape collages

2011-03-05T12:20:00.002Z

Here's a wordle John created of my blog from March 2010 until March 2011 - click on it to see it full size

And this is a shape collage of the photos from some of my posts:

john did this when he had nothing better to do but i have to admit that they're rather fun

BOOK REVIEW: The Girl with who Played with Fire by Stieg Larsson

2011-02-14T19:00:00.012Z

Wow! This is such a wonderful book that I didn't want to finish it. I've now nearly finished the third of the trilogy and I shall be berefit what it comes to an end. There are no more Stieg Larsson novels to read: he only wrote three before he died.

If you've haven't discovered this writer yet then I suggest you do so. For me, the Stieg Larsson Trilogy is to the world of writing as The Wire is to the world of television drama. And since I am a Wire devotee, that says a lot.

THE GIRL WHO PLAYED WITH FIRE is a continuation of the first novel in the trilogy - The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - after a lapse of a year.It can certainly be read without having read the first novel because a brief summary of what happened and the personalities of the characeters is woven into the story but I would still recommend reading the first one because it's fascinating to see how the characters develop over the three books.

The Girl of the titles is Lisbeth Salander, a most unusual and fascinating of characters. She looks about twelve, skinny and frail but with incredible physical strength, is uncommunicative and anti-social, tattooed and pierced, violent and steely and highly intelligent. For heavens sake, she even reads mathematical books and enjoys working out difficult equations.

But, most important of all, she is a queen hacker and this features prominently in all three books.

She also has her own code of conduct and morales which makes her some lopsided sort of a 'heroine'.

She does not play such a prominent role in the first novel but in this one, she is the central character and we learn far more about her disfunctional childhood and thr treatment doled out to her by the authorities.

She is a formidable adversary and NOTHING gets in her way. Capable of meticulous planning and deception and unhindered by emotions, she is the most resourcful of people. I so wish I had created her! Every scene she is in is riveting.

The main 'hero' is the likeable investigative reporter Mikael Blomkvist who is part of The Millenium magazine set up, it's goal being to expose corruption in all its forms. Corruption, so it seems, is rife in Sweden, including 'respectable' businesses, the police, the health authorities, government offices etc. Therefore, any attempt to expose wrong doing is met with great resistance.

In this novel, it is sex trafficking that comes under the spot light and this has particular interest for Salander. But when a Millenium reporter who is near to completing his article about the sex trade is murdered along with his partner, all the evidence leads to Salander as the murderer. Thus, most of the novel concentrates on Salander's attempts to avoid arrest, and Blomkvist's dilemna as to whether he believes her or not.

I really, really like Larsson's style of writing. Perhaps it's because he was a journalist that he tells the story 'straight', using descriptions only where they are needed, which makes them highly successful. Too many modern writers, I find, get so wrapped up with the language they use that it becomes far more important than plot or characterisation.

I suspect that Larsson learnt a lot about the process of fiction writing whilst writing the first novel because the pace is much faster in this second novel. In the first, there are too many chunks of information which become rather tedious (John used to skip these sections) but that's not the case in this novel. Any information given is short and then the plot moves foreward again, very often in quick sections moving from situation to situation, giving the impression of rising tension and urgency.

Finally, I must make mention of the setting of all three novels: Stockholm, Sweden. I've never been to Stockholm but I felt comfotable 'being' there because Larsson mainly describes the city through street/district names, which I find works well. Don't know why but it just seems to make the city familiar.

And finally, finally, there's a lot of coffee drinking at home, at work, in cafes. Plus occasional descriptions of snacks eaten. It's surprising how much you can learn about characters through such seemingly unimportant details. Blomkvist, for example, nearly always has a pot of coffee on the go and I love him for that.

BOOK REVIEW - THE KILLER INSIDE ME by JIM THOMPSON

2011-02-10T19:10:00.009Z

This is one heck of a wierd novel. Written by ex-CIA agent, Jim Thompson, and published in 1952, it is a first person narrative telling the story of the brutal murder/attempted murder of two very beautiful women. Lou Ford is the narrator and he knows all about the crimes because he's the one who committed them.

It's set in a back-water of a town in Texas and you get a real sense of how dismal the place was.

Under the surface of respectability, Lou Ford is a nasty piece of work, detailing his crimes in a cold, calculating way. I didn't like him one little bit and I've no idea why the two women were attracted to him because he treats neither very well. It's not the kind of behaviour you expect from a deputy sheriff.

The first person narrative works well read in small doses. It certainly is in an unusual style and you get a sense of Lou Ford's personality and his distinctive way of talking. Plus, there are hints as to his motivation. But I found it tedious if I read more than one chapter at a time and at times there is a lack of continuity.

So, I have no intention of reading his other novels, which include The Grifters and The Getaway (both made into excellent films), despite Stephen Kings' claim that Jim Thompson is 'my favourite crime novelist.' However, I would like to see the film based on the novel, starring Casey Affleck,Jessica Alba and Kate Hudson. It's probably very moody and extremely gory.

What I find far more interesting is Jim Thompson's history as related to me by John. Whilst visiting Bangkok some years ago, he came across a Jim Thompson shop selling a whole range of exquisite silk products: scarves, bags etc and spent some time buying presents and talking to the staff.

Apparently, Jim Thompson settled in Bangkok and totally revitalised the silk industry in Thailand (no idea why). Quite a contrast to his CIA/author background. But, and this is years ago, he disappeared and has never been seen again. Now that would be a cracker of a story.

to read more book reviews, look on posts and in the book review section

MESSAGE TO ANONYMOUS

2011-01-26T19:15:00.002Z

I don't want a loan, thank you very much and DON'T WRITE MESSAGES ON MY BLOG!

FACEBOOK

2011-01-24T18:47:00.003Z

I've been meaning to get to grips with facebook for ages and after John gave me a brief tour around the system recently, I'm totally hooked. It's such an easy way to get in touch with friends and join in debates. I shall have to discipline myself severely, though, if I wish to write another word of my novel.

I do, however, only want to add people I know or have a shared interest with, otherwise that wall can get smothered in messages.

THE ESSAOUIRA GNAWA AND WORLD MUSIC FESTIVAL 2011

2011-01-24T18:42:00.002Z

Great news - the Festival dates have just been posted on the official website - Thursday June 23rd - Sunday June 26th. We've already booked our hotel. If you enjoy my blogs about the festival, is there anything you'd like me to cover if I can? Don't know if I'll get a press badge this year but fingers crossed.

POLLY AND THE BILLET DOUX - THE FEBRUARY TOUR + THE RELEASE OF THEIR SINGLE 'FOLLOW MY FEET'.

2011-01-17T18:22:00.006Z

Polly And The Billets Doux are heading out on their first tour of 2011 to coincide with the re-release of their single 'Follow My Feet' next month. Following sold-out shows on their last tour and a long string of festival appearances in 2010, this year looks set to be the band's biggest yet.

2009 saw Polly And The Billets Doux release debut album 'Fiction, Half-Truths and Downright Lies' and chart in the top twenty of Radio 1's Indie Chart. The band were championed by Radio 2 DJs Terry Wogan and Bob Harris as well as gaining BBC 6Music support from the lovely Cerys Matthews. Last year saw three UK tours, a season of festivals including Glastonbury, Big Chill and Loopallu, ongoing support from BBC Introducing and a public declaration of love from Never Mind The Buzzcocks comedian Phil Jupitus. Whatever next?

The February tour dates are as follows:
18 NEWCASTLE Cumberland Arms (www.thecumberlandarms.co.uk)
19 HULL New Adelphi (www.theadelphi.com)
20 YORK Stereo (www.stereoyork.co.uk)
21 LEICESTER The Musician (www.themusicianpub.co.uk)
22 NOTTINGHAM Malt Cross (www.maltcross.com)
23 LONDON Lyttelton Arms (www.thelytteltonarmscamden.co.uk)
24 DEAL Astor Theatre (www.theastor.org)
25 BRIGHTON The Hope (www.myspace.com/thehopevenue)
26 WINCHESTER The Railway Inn (www.railwaylive.co.uk)

Polly And The Billets Doux release 'Follow My Feet' on Monday 21st February through iTunes. A strictly limited run of physical copies will be available exclusively at the band's live shows for the duration of their February tour. A live recording of the band performing 'Follow My Feet' is available via www.youtube.com/watch?v=Slrfmxth0Ck.

This information was provided by Lauren Razavi (Polly and The Billet Doux's PR manager.)

For more information about, or to connect with PBD, follow your feet to: www.myspace.com/pollyandthebilletsdoux | www.facebook.com/pollyandthebilletsdoux

THE MAGNICENT MADNESS AT GLASTONBURY EXTRAVAGANZA AUGUST 2010 NOW FINISHED !!!

2011-01-11T19:11:00.003Z

Read, watch, listen and enjoy. I'm catching up with my delayed posts and I do hope they're worth waiting for. Of course they are. They're unique... or totally bonkers.

THE YELLOW ROOM REVIEW IS NOW FINISHED !!!

2011-01-04T18:56:00.005Z

I'm back in action having basically lost three months due to a tiresome illness. So, I've finished The Yellow Room review and next to be finished is The Magnificent Madness at Glastonbury (Luckily, I found my notes!). I'm running about six months behind schedule but what the heck, life is full of little surprises (often nasty). C'est la vie.

NEW BOOK REVIEW - THE YELLOW ROOM

2010-10-06T18:50:00.016+01:00

FINISHED !!!

The Yellow Room is a twice-yearly anthology of new short stories by women writers. It's a subscription-only publication, which is why I'll put the address and website at the bottom of this post.

Joanne Derrick, owner and editor, originally created it's 'mother' : Quality Women's Fiction , which was recommended to me a number of years ago by poet and author, Chrissie Gittens.

She rated it highly as being not only a must-read for readers of quality fiction but also for budding women writers because all contributions are published from scripts submitted by subscibers. I ordered a copy and was hooked from then on.

Tired of reading the mainly slush published in national magazines such as Woman's Weekly (although you can find the occasional interesting story from time to time so I'm not totally bad-mouthing such magazines), it was refreshing to discover a venue for stories that tackled far more varied stories, with much richer writing.

In fact, I quickly came to realise that I would have to 'up my game' if I wanted to be published here. I had to really develop the quality and originality of my prose style. It was just what I needed.

I submitted several stories for consideration and finally Joanne liked the look of one of them - September In Italy - but I needed to make it far more descriptive if it was to stand any chance of being published.

Thankfully, the revised version was accepted and seeing my work in print was wonderful for me. It was a confirmation that I could actually write decent stuff if I really tried...and then tried even harder.

So, when Joanne decided to sell the magazine to an American writer, I was very disappointed, particularly when I received the first copy under the new ownership and found it veering towards raunchy writing, whch is not what I want to read.

However, Joanne then set up The Yellow Room, which is similiar to her original publication: A5 size with a creative glossy cover, photographed by her husband, David Derrick, and a range of short stories, book reviews, reader's letters and competition news.

So, of course, I subscribed, and having received and read two editions, my verdict is that the stories are as good as, if not better, than QWF. And again, The Yellow Room unashamedly focuses on women writers, who often struggle to get published in such a male-dominated business.

A few months ago, I submitted my latest short story - Breaking and Entering. I had originally written it with incorrectly spelt words and no punctuation to reflect my main character's lack of education. Believe you me, this took an age. Joanne liked the story (yippee!) but wanted the spellings and punctuation to be accurate (bummer!) so I then spent an age re-writing it. This version was accepted (yippee again!) and I'm looking forward to seeing it in print.

Ha ha, you might say. I'm reviewing The Yellow Room because of this but, hand on heart, I can say that that is not the case. I had decided to review it before I received this good news.

So, the edition I'm about to review is Edition Four and I intend to select one of the stories in some detail and include quotes to highlight the quality and freshness of the writing. So, here goes:

* Come The Revolution by Kerry Ashwin

This story takes place during a local bus journey and is told from the perspective of an anonomous fellow passenger.

The main protagonist is a fiesty, out-spoken old lady called Mrs Eden.

You get an idea of her personality immediately in the first sentence, as she launches into conversation with the young woman she is with (a neice perhaps, the onlooker speculates):

'If there's one piece of advice I can give you it is to never say no.'

And the description of her hat re-enforces her character:

'The woman's hat, sporting a wide brim and pearl hat pin that would deter the most determined purse snatcher, bobbed about as the bus ground its way into gear.'

This conjures up an image of the Queen Mother with attitude or a modern-day Lady Bracknell from Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest.

The young companion explains that she thinks she could change her boyfriend's 'silent.. indiffere(nce)'

but Mrs Eden will have none of it:

'To change a young man is the feverent hope (of women ranging from Cleopatra to Queen Victoria to Hillary Clinton), but a futile exercise. I understand that you can see great promise in your Jonathon, great possibilities and the chance to mould the man, but be warned, this only leads to frustration at the raw materials and its inflexibility.'

And, as Mrs Eden elabotates on the qualities of women ('We are practical and useful but more than this we are supple, beautiful, and as the wind whispers its secrets, we hold them close'), the rest of the passengers are enthralled.

The story is not over-loaded with detailed descriptions of the other passengers but special attention is given to two new passengers: 'The bus crunched to a halt and scooped up two old women with tartan shopping trolleys.'

I can just imagine them as their 'small feet swung in time to the gear changes.'

They are intent on enjoying this journey: 'The tartan sisters produced black and white humbugs and offered them to those sitting closest. I sensed that the lollies forged a bond between us.'

And indeed, throughout the story, we see a growing solidarity between the passengers which is necessary for the climax of the story.

For Mrs Eden commits the most cardinel of sins; she lights up a cigarette:

'This old woman, who seemed to have a firm handle on life and its vagaries, produced a little silver flip case. We watched spellbound as she fliced open the lid with a practised air and after choosing one of many, fixed a slender cigarette into an ebony holder. Then a second rummage came up with the lighter. Fashioned as a little gene lamp, with one small stroke the flint was seduced to spark and to her astonished audience, she sucked deeply drawing the flame to the cigarette end.'

She even has 'a little siver pot decorated with swirls and ending with a small filigree tassel' to flick her ash into.

And the reason for this blatant defiance of the rules?

'When our civil liberties are being eroded at every turn,' she explains, 'it is up to the individual to take a stand in whatever way we can.'

At first, some of the passengers register their disapproval but the tartan sisters see this as an excuse to join in the rebellion by ignoring the no-eating sign and breaking into a packet of crisps, which they tuck into giggling and swinging their legs.

The driver, though, is enraged: the narrator sees him 'hunting for the rear vision mirror for the source.'

And he obviously knows who the culprit is: '...his steely glare fixed on her (Mrs Eden)almost immediately.'Mrs Eden, however, is unperturbed: 'She saw his look of indication and nodded politely at the back of his head. This it seemed was not an isolated incident.'

The poor man is unable to stop his bus immediately because the road is far too steep and 'any stop would hold the traffic at a riduculously sharp angle, brakes clutching wheels to defy gravity.'So, he demonstrates his fury in the only way he can under the circumstances: '(he) changed down a gear and swung round to give Mrs Eden a withering stare. His jaw slacked as he took in the tartan sisters enjoying an afternoon snack. Life it seemed was unravelling before his very eyes.'

The tartan sisters wither under such a stare ((their)'act of bravery was quickly scrunched up and hidden in a coat pocket')and the rest of the passengers feel 'sheepish and uncomfortable' but Mrs Eden is in full swing in her declarations against the nanny state: 'If...we let the law makers make all the decisions for us, we will forget to make our own. And if we don't make our own, we have no destiny and are no better than sheep.'

When the driver can safely stop, he summons the police to deal with this flagrant breaking of the law. And here we leave the story because I don't want to spoil the ending in case you buy a copy of The Yellow Room.

*Why I loved this story

First and foremost: it made me laugh. I loved the character of Mrs Eden, who reminded me so much of my Auntie Mary, a heavy smoker until she was seventy, when she just stopped cold. She had a real sense of mischief. Although she was a law-respecting citizen, she did like to bend the rules from time to time. She was a true eccentric, a wild chid at heart always and quick to see and comment upon stupidity and unnecessary red tape.

My Aunty Mary loved people and would have been the first to help if she saw some-one in need. Bold and defiant, she knew what was important in life. Sad to say, she is a dying breed.

I, too, am a smoker, and the smoking in public places ban, which I do agree with, is a real pain in the cold weather we're having. Puts having a hot chocolate and cigarette in the garden at my regular, The Black Boy, out of the question at the moment and I do miss it.

But, cigarettes aside, and I'm sure most if not all of you would object to some-one lighting up in a bus, Mrs Eden does have a valid point about the curtailment of civil liberties and the ludictous restrictions which make the using of initiative to help relieve a difficult situation actually illegal. Apparently, we are not allowed to sweep or treat the paths in front of our houses when they are covered with snow. It makes us vulnerable to prosecution if some-one slips. Absolutely barmy.

So, Mrs Eden's message rings a bell with me.

I also loved this story because of the writing style, which brought the whole scenario to life. The descriptions did not detract from the story but enhanced it.

And finally, I was so taken with the description of Mrs Eden's little silver pot for the cigarette ash that I've asked my husband to buy one for me as a late Xmas present. Should come in very handy for when I'm sticking my head out of a hotel window to have a quick fag.

* The Yellow Room address:-

The Yellow Room,
1,Blake Close,
Bilton,
Rugby,
CV22 7LJ.

Editor: Joanne Derrick

Email: yellowjo@me.com

Website: www.theyellowroom-magazine.co.uk

MAGNIFICENT MADNESS AT THE GLASTONBURY ABBEY EXTRAVAGANZA AUGUST 2010

2010-10-03T19:04:00.021+01:00

class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">

Mugs, of course (I don't believe I wrote that ! I mean Sugs; still looking very fit, as did all the group despite their advancing years - just goes to show how having fun can keep you youthful.)

FINISHED !!!

I shall write this post when I find the notes I made whilst on holiday in September (in Italy, of course)!!! Perhaps they are with the down-loaded recipe for South African Bobotie, which was featured on Lorraine Kelly's morning show a few days ago, 'cos I can't find that either.

JANUARY 5th - NOTES FOUND !!! (Plus recipe)

Here are some of my photos from the night that I've (i.e. John, husband and technical amanager) posted to Flickr. I must confess that my photos of the groups are not my best - it's very difficult to take good photos whilst being pushed and shoved and 'slightly' tipsy. And I should also mention that the first group to play were the famous Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel and they were pretty darn good. To call them a 'warm-up' group would be an insult. They could have played all evening and we would still have had a good time. Towards the end of their set, Sugs came onto the stage and played with them and you could feel the frienship and admiration that the two groups have for each other.

MADNESS...What can I say? They were always brilliant in their hay day and they're just as good now. Even better, actually, in a live performance.

With their distinctive sound, catchy lyrics and unique 'Madness' dance - sharp and robotic - it is impossible not to feel happy, happy, happy when their music is playing. So, when someone at Mitzi's funeral in April said that Madness were playing at the Glastonbury Abbey Extravaganza in August, the responsive was immediate - loads of us wanted to go.

So, loads of us went and we weren't disappointed. It was the best evening of 2010 for me.

Here are some photos of some of us having our picnic. Please note that it was a beautiful evening, not a rain drop in sight, although it chucked it down for days before and days after. It's always been a lovely evening everytime we've been to the Extravagaza. Co-incidence, good luck or divine will?

Here's the scene:

The Abbey, the 1st Christian church built in the UK and now in ruins, with it's extensive grounds of trees, large grassy area and lake, is positioned slap-bang in the middle of Glastonbury (funky, mystical, hippy Somerset town with the famous Tor close by).

The Extraveganza should not be confused with the enormous Glastonbury Festival, which takes place on acres of farmland several miles from the town earlier in the summer and usually with vasts seas of mud.

The Abbey Extravaganza is big enough for me, thank you very much. The grounds can accomodate thousands of guests and although I don't generally like crowds I always feel totally at home and safe.

The Extravaganza takes place each year on the Friday, Saturday and Sunday and offers a variety of musical genres.

We've already seen Van Morrison, Corin Bailey-Ray, the London Philharmonic Orchestra and Nigel Kennedy play there in previous years.

But the crowd for Madness was the largest yet: the place was teeming with Madness look-abouts, people dressed in full evening gear, people dressed in fancy dress, people wearing hardly anything at all (come on Hana and Erica - you know exactly who I mean), and a handful of very sensible people, like me, wearing warm clothing as protection against the cold of a typical summer evening (sunny or not).

The enormous stage is positioned at the bottom of a gentle slope which is jam-packed with people tucking into their picnics (some on rugs on the ground, some with table-clothed tables and chairs)/dancing/queuing for the toilets/crammed in a row after row in front of the stage/running around (usually the children) and 'budding photographers' like me pushing their way to the front (which is no mean feat) to take some photos. (I did try to blag my way into the photographers area right at the front but to no avail.)

Hopefully, my photos will give you a flavour of the Extravaganza and that all too often elusive just plain happy-to-be-alive and happy-to-be-there experience.

John, of course, recorded most of the show and you can see and hear Madness at their best on his daftnotstupid You Tube site . And if you're reading this, my friend Web Sherrif, he got permission from the group to do just that.

AT LONG LAST, THE WONDER AND BEAUTY OF THE ESSAOUIRA WORLD AND GHAOUA FESTIVAL 2010 IS NOW FINISHED !!!

2010-10-03T18:57:00.003+01:00

THE WONDER AND BEAUTY OF GNAOUA AND WORLD MUSIC - ESSAOUIRA 2010

2010-07-01T19:12:00.098+01:00

THE PRESS BADGES

Two years ago, John and I apply for press badges for the Essaouira Festival - John for his videos of live recordings for his daftnotstupid You Tube site and me for my blog. However, we are unsuccessful, so we don't bother last year or this. Strangly, though, and probably on the strength of the quality of John's videos, which receive over 500 hits per day, we are offered badges for this year's festival without even asking. Quite a surprise and very much an honour, if a bit scary.

What these treasured passes allow us to do is to not only gain entrance to the VIP/guests/family enclosure at the front but also to the smaller inner sanctum reserved for photographers right below the stage.

John doing his 'Hollywood Director Thing'

We can also interview some of the artists, which I hope to do but never manage... bad back, excessive day-time heat and all that.

However, bad back or not, I am up there on one of the two plinths taking photographs at either Moulay Hassan or Bab Marrakech for four nights on the trot. Dance a lot, too, in the VIP area. Hence the need for two oesteopath treatments to keep me mobile. But I'm not going to miss an opportunity of a life-time.

Most of the photographs, therefore, on this post, are taken close to the performances and, given that I'm a total amateur with just my little Lumix camera, and I'm really a writer, not a photographer, I'm delighted with them. I hope that they give you some idea of the whole visual effect of Gnaoua and World Music, plus the vitality and quality of the performances.)

I am rubbing shoulders with professional photographers but most of the time I feel really confident in what I am doing. Just occasionally, I feel a bit of a fraud but when two photographers from Cassablanca laugh at my little Lumix, I give as good as I get. And I shall send them some of my photographs just to show that a little Lumix can be pretty damn good.

Three things that I discover:-

I am instinctively looking for 'the shot'
My Lumix does not take the shot immediately when I press the button, but flashes several seconds later, and it is that shot that is taken. But because I've seen a lot of Gnaoua performances, I often know what the dancers/Maalem are going to do next, so I press the button to capture the action about to take place.
I sometimes forget to aim the camera above the front drop of the stage and have to keep reminding myself to aim higher so I just capture the action on the stage. (However, John has just taught me the art of cropping, which is brilliant, so I can mainly get rid of that grey drop.)

This photographer is not me - I think she is a French professional photographer with a particular interest in Daby Toure. There is not much chatting on those plinths - people are just too busy. I do, however, manage to talk to Artak Gevorgyan, the Director of The Armenian Navy Band during a lull - more on that later.

THE OPENING CEREMONY - THURSDAY 24TH JUNE

Come with me into our hotel room at 'Hotel L'Heure Bleu'. It's spacious, with a study area, bed, seating area and en-suite. It's just full of Moroccan colour - the windows and verandah doors have bright, primary coloured segments at the top, which glow from the outside sunshine, and the furnishings are deep burgandy and white. The whole effect is pleasing to the eye and mind and room is welcomingly cool.

It's a new hotel, built into the old city walls and in the riad tradition of floors built around a central, open area. Doormen man the doors. It's spotlessly clean and restful and the staff are highly professional and extremely friendly. In fact, friends now.

I've been lazing about on the roof-top terrace in the afternoon, chatting with Hisham in terrible, stilted French (most Moroccans speak fluent French), but want to see how the opening ceremony is shaping up. It's due to start at 6.30 so there's about an hour or so to go. John is already out, ready to film.

I open the balcony doors. A fresh breeze hits me - it's always windy in Essaouira. The sun is shining brightly, reflecting brilliant whiteness from the Bab Marrakech Square in front of me and the new buildings opposite and to the left. To the right I catch a glimpse of the sea. I can't see the beach from here but I know it will be like a massive, informal area of dozens of impromptu football matches - the Moroccans love football. Le football, in French.

The stage is already set up, ready for the performances which start here tomorrow. The vast square facing it is not empty, though. There, in front of me, is a huge semi-circle of magnificantly dressed horses with Arab horsemen already mounted. These are the Fantasia Allems - five groups altogether, led by Abdellah Annouze, Abdelkrim Haddar, Moulay Allal Idrissi, Hadj Ahmed Machtoune and Moustapha Dalam.

The tradition of Fantasia, born in the 15th century, simulates military cavalry attacks thus displaying the skill of the horses and horsemen. In present days, these displays are often used to celebrate special events - like the Essaouira Gnaoua and World Festival.

It might be windy but I know it's hot out there but these horses and horsemen barely move. There might be an occasional nodding of a head or small side-step (the horses, I'm talking about!) but otherwise they are stationary. The discipline is tangible.

And along the road below me, cordoned off, are the brightly dressed Maalems and their Gnaoua groups. They are waiting, too. There is much greeting of friends and press interviews. It's a beautiful scenario.

I grab my valued press badge and make my way outside. I have to weave through the crowds from the hotel entrance and the twenty or so yards to the large gateless gate that marks the exit from the old fortress city to the vast Bab Marrakech Square.

There's a woman sitting just before the gate, with a small boy and a bundle, which I later discover is a beautiful baby sporting a black and white head-scarf. She has been sitting there all day, holding out some tattered documents, and quite clearly begging.

I've passed her so many times without stopping but this time I just can't pass. I sit next to her on the ground and she shows me her baby. John and I have so much in comparison, she so little. We're about to enjoy the festival; she desperately needs money for food and shelter. It's that bitter-sweet aspect to life that I've written about in an earlier Xmas blog.

I dash back into the hotel and the room, scoop up what money we have on the table, dash back down and give her the money. It's only a small gesture - about five pounds or so - but I feel I have to do something. (She's gone when I return and I don't see her again, so hopefully what I gave her will have kept her going for a few days.)

Then I push my way through the crowd for about twenty metres and come to one of the many security checks. This is the first time I've used my badge. I am let through and there I am, among all the performers and press. I take out my little Lumix and start taking photographs. It's magic. Just magic.

These are pigeons which will be released later but I miss this bit plus the cannon shot, which I do at least hear from the room and has me almost jumping out of my skin.

I manage to say hello to Maalem Mahmoud Guinea but I don't think he recognises me at this stage. (We went to his home for a special Xmas Night Lila a few years ago.) He must be thinking :'Who's this mad English woman?!'

(The dancer in the foreground is the spitting image of Michael in 'The Wire' although it can't possibly be him.)

Later on, I go back into the room and onto the balcony and take photographs as the Gnaoua groups start their procession, making music and dancing as they go along. They make their way in a winding spectacle of colour and noise around the edge of the city walls, the horsemen following, to arrive at Moulay Hassan, the large square close to the sea and within the city walls on the other side of Essaouira. I don't follow: I need to prepare for the first performance at Moulay Hassan later in the evening (i.e. have a drink, some cake and a ciggie.)

CONCERT D'OVERTURE AT MOULAY HASSAN

It's nearly eight and still light and very warm. I've taken my usual short cut, using alleys within the city walls, to avoid the crowds. I arrive at the first check-in point near the stage to get me into the VIP area. My badge is scrutinised and I am let through. Then I come to the next check-in, where my badge is digitally swiped. I'm let through there (phew!).

The VIP area is set up with chairs in formal rows for VIPs, friends and families. An official is giving a speech in Arabic in front of a photograph of King Mohammed VI, who helps sponser the festival. I'm new to all this, so I don't ask who he actually is. Great journalist I am! Anyway, I'm eager for the music to start.

After the speech and the introduction from the stage of yet another official I don't get the name of (!), wearing a very distinctive top (the type I might have made in my knitting/sewing days), I attempt to procede into the photographers small enclosure in front of the stage. My badge is checked again for the camera symbol and then, wonder of wonders, I'm through. I'm very impressed with the security. I position myself on one of the plinths with the other photographers, hardly believing that I'm actually there.

I peep through the partially open curtain at the side and spy several male Georgian dancers waiting to go onto the stage. They look so dashingly handsome that I'm thinking: this has to be a dream, surely....a fantastic dream... a best thing in the world dream...a what have I done to deserve this? dream.

The first set starts in a typical Gnaoua flurish...fast playing symbols, ryhthmic druming, the distinctive deep resonations of the gumbris (Gnaoua guitars) and the crisply melodic voices of the Maalems. There are two Maalems (brothers) and their groups: Maalem Mohamed Kouyou and Maalem Said Kouyou. I'm enthralled and start clicking away.

Then they are joined by members of The Sukhishvili Georgian National Ballet. I count five in all but they move so quickly it's hard to tell. And the two sets of dancers -The Georgians and the Gnauoans - challenge each other with their different styles of dancing. It's very exciting, breathtaking stuff as they leap higher than would seem humanly impossible (not evident in these photos so you'll have to take my word for it).

This is far, far better than watching from a balcony. I can see clearly the interaction between the dancers and musicians plus their physical strength and their facial expressions. They are quite clearly loving performing as much as we (the audience - particularly beyond the VIP area) are loving the performance. This is real quality...joyous music and dancing...highly professional and skilled. Eat your heart out Take That.

I had expected the Georgians to be women, dancing in a semi-circle as if their feet are on wheels, but these are some of the men, dressing and dancing like Cossacks (think great Russian novels like Doctor Zhivago and War and Peace.)But the Gnaoui are more than a match for them. In fact, I claim here and now that the Gnaoui are the best dancers in the world. Not only is the Gnaoua dance so complicated and unusual (try as I may, I can only emulate just a few random steps), but they can dance in many other styles when there's a fusion session.

The Armenian Navy Band are due to be part of the act but they aren't there. I am intrigued by such a group and do actually get to see them later and they're not at all what I expected. But very, very good.

Most of the VIPs are sitting rigidly, particularly the military/police chiefs on the front row (I suppose it's not cool for them to show too much enthusiasm) but I can see heads moving in tune with the beat and the beginnings of body movements. The audience behind, though, are going wild.

I can't help it, I start to dance to the music and eventually I'm asked to leave the plinth. Fair enough. I've learnt one of the many lessons I've learnt this year about conducting myself appropriately as a member of the press. For the rest of the festival, I move down into the VIP area if I want to dance.

Step Africa

Not a very good photo, unfortunately, but these are just some of the Step Africa dance team in the VIP area. I meet them quite by chance. I am making my way through the VIP crowd when I spot a man with a Hiati emblem on his sleeve. Me being me, I launch into a 'How are things going in Hiati?' kind of thing because the earthquake was so horrendous. Turns out he is Dan Cassanova from the Step Africa team.

I tell him about the disruption caused by the invasion of Cyprus and we chat about the dance team. They are due to perform with Maalem Mustapha Bakbou at Moulay Hassan on the Saturday evening. John goes over there to record them while I am at Bab Marrakesh.

John and Hisham(from 'Hotel L'Heure Bleu')

Hisham buys us drinks after the first set at the cafe next to the VIP area. We have a much needed rest and it is a delight to share our love of the music with Hisham. To see other photos of Hisham, look at my previous festival posts. He is one of the nicest people I have ever met and very handsome, too. Just wish my French was better.

MAALEM HASSAN BOUSSOU

By now I am pretty wacked, so I don't take many photos (both body and mind in revolt). Maalem Hassan Boussou is a young, powerful Maalem with a voice like clear honey. He's fast becoming John's favourite. See John's daftnotstupid site for John's interview with Hassan. This isn't a fantastic photo but it's the best I took.

I go back to the hotel shortly afterwards and collapse onto the bed. Exhausted but happy.

THE AUDIENCE

Without the audience, the show would mean nothing. I've written about this before but I'll say it again. The audiences at the festival are so enthusiastic, vocal, responsive and obviously delighting in the music that sometimes it's a joy to turn round and photograph them. It's a sign of recognition of their importance. Here are just some of the shots I took:-

FRIDAY - BAB MARRAKECH

For the next two evenings, I cover the performances in Bab Marrakech, whilst John concentrates on those at Moulay Hassan. And I'm going to post my photographs rather than describe in lots of words: Gnaoua is so visual that photographs really do reveal more than the written word. I'll only add comments when I've something special to say. ALL the performances were fantastic so take that as read.

Maalem Abdullah Guinea

I'm pretty sure that this is Mahmoud's brother. There are a number of brothers performing here: just goes to show how the Gnaoua tradition is carried down from father to sons. (Not sure about daughters!)

I am very impressed with this dancer, who seems to be part of several Gnaoua groups. He's got this wonderful ability to dance in a crouching position and often his robe swirls around him, forming a magically coloured material cylinder.

Daby Toure

Daby Toure has a great rapour with the audience: he has us eating out of his hand, directs us as we sing to his music and makes us feel as if we're part of the performance. Certainly a performer to learn more about.

Maalem Mahmoud Guinea

This is the best peformance by Mahmoud that I have ever seen: he's certainly in top form. I'm learning to recognise the differences between Gnaoua Maalems; they each have their own style and sound. Mahmoud displays such authority, totally in charge and directing all his dancers and musicians that I'm quite in awe. This is certainly the best performance of all that I see during the festival.

Hassan, his apprentice, has a leading role - he's learnt his craft well. And to my pleasure, both of Mahmoud's sons are in the group and what talent they already show. They dance with such ease, such fluidity as if the music is flowing through them...and always with serene smiles, obviously loving the experience. I am captivated.

Maalem Mahmoud Guinea and Daby Toure

Instead of adding individual photos to the post, John has created a slide show on Flickr with photographs from this set. He says it makes the page faster to load and the post easier to read. (Just click on the playlist to make it play. Click on the bottom-right icon on the playlist to make it fullscreen.)

FRIDAY EVENING - BAB MARRAKECH

Fatima Tabaamrant

I am sitting on the balcony when Fatima comes on the stage. I am intending to wait a while before tripping down to the press area but as soon as she starts to sing, I am off my chair, grabbing my badge and key and rushing along to the lift. (By now, I am just using the lift to conserve energy - I usually prefer the stairs but there are a lot of them and when you've got important work to do...)

From a distance, she looks like a female matador but up close she is all woman...very glamorous...very attractive...and with a deep voice that projects itself right into the distance. This is what I call a woman with balls but oozing
femininity, as do her three dancers.

She courts the photographers, kneeling down and singing to us so we can get a good photograph. I've never seen this before and I appreciate the gesture.

I have no idea what she's singing but I find myself singing quietly to the rhythm. No I idea what I'm singing but it just feels right...exciting...joyful.

Maalem Aziz Bakbou with Daniel Zimmerman and The Armenian Navy Band

John and I only have a few days before the festival to research some of the performers. Daniel Zimmerman is one that I chose. I have learnt from the internet that he is German, speaks English and is a heavy rock musician. I have even requested an interview with him.

But when we read our special press reviews about the festival, John says to me:'It says here that Daniel Zimmerman is French and is a trombone player.'

Apparently, there are two David Zimmermans who are musicians. Bet you didn't know that! Anyway, the one I see now is very good but I have already cancelled the interview. I don't like to interview people if I haven't done my research.

And now for The Armenian Navy Band. I think I can be forgiven for expecting them to be a formal group sporting white naval costumes and playing traditional band music. But, in fact, they are jazz musicians. When I talk to their director, Artak Gevorgyan, I am driven to express empathy because of our countries misfortunes with Turkey. So, yet another person who must be thinking : 'who's this crazy English woman?'

Saturday

Amazigh Kateb

This has been a wonderful evening. I cannot remember enjoying myself as much as this. It has been magical. As well as taking photographs of the artists performing on the stage, I have danced, chatted, laughed, and been befriended by a group of charming young Moroccan children in the VIP area. I am calling them "Les enfants".

Unfortunately, after the set photographed here, I do not realize that my camera has ran out of space. Therefore, though I take lots of photographs of the next sets - Amazigh Kateb, Maalem Abdeslam Alikane, and Amzigh Kateb with Maalem Abdeslam Alikane and Tyour Gnaoua, I have absolutely nothing to show for it. All I can say, is that they were excellent. So much for the budding photographer!

Sunday

Concert de cloture

This is the last evening of gnaoua. There are just two sets to be played. Firstly Iguadar at 5:30, and then Maalem Hamid El Kasri and a number of guests to follow at 6:30. I have an osteopathic appointment that afternoon and am delayed. In fact I am so delayed that I am convinced that the whole performance will have ended. As I make my way along the back streets with a very sore back and holding a cushion to sit on, I mutter to myself because I am sure that I have missed this final concert. There are many people walking away from the area which seems to me an indication that this is so. I can actually feel tears salting my eyes.

However, as I approach the back of the stage, I am delighted to hear that there is still music playing. I have missed Iguadar, but Maalem Hamid El Kasri, on of my favourite gnaoua maalems, is now playing. I rush through security and take my place on one of the plinths. Because this is the last set of the festival there are many photagraphers jostling for a place.

I have given my white cap to one of the children yesterday and so am wearing my white straw hat with a flower in it. This is not a good piece of headware to wear when photographing on a plinth with an eager audience just behind you wanting to watch. Eventually I am shooed to one side by some of the audience and I can't say that I blame them. I shall not make this mistake again.

I sit on the edge of the plinth to catch my breath after all the excitement of the evening, and then I am tapped on the shoulder by an official. "oh dear!", I think, "what have I done now?" However, the official is pointing to our good friend Hisham who has managed to get himself yet again into the VIP area. It is a delight to see him and I take these photographs.

Maalem Hamid El Kasri

By now, my battery is dead so I can't take any more photgraphs. Time to sidle away, squeeze our way through the dancing crowds, and haul ourselves up the steps to our favourite restaurant - Bab Lachour - with the terrace that overlooks the square.

We sink gratefuly onto chairs and listen to the rest of the music from there.

This is the sad part. The sun has now set and we are near the end of the 11th Essaouira Gnaoua and World Festival. We are absolutely shattered and have much work to do when we go home. But ... words cannot express just how glorious this has all been and we hope,insh'alla, to come back next year and to watch some more of this incredible music. You really don't know what you are missing.

Acknowledgements:

Ibtissam Alaoui from The Festival Office, Essaouira, who issued both John and I with press badges. And also for acting as translator for John in his interview with Hassan Boussou.
Docteur Charif Toufelaz,Essaouira -osteopath - for not only keeping me mobile but enabling me to continue to take photographs (and to dance - probably not advisable but I just couldn't help myself!).
The staff at Hotel L'Heure Bleu, Essaouira.
The staff at Villa Des Orangers, Marrakech
John Knutson of daftnotstupid for posting my photographs using flickr.

and finally

Aziza and Khadija of GIPSY SURFER

Gipsy Surfer is a beach/surfwear shop at 14, rue Tetouan, Essaouira which sells modern, chic beachwear, sunglasses, bags, etc.

I usually make at least one purchase every year and this year was no different. After a good chat and discussion of the festival, I came away with a vivid orange beach top - loosely fitting and nicely flattering - and a delightful cotton bag with a bright green, orange, brown, and white floral pattern. It's special feature is brown, beaded webbing at the front and brown wooden handles.

Lou took one look at it and it became hers. She's not to be seen without it, now.

So, thank you Aziza and Khadija. I love coming to your shop and enjoy your excellent service. Insh'alla, I shall see you next year at festival time.

Aziza and Khadija of GIPSY SURFER

Afterthought

My nail beautician, Claire, at New Midas in Winchester, used to be a bouncer at big UK festivals. She tells me of horrific stories about guarding the stage from 'crazy' fans.

Apparently, there are two rows of bouncers at the front. The first row - nearest the crowd - catch 'surfers' who use the crowd to propel their horizontal bodies towards the stage. The second row - in front of the stage - gives the extra protection. But these bouncers have to be changed every 15 minutes because the noise from the amplifiers is so loud that their hearing could be permanently damaged if they stay there too long. Nice job if you can get it. As in NOT!

So pleased, therefore, that the audience at the Essaouira Festival don't need such drastic management. This, I think, is a trbute to the Moroccans.

Essaouira gnaoua festival - daily report

2010-06-22T12:14:00.014+01:00

Tuesday 22 June Villa des Orangers Marrakech Great stuff! As in not! My back has siezed up - will have to change plans. I am dictating this to John - it's about time he earned his keep!

But it's hot and sunny and resting in this beautiful riad hotel is a pleasure. Everyone's talking about the festival. Hope I'll be up to dancing.

Portugal 7 North Korea 0 - That's a surprise.

Off now to have a facial.

Wednesday 23 June

Drove to Essaouira - half motorway ( great), half rubble ( awful). Hobbling around with stiff back. Lovely welcome from friends.

Got our Press badges. Yeah!!!

Thursday 24 June Essaouira

Fantastic opening ceremony in square opposite room. Gnaoua groups, tribesmen on horses, music.

First set in evening at Moulay Hassan. The maalem brothers Kouyou and Georgian dancers. Brilliant contrast dancing. Took photos from edge of stage with the professionals!

Second set was the wonderful Maalem Hassan Boussou.

Missed the Armenian Navy Band, though, who I really wanted to see.

WEDNESDAY 30TH JUNE - WINCHESTER ENGLAND (BACK FROM THE FESTIVAL).

THIS HAS BEEN MY FIRST ATTEMPT TO SAME-DAY BLOG AT THE FESTIVAL USING MY I-POD. NOT BAD REALLY, I THINK. HOWEVER, WE JUST COULDN'T GET A SIGNAL AFTER FRIDAY, PLUS WE WERE FAR TOO BUSY/EXHAUSTED TO KEEP IT UP.

ANYWAY, HAVING SPENT FOUR EVENINGS/NIGHTS IN CLOSE PROXIMITY TO THE MUSICIANS AND DANCERS, I'M GOING TO START AGAIN FROM THIS NEW PERSPECTIVE.

THE PHOTOGRAPHS ARE FANTASTIC. NOT BAD USING A LITTLE LUMIX (WHICH OTHER PHOTOGRAPHERS LAUGHED AT.)

IT'LL TAKE ME SOME TO COMPLETE THIS (BECAUSE YOU ALL NOW KNOW THAT MY BACK HAS BEEN SERIOUSLY COMPROMISED) BUT BE PATIENT - IT WILL BE WORTH THE WAIT.

FINALLY, A BIG HI TO U-CEF. SORRY YOU MISSED OUT ON SOME KIP ON THE PLANE! I'D LOVE BE YOUR FRIEND ON FACEBOOK - BUT JOHN WILL HAVE TO DO IT FOR ME. SO, PATEINCE.

To read my complete report on the Festival and to view the many photographs I took, click onto The Wonder and Beauty of Gnaoua and World Music - Essaouira 2010

ESSAOUIRA 2010

2010-06-20T18:41:00.004+01:00

The bags are packed, the tension is growing. We now have the line up and it's going to be fantastic: a mixture of gnawa, jazz, reagee, heavy metal, groups, individuals, world musicians, excellent Morocco Gnawa groups plus The Georgian State Ballet! (I saw them years ago, in Sunderland, and they are brilliant - as if they're floating on air) and The Armenian Navy Band (!).

The Festival always likes to throw in someone you would never expect and the ANB fits that bill exactly! The Festival will open wth a fusion of the Georgian State Ballet, the ANB and Maalem Mohamed Kouyou and Said Kouyou, which should be fascinating.

Other Gnawa groups include:-

*Maalem Hassan Boussou (maalem means master)

*Maalem Said Ouressan

*Maalem Abdellah Guinea

*Maalem Mahmoud Guinea

*Hamid El Kasri

Other Groups:-

*Daby Toure

*Ganga d'Agadir

*Step Africa

*Speed Caravan

Individual artists:-

*Patrice

*Fatima Tabaamrant

*Daniel Zimmerman

*Scott Kinley

*Mattiew Garrison

* Horacio El Negro

(these last three will play together)

Plus loads, loads more - I'm running out of time here.

Just to add that it looks as if we'll be getting press badges, so we can record close up and interview some of the artists.

LOOKS LIKE I'LL NEED A HOLIDAY AFTER THIS - WE'RE GOING TO BUSY, BUSY, BUSY !!!

Did someone mention the World Cup. What World Cup?

You may well never have heard of most/all of these musicians but hopefully, after we've posted our recordings, you'll have a better idea and want to find out more.

ENGLAND FOOTBALL TEAM - HELP !!!

2010-06-20T18:40:00.000+01:00

That's it - help !!!

BOOK REVIEWS - THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO by STIEG LARSSON

2010-06-15T19:11:00.003+01:00

This is a phenomonal novel. The first in a trilogy and set in Sweden it combines several major plots in one novel. It's more than a murder/mystery novel: there's also an expose of big business and finance.

Sometimes it reads more like a financial journal and this can be a bit tedious at times but it's essential to the plot and I managed to read those parts, as apposed to John, who skim-read them.

But it's really the characters who maintain the interest and push the story forward.

Mikael Blomkist is the leading character in this first novel. As a financial journalist, he has been found guilty of libel and spends some time in prison. However, this is barely covered. The plot revolves around his employment to discover what happened to Harrient Venger, the grand-daughter of the successful and influential Henrik Venger, who disappeared years previously.

If you think you have the family from hell, take a look at the Venger family. They may be rich but they're a nasty lot.

The most interesting character, however, is Lisbeth Salander, who is a disfunctional, possibly autistic, private investigator, who is brilliant with computers. She becomes involved in Mikael's work and together they form a formidable team.

It's written in an incredible amount of depth which I can only, as a writer, marvel at.

It was my osteopath, Nick Harding, who recommended the trilogy and since I value his judgement, I bought all three novels.

John had now read them all but I shall pace myself with the other two. But I'm looking forward to reading them. It's impossible to clear the characters from your mind.

Sadly, the author died at an early age but I'm sure he would be pleased at the popularity:there are ceratinly films to follow.

BLAME IT ON THE OVEN GLOVES

2010-06-13T18:49:00.005+01:00

It's the day after the evening before and so, okay, I got the score wrong.

Football is certainly a bitch!

We were ecstatic when Gerrard scored after 4 minutes and thought that England would go on to dominate the game. However, they allowed the US too much possession afterwards and then there was that goal.

I reckon that the gloves the goalie - Robart Green - was wearing were far too large and clumsy. He could hardly have felt enough sensation through the darn things to realise that he hadn't secured the ball. Why didn't he just throw himself on the ball and smother it with his body?

Oh well, he did save an excellent US shot in the second half so we could have actually ended up losing 1-2.

I thought we played good attacking football in the second half and if the US goalie hadn't been so good, we could have won at least 4-1. Perhaps he was wearing better gloves. However, John did point out that we didn't really play as a fluent, co-ordinated team. And this was most obvious when we had a throw in. Poor Ashley Cole was screaming for players to get in place.

When I was in the school netball team decades ago, we used to practice set pieces and we were only amateur. Can't understand why England don't have such moves ready.

And I can't understand why Wayne Rooney doesn't contribute more. He can do more than just wait for a good ball to come his way. In premiership football, he is far more dominant. Imposes himself far more in the game.

So, I was left with that dull feeling of resignation afterwards that I so often feel after England have not fulfilled their potential. It's the same feeling that I had this morning when I tried on my holiday clothes and discovered, as I knew I would, that what looked great last year, didn't this year.

Some good news, though. There have been so many complaints about those damn hooters that they could possibly be banned inside the stadium. Go for it, is what I say.

On a note of past victories, however, I will leave you with the memory of the international match a few years ago when England smashed Germany 5-1. So it can be done.

My final comment- I know England won't win the World Cup but it's still a disappointment. And my advice to Fabio Capello is this : Get some set pieces set-up. Adjust them accordingly at half-time, taking into account the strengths and weaknesses shown in all players in the first half. Stick with the same goalie - he's got something to prove. And if possible, change those bloody gloves, which look like oven gloves, and make him practice holding onto the ball over and over again.

But will he take my advice? I doubt it. Same old story.

WORLD CUP 2010, SOUTH AFRICA

2010-06-12T18:28:00.003+01:00

As is quite clearly obvious, I have done very little blogging recently. This is because of my back/neck problems, as those of you who visit my blog regularly (and I love you all!) already know about.

The plan had been to dictate to John, so he could write my blog exerts for me, but it hasn't panned out like that.

However, I'm getting a new chair on Wednesday, which should give far more support for my back, and then John (and this will takes weeks for him to get round to) will lower my table appropriately so that my arms can actually rest properly on the table. Then we'll see if I can write again more regularly without my back seizing up. Fingers crossed because I've found myself very bored not being able to write. (And, by the way, steriod injections have helped greatly.)

But I can't go off to Morocco next week for the Festival without airing my views on the World Cup. So, here goes.

* I adore the World Cup. It's such an opportunity for people across the world to have a positive shared experience. And I like watching football, which helps.

* Very moved by watching and listening to the people of South Africa celebrating this massive event in their country after all those years of exclusion from world sport.

*Supporting England, of course. We have a large England flag hanging out of our bedroom window and I have a flag on my car. Now, we live on a very long street in Winchester and there are only three flags on display. Says a lot about our street. I'm half-expecting some-one to say that we're lowering the tone of the street, so I'm practising my sarcastic, you-must-be-crazy laugh. As one of my friends commented, though, it just confirms to some of my neighbours how crazy I am. (It's always me, never John.)

*Do I think Enland will win? Let me just stop here until my laughter has ceased...As I've been telling all those prepared to listen to me (including total stangers), in order to win the World Cup you need good ball control and accurate passing. I rest my case.

*However, I would love to be proved wrong!

*Think it's very unfair that only days before the tournament started, players have been told that they'll be sent off if they swear. Now, I'm all in favour of that in theory, but to give so little notice I think is asking too much for players who like to let off steam by using an expletive or two. And how can the referrees learn all the different swear words in so many different languages in just a few days?

*The tournament started yesterday and the only match I've seen so far was France v Uruguay, which was so lack-lustre that I couldn't wait for it to end so we could watch Prison Break, which I hope to write about at some time. Suffice to say, we're on Season Three so that tells you something. (Bob Wisdom from 'The Wire', who we met at the Festival last year (such a charming man) is in this season and plays a very different character from the jovial Bunny. Plus the actor, Wentworth Miller, who plays a pivitol role in all the seasons, is a delight to watch because he's so handsome.)

*Back to the football. Must mention those the irriting noise of those foul hooters being blown during matches. Before even half-time of last night's match, I was heartedly wishing they had never been invented.

*In less than half-an-hour England will play their first match against the USA. I predict a 2-1 win for England but that could just be wishful thinking and I certainly haven't put money on it. But fingers crossed!

NEW PEARLS OF WISDOM

2010-05-19T19:18:00.001+01:00

You may only be in a majority of one but the truth is always the truth (Gandi)

Essaouira Gnaoua and World Music Festival, June 24-27 2010 - dates confirmed

2010-05-16T12:47:00.001+01:00

At last, the official dates are now up on the festival web-site and I am pleased to confirm that the 13th Essaouira Gnaoua and World Music Festival will be held Thursday to Sunday, June 24-27, 2010.

The official festival website at http://www.festival-gnaoua.net/ currently says "Under Construction", but I'm sure that they will update it before too long, since the line-up and the updated website are usually posted late-May/early-June. Here's the image that is currently posted there:

If you can't wait until June and need to hear some gnaoua music right now, you'll find plenty on the playlists on the DaftNotStupid blog and DaftNotStupid YouTube channel.

A TRIBUTE TO MITZI UPTON

2010-05-01T13:16:00.019+01:00

My beautiful...darling...funny...fiesty... sister-in-law, Mitzi, died at seven in the evening on Wednesday 7th April. She had been ill for a long time but that doesn't make the grief any easier.

My husband, John, and his other sister, Marietta, had no idea that they had a half-sister who had been adopted after birth, until they were adults. Tragic but that's often how things are in this world.

However, when John's mother died eight years ago, we decided to look for Mitzi. All we had was an old address in Glastonbury. We set off on Boxing Day, the day after the awful tsunami, and arrived in a cold, forlorn, wet and miserable Glastonbury. It was virtually deserted - all the wierd and wonderful crystal, magicical, hippy shops were closed and a whipping wind chilled us to the bone.

We found the address easily but, no, Mitzi was long gone. Later we discovered that the young woman who lived there had once been a girlfriend of Mitzi's oldest son, Dan. Co-incidences happen a lot in Glastonbury. However, she did tell us that Mitzi had a friend who worked in the nearby Woodcutters Pub. So off we went on our quest.

Of course, the friend wasn't working that day but John explained who he was and left his telephone number, not expecting much but at least feeling he had at least tried.

But just before the New Year he got a phone call: "I'm Mitzi. I'm your sister."

So back we went to Glastonbury in the new year and met up with Mitzi and Dan at The George and Pilgrims Hotel and that was it ...the start of a wonderful new life for us all. We hit it off straight away...all of us kindred spirits.

John and I had never been part of a large extended family and suddenly we had neices, nephews, great neices and a host of friends. It was like we had come home.

.

With the generosty of spirit that was so characteristic of her, Mitzi arranged a special party at The King Alfred Pub in Glastonbury to celebrate both the 21st birthday of her second son, Luke, and John's birthday - they share the same birthday.

We also met Hana, Mitzi's daughter, an absolute sweetheart, and Mitzi's multitude if friends. You all know who you are and I can cheerfully say that we're all as mad as hatters. Naturally, we had a marvellous time. There's nothing like getting drunk together to seal a relationship.

Maggie, Lou, Mitzi, and Dorothy

But my over-riding memory of that evening was of seeing Luke for the first time as he toppled over the garden wall and into the party as 'pissed as a newt'.

We knew right from the start that Mitzi had the lung disease emphesema and would need a lung/s transplant. For a long time she was still active and mobile but gradually her condition worsened and she needed to spend long periods of time using an oxygen mask, but that didn't phase her. She would have that transplant and all would be well and she was so determined and positive that we all believed her.

Indeed, she was rushed to the transplant centre in London - Harefields - on numerous occasions, even being totally prepped for surgury, but always someone else got the lungs or the lungs were found to be not of sufficient quality.

And all the time Mitzi was as upbeat as you could possibly get. Far more upbeat than me with my lesser ailments. She was an inspiration. And boy did she know the transplant system and the workings of the social services inside out. And she always had at least a plan B or a plan C in case plan A didn't work.

But in October of last year, the fumes from a new gas fire (possibly furniture polish because it was a showroom fire) affected her very badly and she was taken into hospital, where she stayed apart from a brief return home and to a cottage hospital nearer her home.

Twice we thought she was going to die and twice she revived, issuing orders and commands from her bed like a mafia mother. She was one tough lady but also very caring and compasionate and a lot of fun. I started to call her 'the come-back kid' because the hospital staff said they were amazed that she was still alive. Her desire to live was awesome to watch.

And still she was expecting that transplant. The last time I visited her, just days before she died, I asked if she was still up for a transplant and she said most definitely yes.

But there are some things in life you can't control - like volcanos erupting and floods sweeping away people and homes and the human body, which can only take so much. It's a somber realisation for us all.

Boy did we send her off in style. John and I stayed at Chindit House B+B, which was a perfect place to stay, with its restful gardens and peace and quiet, and friends and family travelled from all over. Sadly, the flight ban stopped a lot of people from getting to Glastonbury for her funeral, again, showing how little we human beings have only limited control over our lives. But we had fantastically warm and sunny weather for her funeral, celebration and wake.

We started off at Bath Crematorium, which is a very restful place, with large glass windows over-looking calming countryside. One of her best friends, Dorothy, read a most appropriate and moving poem, which she might like to leave on the comments section (cos I know you're following this Dorothy) and I recited Psalm 23 : The Lord is my shepherd etc. It's a psalm that I love very much.

Lou had come down from Bristol, where she now lives, so after the service, we took her to Bath, so she could catch the train home.We also took along the beautiful Anna, one of Dan's friends. It was lovely being in Bath - such a beautiful city - and we found a cafe in the sun for coffee.

It was only eleven o'clock but I was absolutely starving, although I'd had breakfast, and only a large piece of coffee cake would do. In fact, I can't remember a day when I ate and drank so many of the wrong things at the wrong time. (I started on the brandy cokes at some riduculous time of five in the afternoon.)

Shayne, Mitzi's long term carer, had provided nibbles at The Bear Inn in Street. I must mention here that Shane has been an absolute rock during these last years and as good a friend to Mitzi that you could get.John went there whilst I rested (it's my age - I can only do so much in one go!) back at Chindit House with bright sunshine pouring through the bedroom windows, comforting myself with the complementary chocolates left in the room.

Then, at 3.30 we all crowded into The Magdelene Chapel in Glastonbury for a service of celebration. There were so many people that most of us had to sit/stand in the small garden. I have never, ever got a suntan at a funeral before.

More people wanted to recall funny stories about Mitzi than we had time for. But the most moving speech came from John, devestated at losing the sister he had only just found. There were lots of tears shed that day and much laughter.

The family had created an enormous montage of photographs of Mitzi and this was displayed firstly at The Chapel and then at The King Alfred Pub for the wake. It was like coming in a full circle.

Most of us sat outside, still in brilliant sunshine. Friends and relatives laid on a fabulous spread and we ate, drank, chatted, laughed until the late evening.

The story doesn't end there, though. Having found and been accepted by all these lovely people, we shall go back often. In fact, a number of us are going to see Madness at The Glastonbury Extraveganza in August in The Glastonbury Abbey grounds. And we intend to have a very good time i.e. behave outrageously, dance a lot and make merry. In honour of Mitzi.

NEW SIX WORD MEMOIR

2010-04-29T10:38:00.001+01:00

Crazy nutter requires cosy padded cell

(Might possibly write a short story based on this little pearl of a six word memoir - stranger things happen in life than could ever be made up)

HOW MANY TWITS MAKE A TWAT? asked david cameron

2010-04-24T11:06:00.001+01:00

Just the one, David.

A BIG HI TO DOROTHY !!!

2010-04-17T18:32:00.003+01:00

Returned home from Glastonbury this afternoon - relieved to be home but glad that Thursday and Friday went so well. There was a fight early Saturday morning, which I'll tell you about personally, but no real damage was done. I knew something would happen and am very glad that it wasn't me who lost my rag although I came close at the pub. Grief and alcohol are not a good mix but sometimes can't be helped.

It was lovely to meet again despite the sad circumstances. It would seem that lots of people want to see Madness at the Glastonbury Extraveganza. I'll post details of dates etc soon. Please think about coming - we'll have a smashing time (possibly literally!).

Hope you got back safely.

Love Maggie xxx

GENERAL ELECTION - MAY 2010

2010-04-12T19:01:00.002+01:00

Can't stand all the coverage already. It's so depressing - I try not to watch/listen to it. Anyway, it's a no-brainer as far as I'm concerned.

Vince Cable is the only politician who understands economics and the financial crisis we are in. He has been the only politican speaking knowledgably on the subject for several years. The main challenge for our country is sorting out, long term, this financial collapse. Therefore, the next Chancellor of the Exchequer, should the most important position in government.

Vince Cable should be that person. Vince Cable is a Liberal Democrat. So, vote Liberal Democrat.

As I said, it's a no-brainer.

NEW BOOK REVIEW - THE WAY HOME BY GEORGE PELECANOS

2010-04-12T18:29:00.006+01:00

George Pelecanos and David Simon are both gods in my eyes on account of their massive involvement (writer/producer)with 'The Wire.' So, I was interested to see how Pelecanos's latest novel panned out. (I've never read anything by him before.)

And it wasn't at all what I expected.

The story, a crime novel, set in America, has a basic plot, which centres around a family in crisis. Other characters come into play but the plot revolves around the family and in particular, Chris Flynn, a teenage tearaway.

Both that basic plot and minimalist writing style reminded me a lot of the two novels that Linford Barclay has written. (Since Pelecanos has written loads of crime novels, I'm not for one minute suggesting he has copied Barclay or the other way around.)

So, it's very different in style to 'The Wire', with its multitude of scenes in one episode and a barrel full of strong characters.

But there are hints of 'The Wire' in some of the dialogue and the disfunctional backgrounds that so easily turn young men towards crime.

Did I enjoy it? Yes, I did, although there were times when I longed for more to happen. However, I still turned the pages/allowed myself 'just one more chapter' so he's a writer I would read again and recommend - just don't expect the full blast of 'The Wire'.

NEW PEARLS OF WISDOM - SPECIALLY FOR WRITERS

2010-04-12T18:26:00.002+01:00

There are three ways to write a novel. The trouble is that nobody knows exactly what they are. Somerset Maughan.

Test Twitter feed

2010-04-09T01:37:00.000+01:00

This post should generate a Tweet.

HELP - I HAVE ACUTE BACK PAIN !!!

2010-04-07T10:53:00.004+01:00

I've had problems with my back for years but over the last few months it has reached the stage that my back muscles are totally seized up most of the time. Not only is this painful and distressing, but it means that I'm having difficulty writing on my computer.

The problem areas are my neck, shoulders and between my shoulder blades.

I've hardly used my computer over the last month to see if it would make a difference but it hasn't.

I'm actually writing this under the influence of paracetamol and codeine, ibruprofen, and tramadol. Also, I have magnets all the way down either side of my spine, and am wearing a tens machine, neck collar and shoulder brace.

Believe you me, you have to really want to write to be togged up like this.

Also, I sit on a special back-less chair and my key board is raised on a slant.

I'm doing everything I can to strengthen my back: swimming, walking, daily stretches and pilates; I pace myself and give myself plenty of time for relaxation; I go to an osteopath regularly and I don't lift heavy things etc etc. But at the moment all these things aren't enough.

SO, IF YOU HAVE ANY OTHER SUGGESTIONS THAT MAY HELP ME THAT I HAVEN'T MENTIONED, PLEASE LET ME KNOW !!!

The bladder problem was a mere inconvience (pardon the pun) compared with this.

The problem originated from a slightly twisted spine and pelvis and made considerable worse by a chiropractor who over-treated me, including my neck, which I'd never had trouble with before.

Hey-ho. Such is life.

The plan for my writing, therefore, is as follows:-

* I shall concentrate on my second novel Winchester Blues, working for no more than 30 minutes twice a day

* My technical manager i.e.John, will write posts for this blog and the new additions of Facebook and My Space as I dictate to him (lying on a comfy duvee and tickling the dog). Since he has a full time job, this will only be roughly once a week and it may take time to answer comments.

By the way, a big Hi to Dorothy, who has left comments on all three of my sites. Very briefly, I'll reply. Yes, Amsterdam is a beautiful, friendly and interesting city, with a wide variety of small shops along most of the canals. And no, we aren't going to the festival in Mali unless there's a hotel with a balcony right next to the venue!

For those of you who have happened upon this post, let me tempt you with reading some of the many posts already written, including:-

* My first novel Cyprus Bluesin its entirety (it can be read on your computer or downloaded)

* Accounts plus photographs of the Essaouira Gnawa and World Music Festival in Morroco

* A short video of Bob Wisdom (Bunny from The Wire) and myself in conversation at last year's festival

*The Wire, which is the best TV series ever made

*Further TV and film reviews

*Book reviews

*Pearls of wisdom

*6 word memoirs

*Posts about Winchester, where I live, local groups etc

*Posts about the newspaper reports and short stories I've had published

*Posts about the writing process

*and not forgetting my most popular post - my open letter to Van Morrison (who still hasn't replied yet!)

Plus much, much more.

Sadly my 30 minutes is up but can I ask again, if you've any advice about how to help with back/neck/shoulder pain, I'd be very, very grateful.

Cheers!

NEW PEARLS OF WISDOM

2010-03-26T10:47:00.002Z

Alcohol is a great leveller: it makes us all stupid

Review: FACELESS by Martina Cole

2010-03-10T00:27:00.002Z

This is definitely commercial fiction and Cole breaks many of the 'sacred' rules of fiction: she includes great chunks of telling rather showing and repeats each character's motivation endlessly. The editing is also suspect at times:she has obviously experimented with several ways of writing the same thing and then has not totally deleted all the redundant words. And-sin of sin-sometimes commas are not used correctly.

Her main character, Marie, who has just been released from prison for a double murder (but I don't believe she did it),speaks in a very middle class way, when she's supposedly working class, apart from a few "me's' instead of 'my's' and the occasional 'fuck'.

HOWEVER, not only am I really enjoying the read but also, Martina Cole is a best seller and must have made more than a few bucks and I still can't find an agent, so I don't feel in way superior about her not particularly fantastic writing skills.

Her characters, most of whom are scumbags, are believable, if somewhat over-stated, and she writes about an underclass where drugs, prostitution and violence are prevelent so it makes for a fascinating read. I don't know what 'rocks' are but I'd certainly not like to get addicted to them.

Okay, the Festival is over, so here's my second 'take' on novels I've been reading recently.

But before I do so, I want to set the scene about my reading preferences.

Because I studied literature for 'A' levels and then my degree in the 1960s and 1970s, I've already read many of the great novels of literature.

Favourites that readily spring to mind are: 'War and Peace', Doctor Zhivago', 'The Alexandrian Quartets', 'Gone With the Wind', 'Madam Bovary', 'How Green Was My Valley', 'Pride And Prejudice' in fact, all of Jane Austen's novels, 'Tess of the Durbevilles', 'Far from the Madding Crowd' (don't you just hate the hypocrisy of Angel!),'Exodus', 'Catch 22' (brilliant), 'A Town Like Alice', 'A Tale of Two Cities', 'For Whom The Bell Tolls'( a real weepy) - the list is endless.

I also had a penchant for authors like Alistair Maclean, Agatha Christie, Jack Higgins etc, what I would call more commercial writers. I lapped us these books whilst living in Cyprus. One of my employers (mother of the two children I was a sort of governess to (Dimitri and Louisa - a lot of fun)) had an enormous selection of paperbacks which I was able to borrow.

The only writers I have a real dislike for, despite the fact that are world renowned and I know that technically they are brilliant, are D.H.Lawrence, E.F. Foster and Joseph Conrad. Their novels are just too dark for me and somewhat boring. I would also never even attempt work by authors like Proust: life's just too short.

There are very few authors that I've come across who make me laugh out loud, which is a real pity, but both Evelyn Waugh and Lyn Truss do that for me, plus Tom Sharpe and not forgetting 'The Little World of Don Camilo' series. I'd love to be able to write a comedy -I think that making people laugh is a wonderful gift - but it's very hard to do, which is why there are so few genuinely funny novels about.

If you come across any, then please leave details in the comments section!

More recently, I've become addicted to crime novels, particularly those written by Michael Connelly (I'm partly in love with Harry Bosch, who is the detective most featured in the novels - although he must be hell to live with), Mo Hayder and Mark Billingham. I'll also read anything by John Le Carre, who is the greatest living novelist of our time, in my opinion. But because I want to break into publishing, I'm devouring novels that are very popular with agents/publishers/book awards/the general public in some hope of seeing where my Cyprus novel would fit in.

Review: THE READER by Bernhard Schlink

2010-03-10T00:26:00.000Z

This is the novel made into a film which got Kate Winslett (do you spell her surname like that?) her Oscar. I chose to read it because the story sounded most interesting - the German woman who seduces a young boy only to be revealed as a guard who worked at Austerlitz etc and was possibly responsible for a number of deaths.

It's mainly an interesting read and I could really imagine the character of Hanna Schmitz being played by Winslett, portraying her detached, unemotional personality. But the novel (a translation) breaks all the rules about show rather than tell and when Schlink tries to examine the role of Germans during the Second World War and the concentration camps, it felt rather forced.

I'm glad I read this novel but I wouldn't want to read it again.

Review: GEORGIANA DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE by Amanda Foreman

2010-03-10T00:25:00.001Z

This work of non-fiction, based on extracts of diaries and newspaper articles, is a real Jekyll and Hyde read. I haven't seen the film, which looks lavish from previews, although why they chose stick-thin Keira Knightly is a mystery because apparently Georgina had a most ample figure, but I had heard an adaptation on Woman's Hour, which was excellent, so reading the book seemed a good idea.

Reading the book, though, is a different matter and it's very much a 'dry' read. The sections about Georgiana are just about bearable but the vast descriptions of the politics of the time left me with no option but to skim read. So, no, I wouldn't recommend this book.

Georgiana, by the way, was the Princess Diana of her time, married to a husband who didn't love her and kept a mistress, literally under the same roof, and who fell in love with some-one else. So it should have been far more interesting than it was. Very glad to have finished it!

Review: THE OVERLOOK by Michael Connelly

2010-03-10T00:23:00.001Z

This is another of the Harry Bosch detective novels and it progresses at a fair lick, engaging interest immediately and maintaining it throughout. Connelly has such an easy writing style, with just the right mix of plot, characterisation and description and there's always a real sense of place in these novels. You do actually feel as if you are in Los Angeles. My only criticism would be that I found the cessium part of the plot somewhat far-fetched but sexy, maverick Harry makes up for that in bucket loads.

BRISTOL SHORT STORY PRIZE ANTHOLOGY 2008

2010-03-10T00:17:00.002Z

When I entered The dog in the Pram for the 2009 competition, I ordered a copy of the anthology of last year's winners and runners up, 20 in all.

The standard of writing was very high and I enjoyed all of stories bar one, which made me feel very uncomfortable. There are obviously a lot of very skilled writers in the UK, all vying for publication, which explains why there are so many rejections: a publication can only include so many stories.

The range of subject matter, mood and style was wide so there was a good balance and variety.

My favourites (none of which were in the first three) were:

'Facing Facts' by Susan Akass, a very funny story despite the seemingly somber setting of a widow faced with the problem of sorting out her recently deceased husband's possessions.

'Life Sucks' by Fran Landsman, again a funny story about a teenager who discovers an uncomfortable secret about her father.

*'Virtue in Danger' by Nick Law, a salutary tale set in a time of brothels and rogues and written entirely in verse.

'Killing Me Quietly' by Dominica McGowan', a far blacker take on the death of a husband.

'Intervention' by Charlotte Mabey, about the dilemma of a young man with first-aid knowledge.

'Burying The Presidents', yet another funny story and certainly not what I expected from the title.

'Going Down Brean' by Rebecca Watts - my very favourite. It's a gentle, nostalgic story of a small group of children taken on their annual day-trip to the sea-side, accompanied by the church vicar and the formidable Mrs Chubb, who won't stand for any nonsense. The descriptions of the small, pleasurable activities that the children indulge in, plus their meticulous choice of small gifts in the old gift shop, brought back very many happy memories and the ending is brilliant.

The short story is a difficult genre to write and to read because the writer is trying to say so much in a relatively few words. Full-length novels have the luxury of development of characters and plot, the continuity of the build up.

I personally enjoy reading and writing short stories that tell a story. It's been fashionable for some time with short story writing that language is often more important than plot and characters, that the more flowery the language then the more likely it is to be published (apart from national magazines like Women's Weekly and The People's Friend, where the feel-good factor is the most important criteria). Also, there seems to be a penchant for gloomy or fantastical tales. My kind of story writing doesn't really fit in with these criteria but it's just the way I prefer to write and I'm hoping that, one day, the good old-fashioned story will become fashionable again.

However, this anthology is a really good read and to purchase a copy log onto http://www.bristolprize.co.uk/

Review: CHANGE OF HEART by Jodi Picoult

2010-03-10T00:14:00.001Z

Boy, am I glad I found this writer because she really knows how to tell a good story. This one is about the dilemma that a mother and daughter face: the daughter needs a heart transplant and the only heart available would be from the murderer of the rest of their family. Shay Bourne, on death row, feels that this will be his only way to redemption. But he's due to be executed by lethal injection, which would make his heart unsuitable. Enter attorney, Maggie Bloom, an anti-death penalty campaigner, and Father Michael, Shay's spiritual adviser, who has his own secret.

It's compelling reading and I kept pushing myself to read more because I wanted to know more. And Jodi Picoult's style is easy to read; I'm somewhat jealous at how good she is. She presents the story through the eyes of several different characters, which seems to be one of her trade marks, as is flashbacks, and all her characters are drawn sympathetically, no matter who or what they are. My favourite in this novel is Maggie's father, Rabbi Bloom, who has a wonderful sense of humour.

If you're not put off by the controversial themes, including, in this novel, is Shay Bourne actually the Messiah? (that should really get Christians rattled), then it's a great read.

Read June 2009

Review: DEVIL BONES by Kathy Reichs

2010-03-10T00:12:00.001Z

Kathy Reichs is a best selling author. A working forensic anthropologist, she uses her knowledge in her writing and boy, don't you know it. This is the first and last book I shall read of hers. It was all about the forensic stuff, which became really boring. Characterisation was weak and the plot slow and tedious and quite gory at times. Bones have been found in an old building and it appears that some kind of witchcraft is involved. Yawn, yawn. And the main character, Dr Temperance Brennan, is an alcholic. How novel. As you can gather, I didn't rate this book highly and am perplexed at how she sells so well.

Read August 2009

Review: FAMILY CONNECTIONS - short stories by Chrissie Gittens

2010-03-10T00:10:00.002Z

What a delight it was reading these short stories, all so very different and yet maintaining the theme of relationships. Most are set in present time and are based on the kind of situations you or I might find ourselves in, although there are two exceptions: a fairy tale and a story set in the future. Thet are all short and perfectly crafted.

At last, a short story writer who doesn't use obviously flowery language, I thought. Very down to earth and no-nonsense kind os stories. So impressed was I that I took my favourite story - Onyx, about a tenant getting revenge on an unscrupulous landlord - with me on holiday to see more closly how Chrissie achieved this. I could get some good writing tips here, I thought.

However, I was most surprised at the results of my research. I highlighted all the adjectives and adverbs and found, to my astonishment, that the story was rich with such parts of speech. And then I highlighted the verbs and saw what a variety she used.

To me, this is what makes a good writer. They use a richness of language that doesn't shout out 'Hey, this is very descriptive writing - look at me and never mind about the story'. No wonder many of these stories have been published previously or been read on Radio 4 (who I know, to my cost, only use stories of a very high standard.)

Salt Publishing
Read August 2009

Review: THE WHOLE TRUTH by David Baldacci

2010-03-10T00:06:00.001Z

This is another best seller that had me scratching my head in puzzlement. Why so popular? In fact, I considered ditching it before even reading a quarter of it but John's alternative 'The Budda of Suburbia' didn't appeal and so I stuck with it.

I'm glad I did, because it got better until near the end and then it was just ridiculous. The plot is based on the desire of an extremely rich arms manufacturer who wants to restore the old balance of power world-wide by creating a phony crisis.

Nothing wrong with the plot. It was exciting and fast moving and the chapters were short, which makes for a good 'no-brainer' read. Plus, the description of 'perception management' (companies who artificially create situations for wealthy clients) was fascinating.

What infuriated me was that there were a number of chapters 'telling not showing' to move the plot along and I found them tedious and lazy writing; the characters were one-dimensinal and I couldn't visualise them; and with each new setting came a description which appeared to come out of a travel guide.

For example, anyone who has been to Amsterdam several times will know that The Bulldog it is famous for its coffee shop, where cannabis is sold, and not as a hotel.

However, all that said, I would recommend it because it is generally a cracking good read and its flaws are bearable. How's that for a recommendation!

Very aware that my novel 'Cyprus Blues' (unpublished) has long chapters and I've tried everywhich way but can see no way of shortening them without an editor to guide me. However, 'Winchester Blues', which I've now started will certainly have shorter chapters. Or perhaps I just need a boob enlargement, a racy life style and a willingness to tell all to the media, like Jordan.

On the subject of Jordan, it's in the news that leading booksellers are considering boycotting her latest autobiography (4th in 5 years or 5th in 4 years) because they don't want to be seen to exploit her fans. Maybe so or maybe they just want a better deal with the publishers.

However, frustrating as it is to see Jordan in print so often when she doesn't even write the darn things, I think the booksellers should give their customers the choice.

And also, when I was part of the 'Sexy Shorts' forum, where the writers exchanged news, one of the writers, who worked in W.H.Smiths, praised Jordan for her willingness to do personal signings to promote 'her' books. She certainly has an astute business mind and you can't fault her for that.

Macmillan 2008
Read on holiday in September 2009

Review: TOO CLOSE TO HOME by Linwood Barclay

2010-03-10T00:04:00.001Z

One thing is for sure - Linwood Barclay does not write literary prose, which is why I like him!

The emphasis in his writing is character and plot and just like his last novel (his 1st?), he takes an ordinary family and puts them into a nightmare situation. For most of the novel you've no idea what the actual answer is, which makes for a perfect page-turner of a novel. He's easy to read and the story and characters pull you in effortlessly.

The plot of this novel goes like this: the central family of dad, mum, and teenage son live next door to a house where the family have just been murdered but they are far more involved than they care to be. I shan't say anymore. Buy the book if you're interested and need an easy, exciting read.

Orion Books 2008
Read Sept/Oct 2009

Review: TRIBUTES by Nora Roberts

2010-03-10T00:00:00.000Z

My friend, Sheri, has been recommending Nora Roberts for some time because we're both heavily into crime fiction (sounds like some kind of fetish) and she said that Nora Roberts wrote crime fiction. However, I found Tribute eventually at my local W.H.Smiths under the Romance Section, so initially I wasn't too keen to read it, 'cos I'm not into romantic fiction.

However, I was pleasantly surprised when I started to read it. There are crimes involved but the emphasis is definitely on relationships.

The two main characters are Cilla McGowan, once a T.V. actress and now into renevating property. The property she's renovating in this novel is the farm house owned by her famous actress grand-mother, Janet Hardy, who died under mysterious circumstances.

And her closest neighbour is Ford Sawyer, who is a free-lance writer and illustrator, and very convienently unattached.

So, the focus is about how their relationship develops against a background of the unfurling of the mystery as to how Janet Hardy died and who is trying to stop Cilla from renevating the property.

I found myself drawn into the story pretty quickly because the two main characters are just 'darn attractive', plus the rest of the characters are interesting, too.

Plus, the descriptions of the farm house and its renovation were very enjoyable.

And Nora Roberts' writing style? Fully and extensively descriptive, is how I would sum it up, including the sex scenes (not that I'm interested in such things).

I shall certainly read another of her books.

She also writes under the name J. D. Robb, described as 'futuristic suspense'novels. Sounds promising.

Apparently, she's highly successful and prodigious, so I'll have plenty of tomes to enjoy.

Piatkus 2008
Read Nov/Dec 2009

GLEE + BBC4 DRAMAS

2010-03-04T19:07:00.006Z

Glee (E4 Monday 9p.m.): I love this high-school-musical soap. It makes me laugh, sing and dance so I rate it highly. I thought it might be cheesy, but not so. It's the ultimate in the feel-good-factor thingymijigs but tackles challenging subjects such as disability, homosexuality, teenage pregancy etc etc, effortlessly and with compassion.

The music and dance numbers are spectacular and I have already bought the CD of Season One. Lou came home for a few days last week and I said: 'Let's listen to this,' whilst she was a captive audience in the car.

Not having seen the show and being very much her own woman, she turned her nose up. However, after the first four tracks, she said: 'Okay. I'd like to download this onto my computer.' (Please, Web Sheriff, cut me some slack here. I'll buy her a copy if you object - just let me know if you're annoyed but don't sue me.)

For those of you who are still sceptical, it's worth watching if only for the brilliant character of Sue Sylvester, the teacher who's in charge of the cheerleaders. She's a wonderful arch-villian - says what she thinks, which is often pretty extreme - and bullies the kids in a brutal but extremely funny way.

And as the Season progresses, we get to see each character develop more fully, including Sue, so there's a real depth to the show.

Brilliant. What more can I say. If you loved Mamma Mia, you'll love this. (And if you hated Mamma Mia, you'll hate this!) Each to their own.

BBC 4 Dramas: Over the last year, BBC 4 have produced a series of dramas of the highest calibre, focusing on the lives of famous women. The acting, pace and drama have been impressive in each one. This is how TV drama should be.

I haven't kept a list, so I might miss out a few, but from the top of my head, I can remember dramas about:-

Barbara Cartland

Margot Fonteyn

Enid Blyton

Gracie Fields

Mo Mowlem

Heather Brooke (On Expenses): she was the American woman who used the freedom of information act to release details of MP's expenses. Eventually, The Telegraph published the full lists so took all the glory, but it was her dogged groundwork that enabled that to happen. So, good on her. (Can't believe MP's are getting a pay increase of £1000 per annum during this terrible economic downturn, when so many people are losing their jobs/taking pay cuts because of their inability to regulate the investment bankers.)

By the way, I once saw Mo Mowlam sitting in the lobby of The House of Commons, a number of years ago. I was with a group of pupils from Henry Beaufort School, visiting Parliament on a school activity week.

There she was, sitting cross-legged on a comfy chair, looking relaxed, confident and extremely attractive. This was before the brain tumour and it's such a pity that we lost her - she was that rarest of people: a politician with integrity, guts, compassion and an ability to make a difference.

We were actually heading for the House of Lords, where we had been invited to watch a railway bill going through. Not what you'd call interesting. I'd actually read a copy of the report and the Peers who spoke just didn't seem to have a clue, making we wonder if they had even read their own copies at all.

The big surprise for me, though, was being very impressed with Cecil Parkinson. He didn't speak but was sitting on some steps at the peers' entrance, watching and listening intently.

I'd always thought of him as a slimy sleezeball (sorry, Cecil) but actually he had a remendous presense about him. A sense of authority and intelligence. What a shame that he disgraced himself, like so many men, John Terry being another example, who can't keep their flies unzipped. I suppose, that's men for you.

Now there's an opening for comment. Come on guys, give me hell over that last statement. Show me that I'm wrong.

NEW BOOK REVIEW: A DARKER DOMAIN by VAL MCDERMID

2010-03-01T19:05:00.004Z

Publisher: Harpercollins 2009

Val McDermid is a very popular, high profile crime writer so I was expecting great things. However, I found this novel very pedestrian.

Set in Scotland, cold case expert DI Karen Pirie is asked to look into two unsolved mysteries: the disappearance of two coal-miners during the miner's strike, plus the murder of rich-girl Catriona Grant and the disappearance of her young son.

You don't need to be a rocket-scientist to realise pretty quickly that the two cases are linked, although it takes forever for Karen Pirie to work this out. Hence there was very little in the way of suspense.

It's written in terms of time and place and jumps back and forward constantly, which was confusing at times, given that there were two cases and lots of characters. But my main critisism is that the pace doesn't vary at all. The plot just plods on with no variation until it reaches the end. And then it stops.

Plus, the development of Karen Pirie's relationship with her subordinate officer, Phil Parhatka, is a mystery to me, given the way that McDermid presents Karen Pirie (she doesn't come over, to me, as a very appealing character),and I don't have a clue about Phil Parhatka. So, what happens between them didn't work for me - it seemed a lazy way to come to some conclusions about the pair.

On the plus side, I really liked the character of Bel Richmond, the journalist, and scenes including her came more alive for me. Also, I did at least finish the book. But I shan't buy another one of hers. Life's too short and there are too many fantastic books out there to read.

GREAT STUFF !!!

2010-03-01T18:50:00.003Z

1. Cyprus Blues is up and running. Please try to read it/some of it and give me feed back. My e-mail address is on the title page of the novel, after you've pressed read more.

2. Back to more mundane issues - i.e. the ultrasound today. I don't know why I was so worried. It was an absolute dodle. The hardest part was drinking 1 litre of water all in one go.

The incontinence pad (can't believe I'm telling you this) was unnecessary. I managed to hold all that water in successfully although my heart did sink when I arrived in the reception area and saw about eight people waiting. Didn't think I could last eight examinations before mine.

However, they were all waiting for different scanners so I was soon being dealt with. And you'll be pleased to know that I have an properly functioning bladder, so I've probably just got an irritable bladder, which aparently is possible and which just about sums me up. For those of you with similar problems, I'll let you know what treatment my doctor recommends when I manage to get an appointment.

And since this blog is bordering on the abnoxious, just to let you know that I had great plans for the rest of the pads in the packet in terms of travelling. So, I had a little experiment to see just how waterproof they are. And my conclusion: don't try to pee into your pad when you're on a plane!

Cyprus Blues - A Novel by Maggie Knutson

2010-03-01T00:17:00.007Z

PART ONE: THE BLUE, BLUE SEA

I intend to publish this novel as an e-book, so read it here while you can.

CHAPTER ONE: KATE

Do I ever regret getting on that plane?

No. Never. Not even for one moment.

Because if I hadn’t, if I’d stayed in England, then I would never have discovered that life truly begins only when you start to live with intensity, with passion, and with love. And until then, you’re only existing…nothing more…as I was until I was twenty-two years old.

And then, when you allow yourself the freedom to be yourself, life becomes so wonderful that you can feel your heart beating with its own beautiful rhythm and you enjoy each new experience with the pleasure of a small child.

But it doesn't last. Of course it doesn't last. Nothing does.
Because just when you feel that life couldn't get any better, it starts to fray around the edges ,whoever you are, and then your heightened senses make you more likely to feel the hurt…the pain…the dismay of it all.

I can say this now, because I survived.

But it is only now, when I look back, that I can see so clearly that life is more like a game of snakes and ladders than anything else. Once you pick up the dice and make your first throw, the only way is up and off you go, shouting and whooping with joy. And when you reach the top of each ladder, you can look down, with great satisfaction, and see how far you have advanced.

And, boy, does the world look good from up there.

But then, on the next throw, you can land at the top of a slippery, slidey snake and swoop back down, often passing places that you had already reached…and it can be devastating.

And then you have several options to choose from. You can dash your dice against the wall and refuse to play…or huddle yourself into a sulk and behave like a spoilt child …or you can get up and start all over again.

Only this time you’re very wary of those snakes.

But snakes and ladders is a board game and no-one dies…not as they do in real life. And your ups and downs are often the result of other people’s choices, not your own. And until you realise and accept that, you’re going to be a very bitter person.

Am I bitter? No, I’m not bitter… because I know the difference between merely existing and living life as fully as I can and I choose the fullness despite all those bloody snakes.

~

For me, my life began in that way, when I knew I was truly alive rather than existing, when I was twenty-two years old. The date was July 21st 1973. Hard to believe it was so long ago, but it is as clear in my mind as if it were yesterday. It still is, every single day since then, because I was living it... really living it.

Link to the complete novel removed while I edit it some more.

ONE LITRE OF WATER, ONE MOUNTAIN TO CLIMB

2010-02-28T18:42:00.005Z

Help! Tomorrow! How will I cope?

At 11.15 a.m. tomorrow I have to drink one litre of water and keep it inside me until 12.15 a.m. when I am to have a scan of my bladder to see why I am peeing so much.

Keep it in! Now, that's a mountain to climb for some-one who has a bladder problem. In fact, I have a whole water thing problem. I can pee for England, cry for England and retain water where it shouldn't be in my body for England. I wonder if it's because I'm a Piscean? And perhaps they could make peeing/crying/water retention into an Olympic sport and then I'd probably win a gold for Team G.B.

I also swim every day, apart from Saturday, which is usually reserved for sleeping.

So, obviously, there's a thing going on between me and water.

I phoned the relevant hospital department and said: 'The whole point of the scan is that I can't keep water in my bladder for longer than five of ten minutes. How can I manage one whole hour?'

'We're often asked that,' the receptionist replied helpfully. 'Why don't you come a little earlier?'

Not sure that that will help so I've had to resort to purchasing some incontinence pads. Yes, you read right. Incontinence pads! 'Cos I really don't like the idea of walking to Winchester Hospital with urine flooding down my trousers. I do have some pride.

I'll let you know how I get on.

(Lou will so tell me off for writing about my bodily functions but some-one has to do it. I mean, it's a most important subject and we all have to pee.)

Too many prats not enough heroes

2010-02-28T18:40:00.001Z

URGENT UPDATE ON PREVIOUS POST

2010-02-28T18:31:00.002Z

My techical guru, John, is in the process of formating Cyprus Blues for the web but has advised that he put it on this blog not my new one, and I bow to his better judgement.

Therefore:-

THE COMPLETE VERSION OF MY NOVEL - CYPRUS BLUES - WILL BE AVAILABLE ON THIS BLOG IN THE NEXT FEW DAYS/WEEK !!!

I'm very excited about it.

As for my new blog wifenotstupid, it will remain empty until I can think what to do with it.

CYPRUS BLUES AND WIFENOTSTUPID

2010-02-27T19:00:00.005Z

I have now finished the FINAL edit of my first novel, Cyprus Blues, and am confident that it's a bloody good novel. I had to make LOTS of changes in sentence structure, delete the multitude of !, and be more inventive with my descriptions. So, I'm very happy with it. No-one else might think it's very good or enjoy reading it, apart from John and Lou and, of course, they would like it, wouldn't they! But I've given it my best shot.

John just has to do some techical stuff: put in the page numbers that had mysteriously vanished, transfer my introductory letter back into the correct format, and at least try to re-adjust the headings without the computer having a nervous breakdown (or me, for that matter).

Now that I've stopped looking for an agent and am going to go direct to publishers, I've chosen Cannongate as my first port of call, because it's recommended by Mslexia, the writing magazine which I rate very highly, AND they publish David Simon of The Wire fame. And we all know, don't we, how brilliant I think The Wire is.

I've already e-mailed Cannongate to find out who I send my submission to and asked the question I've been itching to know for ages: can work published on the internet still be eligable for book publications?

And since the answer was YES, I've decide to put Cyprus Blues on the net, at least until I find a publisher.

If I nag - sorry, ask John nicely, it'll be done tomorrow. But it won't be on this blog, although, of course, I'll let you know where to find it. I might be daft but I'm not stupid!

And this is where my new bogsite - sorry, blogsite! - comes in.

Wifenotstupid

On Valentine's Day, John and I polished off a very nice bottle of champagne so we were a bit, you know, in a stupid mood. And whilst we were watching television, some-one said wifenotstupid and I said immediately, I've got to have that domain name - it's too good to miss. Since John's You Tube site is daftnotstupid, it seemed like a good omen.

Anyway, the next day, my darling husband registered the name. But then I was left thinking: what do I do with it?

This blog - maggieknutson.com - is already jam-packed with a variety of writings. Ergo, the sensible thing to do is to put my creative writing in this seperate blog. So, as I take a much needed break from novel writing, not only will Cyprus Blues be posted, but some of my short stories, which, of course, I'll re-edit because I'm very thorough.

SO WATCH THIS SPACE.

By the way, if you google/bling (bing?) wife not stupid you'll probably not find me there yet, cause I've not had any hits yet. However, If you want to read about some guy who's written about giving his wife an orgasm, you'll be well happy if you type in that name!

WINTER OLYMPICS VANCOUVER 2010

2010-02-25T18:48:00.011Z

I am absolutely exhausted.

I'm battered... bruised... aching... stiff... sore... every one of my muscles has been tested beyond endurance...my bones are only just intact...I've got frost bite and wind chill...and I'm only just beginning to warm up again. The nerves, of course, are still pretty raw and I still have too much adrenalin coursing through my veins.

It's really tough watching the Winter Olympics.

I've been training for months: swimming, exercising, stretching, Pilatesing, walking the dog,and climbing up and down the three flights of stairs to my attic work-room several times a day.

I've even had to overcome my adversity to snow (too cold, too wet, too white).

But, boy, has it been hard work watching the Winter Olymipcs.

The most difficult down-hill course I've had to endure has been the ski and snowboard cross races. In fact, it's been so nail-biting that I'm not able to leave the room until all of the races have been completed in the round. They just hit you one after the other.

There's no time to relax, polish my nails, brush the dog. I have to stay routed to my settee - usually in a prone position because it's too tiring to watch sitting up. And, naturally, it's impossible to eat because I'd just get indigestion. I can't even light up a ciggie because I might miss something in the process of focusing on the flame/searching for a lighter that actually has gas in it.

For those of you who have not watched these races, let me explain:-

You take four total idiots at a time, who seem not to care a jot about health and safety issues, place them behind bars at the top of a mountain, release the bars and watch as all four hurtle downwards along a narrow, well-defined course (blue lines) with loads of bends and jumps, often in misty/snowing conditions, and wait to see who stays upright, who has the balls to make a dangerous/daring/audacious attempt to overtake at the most dangerous parts of the the course, and who reaches the final blue line first.

It's absolutely fantastic.

These races are new to the Olympics and have probably pulled in millions of viewers, like me, who never used to watch the Winter Olympics. So, a big success, I would say.

And don't get me going about the acrobatic snowboarding. It makes me feel giddy just watching it. And I'm someone who had mastered (well, almost) the back-somersault on a trampoline when I was at College (yonks ago - and definitely the best days of my life).

So entranced have I been, that I've even been watching the more sedate courses, too: the short slalom, the long slalom, the short jump and the long jump. I'd always thought that that giant leap through the air was too terrifying to watch. Now, it seems actually tame but still enjoyable in its own way.

I'm glad our Brit girl, Amy Williams, won a gold in the skeleton - and we all know about the skeleton and the lunge (which is the skeleton backwards), don't we? But, personally, I'm relieved that, as a nation, we don't really count in these games. We seem to be having plenty of snow these days but, no doubt, it's the wrong kind of snow, and, anyway, we don't have the facilities, as per usual. In countries like Norway, where they have loads of snow, even toddlers learn how to ski.

I'm relieved because I can watch each race not caring who wins because I don't have to desperately want a Brit to win. I can just enjoy the race and appreciate the skill, strength, grace, athleticsism (have I spelt that right? Sadly, I don't have spell-check on my blog), daring, courage and sheer brilliance of each performer.

What's particularly good, too, is that so many teenagers are now involved in the Winter Olympics. One of my favourites is Fanny some-body (don't mean to be disrespectful, but I can't remember her surname) from France, who so nearly won a bronze in the final but was prepared to take a chance to snatch the gold or silver and fell over in the process (i.e. crashed spectacularly). Must watch out for her and all the other youngsters in four years time. (Is this on the Black Sea? Of course, not actually on the Black Sea but in that region of the world. That should be very interesting.)

And doesn't it make you green with envy when these sports people take off their helmets and they're so good looking, with beautiful teeth. Plus, they've got long, lean, sexy bodies to die for.

I shan't dwell too long on wishing that we i.e. Great Britain and Northern Ireland - had better winter sports facilities in Britain - not because I want MORE MEDALS but because it's such a shame that our kids are missing out on such fun.

However, my Pilates teacher, Veronica Goulder, told me at our last session, that her son was a professional Snowboarder. Absolutely wonderful. I must get more details from her at our next session.

One final word, though, and if you've got some inkling of my thoughts by reading my blog you'll know that I have to say this: my prayers go out to the lunger from Georgia who died in practice. You only have to watch the Winter Olympics to see how dangerous it all is. So hats off to all competitors who dare to do such things. I am in awe of all of you.

A little footnote here. I once went ski-ing in Bergen, Oslo, when I was seventeen. Because my mum and I were last to reach the starting point, we didn't learn how to put our skis on properly because our instructor had already covered that part of the instruction.

In consequence, we found it tres difficult. She, very wisely, quickly gave up and stayed in the hotel lounge happily reading. I, on the other hand, tried my very hardest but could only traverse in one direction.

Ski-ing on the virgin slopes was fine but going on the big ski-lift to the top was an absolute nightame. I could only get off at the top by falling off and I had so little control of my skis that the only way I could get down to the bottom was by deliberately falling down every so often to slow myself down - my desire to survive strongly kicking in.

I was the only one of our group who failed the final test, apart, of course, from my mum. And it was only when I returned my skis, that the very nice guy in the shop, in the process of sympathising with me for not getting a certificate, realised that I hadn't been wearing my skis properly.

Not that I cared. Because I was seventeen, my hair had bleached in the sun so I looked Swedish (what a compliment) and I excelled at the apres-ski life. Plus, I had my first experience of a hard mattress and a duvet. What's this piece of padded cloth? we asked. Wouldn't be without one now. Plus, months later, I found £5 worth of Norwegian currency tucked away in my hand-bag. And in those days, that was a real bonus.

P.S. Supper is ready and I've just read this and seen loads of mistakes but I'll correct then tomorrow. Good Night and Sweet Dreams.

P.P.S. Mistakes now rectified, hopefully.

P.P.P.S. Forgot to mention the harlequin trousers of the Norwegian men's curling team - a big mistake, in my opinion. I became more interested in commenting (acidily) on the brightly patterned colours than the actual curling.

P.P.P.P.S. Has anyone noticed that it's actually luge not lunge? I've kept my mis-spelling in because John and I have been having great fun joking about this mistake. We could be very good lungers and have already been practising.

ESSAOUIRA GNAWA AND WORLD MUSIC FESTIVAL 2010

2010-02-15T19:03:00.005Z

Update For a full report with photos, music and videoa, see http://maggieknutson.blogspot.com/2010/07/wonder-and-beauty-of-gnaoua-and-world.html

UPDATE 16 May 2010: Dates confirmed - Thursday to Sunday, June 24-27, 2010 - for more details, see http://maggieknutson.blogspot.com/2010/05/essaouira-gnaoua-and-world-music.html

Okay folks. I'll put you out of your misery. I've had so many hits recently about the Festival that I guess you know 'something's up'.

As it is indeed.

I have no idea why the thought popped into my mind because it's still only February and I wasn't even thinking about Morocco or the Festival, but as I was passing John's workroom one evening last week, I suggested that he look at the Festival website for any info about this year's Festival.

He looked on the net but said that the Festival's website wasn't working. I, however, was not satisfied with this and looked on my own computer. And, yes, that site wasn't working but I found several Essaouira travel websites which gave the information that the Festival was to be on the last week of June - Thursday 24th to Sunday 27th.

Then, a few days later, the Festival site was up and running, with the dates confirmed but no details of artists.

Assured that this was sufficient confirmation and egged on by me (because John can be somewhat tardy at times - hope he doesn't read this!), WE'VE BOOKED - FLIGHTS AND HOTELS!!!

When we learn more about the artists, I'll post details on my blog or you can go to daftnotstupid.

Plus, if any of you have any particular requests about what you'd like me to report/photograph, please let me know and I'll do what I can.

Given the rotten start to the year, in a number of areas,I feel this small glow of happiness that, God Willing, better things are to come.

YIPPEE!!!

THE REMARKABLE ROGER FEDERER AT THE AUSTRALIAN OPEN TENNIS FINAL

2010-01-31T18:30:00.005Z

Of course I wanted Andy Murray to win. The country's a bit short on good news stories so far this year, so a win would have cheered us up no end.

However,Federer deserved to win - he was playing at the top of his game - and it was a pleasure to watch him.

His play today was so single-cream fluent, seemingly effortless and with a killer accuracy that was a wonder to behold.

Hopefully, Andy Murray will have learnt a lot from this master-class display and will up his game even more, which is pretty damn good anyway.

Maybe he'll even reach that higher standard at Wimbledon:I am an unashamed optimist after all.

NEW BOOK REVIEW

2010-01-24T19:13:00.001Z

If you'd like to read my review of the novel 'Tribute' by International Bestseller Nora Roberts, click onto The Book Review section. Cheers.

THE WIRE AND AGENTCOOP plus a maggie rant

2010-01-20T19:16:00.007Z

If you fancy what I would describe as a 'real blokey blog', then look no further than agentcoop (there's a direct link on the right hand site of my site).

Anyway, I've thrown down the gauntlet to agentcoop to watch Season One of The Wire and write a blog about it. Since we had very different experiences of the Essaouira 2009 Festival, should be interesting to see what he makes of The Wire.

And on a totally different subject but I might as well write about it here, am I the only one to recognise the irony of items on the news?

Gross exaggeration coming up but I'm sure you'll get my drift. One half of the world seem intent on helping Haiti recover from the destruption of their country, searching for survivors, giving aid and support, whilst the other half are intent on actually causing death and destruction on as massive a scale as possible (i.e. in Afganistan etc).

Shame on all those terrorists/would be terrorists throughout the world. Life's difficult enough as it is without their negative and hateful actions.

What? I'm going to have a fatwah imposed upon me? Some-one's got to tell the truth - Allah/God isn't hateful and vengeful. He's a God of love although sometimes that can mean tough love, a very tough love indeed, but that's very different from the narrow interpretations that fundamentalists of all faiths home in on. So, read your Koran/Bible again.

And while I'm on the subject, because I'm pretty annoyed at this, American Evangelical T.V. 'Christian' preacher - Pat Robertson - read your Bible again if you really believe that God was punishing Haiti because of the voodoo superstitions sometimes practised there. In particular, read the bit about Jesus Christ, The Cruxifiction, The Resurection. The forgiveness of sin. 'I came to save the world not condemn it'.

Mr Robertson, you think you're not a sinner too? We all are. So, get off your moral high ground and start praying for desperate people who need all the help they can get. Show some humility. Stop judging.

And since I'm really in the groove now, a word or two to the Archbishop of York. No wonder so many people are put off the Christian Church if church leaders like you give such wishy-washy answers about God's intent/involvement in Haiti (Radio 4).

Yes, of course He's there, waiting for people to turn to Him and ask for his help, to be alongside them in their misery but it goes much deeper than that.

I believe that all these tragedies that we have witnessed over the years are 'wake up calls' for people to revalue what is important in their lives. To think beyond the 'me-my-and-I' mentality, the 'men/women have total control of their lives and can do what they want' mentality.

It's what I describe as 'very tough love'. Heart-breaking for us mere mortals and devastating for those involved. I'm sure if there was a better, less painful way for God to focus our attention back onto him, then He'd do it that easier way.

I can write this because I was involved in a war in 1974 in Cyprus.

I was so close to exploding bombs/machine-gun fire/bazooka fire that each day that I have survived from that is a bonus. I lost relatives, dogs, everything I possessed. My way of life, too. Became a refugee. Was traumaitised by the whole experience. So I am in no way complacent about the effects of disasters - natural and man-made. I just see it now as part of a much wider picture.

It's all there in Revelations (the last book in the Bible.) It's a pretty scary book but its predictions seems to be unfolding before our very eyes. Aren't there any Christian leaders with the guts to say this? Are they so frightened of their own beliefs? Don't they realise anyone can be next? Any one of us.

What? I'm going to be ex-communicated? I'm shaking in my shoes.

Shall probably regret writing all this tomorrow morning but it's actually what I'm feeling/thinking.

P.S. It's now tomorrow and I don't retract a word of what I've written. In fact, I've added a bit more for good measure.

2010 AND A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR !!!

2010-01-01T15:10:00.009Z

More to come once I've had a lie down (slight hangover, to tell the truth, but it was worth it).

Particularly want to tell you about the film 'The Painted Veil' based on the novel by Somerset Maugham, which played on BBC 2 last night - absolutely brilliant. I'm green with envy at such plot and character development. Must read the book. But really must lie down now!

Okay. Have had a good rest and, armed with a nicely strong Bloody Mary, I am resuming this post. And, by the way, thank you to the person from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, who was the first to view my site in 2010.

One of my very favourite novels, one I used in my English teaching, is 'A Town Like Alice' by Nevile Shute. It's set mainly in Malaysia, including, Kuala Lumpur, so the very name brings back lovely memories of when teaching used to be not only rewarding but also fun.

So, New Year's Eve at the daftnotstupid household. John, myself and trusty guard dog and excellent companion, Archie, who had great fun at midnight running up and down the garden chasing and barking at all the sparkly fireworks cascading through the Winchester skyline (sorry neighbours) was a hoot.

Having had a smashing Xmas visiting relatives and friends, felt rather flat after Boxing Day. So many of us devote a lot of time preparing for Xmas but afterwards it's very easy to think 'what was that all about?' The goal has been achieved so what now? So, I wasn't feeling New Year's Evey one iota. And, of course, the cold, gloomy, rather wet weather wasn't exactly helping.

Come the evening, though, with the champagne opened, the log fire burning, candles lit, things started to slot into place in a quite delightful way.

Spent the earlier part of the evening working on the re-editing of Cyprus Blues, aided by a delicious glass of champagne. This re-editing is taking far longer to do than I had anticipated but I know it's worth the effort. I'm getting the text even tighter now and when I play back each chapter with via-voice, I'm liking what I hear.

Then supper (I make a mean curry), wine, wine, wine and more wine and a tele-fest.

Have really enjoyed the several Victoria Woods programmes shown during the last week or so - she really is an excellent writer and comedienne - and the repeat of the New Year's Eve episode of Dinnerladies, travelled well after all these years.

But the revelation to me, and what had me routed to my seat, not wanting to miss even a minute, was the film 'The Painted Veil' (BBC2 9p.m.), set in the 1920s and based on the novel by Somerset Maugham, who wrote in the era of British colonialism and gave such evocative insights into the lives of the Brits who were living abroad.

Starring Edward Norton and Naomi Watts, it was about a newly wed couple who were not ideally matched to say the least. The husband, a scientist, had been posted to China to help with a cholera outbreak and his wife went, most reluctantly, with him. So the film charts what happens to them and how their relationship changes.

The Guardian T.V. guide classified it as a 'revenge story' but I think it was an absolutely overwhelming love story. Everything about it was superb - the acting, the character and plot development, the spectacular Chinese scenery, and the capturing of the mood of a nation as it rebels against its forced colonisation.

If you can get your hands on a copy of this film, then I recommend you get it and watch it. And, if you disagree with my opinion, then leave a comment. I love comments.

I certainly want to read the book for myself to see if that superb character and plot development are as exciting as in the film or whether the director and actors added a special dimension not found in the book.

Now well and truly in some kind of celebratory mood, we next watched Jools Holland - the best music show on tele. Always a joy to watch because the music's so good.

Was particularly impressed with Florence somebody, thought that Tom Jones proved himself to be a giant of a performer, and was pleased to see Boy George on his feet again.(If he lost some weight, stayed clean and had singing lessons to retrain his voice he could well make a successful new start.) The other acts were pretty good, too.

Somewhere along the line, John made an enormous dish of home-made pop-corn and we wolfed that down pretty damn quickly.

Oh, yes, and then it was midnight and the start of not only a new year but also a new decade. I like the sound of 2010. It has a strong ring about it. As if it's making a bold statement.

I think none of us have felt the optimism of better things to come that we expected with a new Millenium. There have been so many events in this last decade we could not have anticipated or desired.

And the twenty-first century does not necessarily mean progress or improvement. With an expansion of quantity comes, it seems to me, a decline in quality. Grab what's good when you can, is my motto, and cherish it.

Moving back to T.V. fest, seemed to be watching Glastonbury now. Bruce Springstein is still a great performer, is he not. And to our delight, they played a song performed by Stornaway, who we watched in Winchester.

They have a strong following and the recordings John made of that gig for his You Tube site have been very popular. I have a hand-written note somewhere written by the lead singer for the DVD he sent them of his recording. So, I'm hoping Stornaway make it big and that paper could be of value. (Well, one always lives in hope.)

Pity that Polly and the Billet Doux, who also played at Glastonbury, weren't filmed but I'm sure their time will come.

About 3.30 a.m.(where had all that time gone?) I slid gracefully to the floor in the kitchen and realised that it was time to go to bed although I don't actually remember doing so.

And this morning, we awoke to a clean blue sky and bright sunshine. Sorted.

The hang-over will go, life will return to normal, I'm jolly well going to finish Cyprus Blues if it's the last thing I do. And I'm going to grab every joyful moment when it comes along and I suggest that you do the same.

SO, A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR. AND DON'T FORGET THE IMPORTANCE OF PEOPLE POWER AND UNITY (IN A PEACEFUL WAY). LET'S NOT LET THE POLITICIANS/BANKERS/STOCK MARKET TRADERS/SPECULATORS/ENVIRONMENTAL CHANGE DOUBTERS etc STUFF THINGS UP THIS DECADE OR OUR LIVES WILL ALL BE RADICALLY DIFFERENT, AND PROBABLY NOT FOR THE BEST, BY THE END OF THIS NEW DECADE.

RESPONSE TO THE COMMENT LEFT ON 'REPORTING BACK ON THE ESSAOUIRA GNAWA AND WORLD MUSIC FESTIVAL 2009'

2009-12-08T19:21:00.029Z

(January 4th - some direct links included but more to come.)
Miracles do happen: I've managed to finish the text part of this post before Xmas. However, after Xmas is all over and I'm sufficiently sober, I want to add some photos and direct links to some of the music I've been talking about.

So, all that's left to say for now is that I wish you all A VERY HAPPY XMAS/FESTIVE SEASON TIME/ HOLIDAY TIME AND A JOYFUL NEW YEAR!

To my great delight, I received a very long comment about this particular blog just a few days ago. Unfortunately, agentcoop had a very different experience to the one that John and I had.

In a few days time, I'll be posting that comment here so you don't have to do that endless scrolling down. And I'll also give my response.

Just to say, briefly, agentcoop, I remember the incident you were referring to. I, too, found it terrifying and I was on a balcony, not in the crowd. John was, though, filming the set, and when he returned, he found that one of his jeans pockets had been split open with a knife and the contents removed (just a useless battery to anyone without a specific type of camera).

So, I can agree with your comments whole-heartedly and will recount some of the problems John and I have had in Essaouira (for the sake of balance).

However, the bottom line is, we still go the the festival every year because the good bits, for us, far outway the bad bits. But YOU and your friends were definitely cheated and I'm so sorry for that.

AGENTCOOP COMMENT
Read your Essaouira tales with interest. I, too, was at this year's Festival and had quite a different experience.

I had been in Essaouira 7 years ago - not during the Festival - and loved the place at once. We stayed at the Hotel des Iles and loved every minute of it.

Thsi time we went back for the Festival and shared a house just up the road from Bab Marrakech with 3 other couples. The house was great but my experience of the Festival was very different to yours.

On the first night in Moulay Hassan, we were listening to Sixun, a French band and the mood was wrecked by conga lines of local adolescent boys constantly moving through the crowd and buffeting everyone. To make matters worse I had my pocket picked. Not a good night; we left early.

On the second night I saw Babani Kone in the square by Bab Marrakech - more families, less hassle and very pleasant.

The following night, on the long pedestrian street from Bab Marrakech into the heart of the Medina, someone tried to pick my pocket again (Stopped him just in time!) and by the time we returned to the square for the gig you mention with Karim Ziad and the German Orchestra, the crowd was huge and out of control.

Most of our party got scared and went back to the house but 2 of us hung on, determined to see/hear some music. It was OK for the first half-hour, give or take the usual business with the conga lines of adolescent boys again, but then a small fight broke out in the crowd near us, then minutes later a much bigger fight which cleared a circle about 50 yards across in the middle of the square.

Large numbers of people were simply running straight at us to get away and we nearly got trampled in the crush. That was enough for my friend Kathy, so we too left. I felt thoroughly cheated having managed to see only one complete set in three days... We watched the Sunday evening gig from one of the cafes on Moulay Hassan, but had to leave early as we had booked a meal back at the house.

By then, however, I will confess that I was feeling very jaded about the whiole experience. I would definitely go to Essaouira again, but definitely not whilst the Festival is on! To my way of thinking, the policing and crowd control are totally inadequate for a Festival of this size. I also found the locals much less friendly than on our prior visit.

I blog myself (agentcoop.wordpress.com) and may well follow your lead and write my version of Essaouira 2009 - sadly, it will be by no means as positive!

MY RESPONSE

Have been giving your comments a lot of thought because I don't want any of you to think that the Festival is without its downsides.Because if you do fork out all that dosh to go there and then find that it's not all hunky-dory, then you'll be disappointed and I wouldn't want that.

I only starting blogging a few years ago and so have only posted our experiences this Festival and last year's Festival. Therefore I haven't shown how this passion has evolved over the years.

But I will now. (Come on, no groaning!)

There have been references in both of these blogs to some difficulties we have had but I guess we've learnt so much, particularly in accepting things that can and will go wrong, and how to minimise them. So they fade quickly from our memories once we get home and I tend to write mainly about what I've really enjoyed about the Festival and Morocco generally.

So, beginning at the beginning.

It was John who suggested and arranged a three-centre package holiday Xmas trip to Morocco some years ago. As a hippy in the sixties, he had stayed at the small village of Diabet (where Jimi Hendrix stayed) a few miles outside Essaouira. Great, I thought. Sunshine. A tan. Let's go.

It was not a brilliant holiday, though. For a start, it was raining when we arrived and did so for days. The clothes I had packed were summer clothes and it was so cold that I tended to wear lots of clothes at the same time just to keep warm (hardly a great fashion statement).

In particular, I only had open sandals so had to buy some sturdy, water-proof boots from a shop in the new part of Marrakech, which is hardly an inspiring place, although it's much improved now.

The hotel we stayed in in Marrakech was new and massive, with no character, surly staff and a disappointing breakfast in what was like a computer-belt canteen with poor service and even poorer food. Plus, the pool was too cold to swim in.

Then we spent several days in a beautiful retreat hotel in the Atlas mountains, which was definitely a plus. Log fire in the bedroom, gardens full of lush flowers and plants, enchanting bird song (one of the many things I like about Morocco). Two outdoor swimming pools, one indoors, but too cold to swim in. Plus, a group of us guests had to fight tooth and nail not to partake of the 15 course Xmas Eve meal, at a phenominal price not included or mentioned in the brochure.

Things perked up, though, when we returned to Marrakech on Xmas Day. The sun was out, it was fabulously hot,and lunch on a roof-top terrace over-looking the Square, watching all the wierd entertainment (transvestite belly-dancers, snake charmers etc), was exciting beyond words. A great way to spend Xmas Day.

Then the rain returned and we swashed our way around. Went to the famous souk: a vast indoors warren of extremely narrow streets lined with stalls selling Moroccan tat, mainly, and bursting with people and aggressive store-holders. Carts bulldozed their way through. It was very muddy and rain dripped from holes in the roof. I hated it.

Mainly because, agentcoop, and here's the irony - I hate crowds and can have a panic attack no probs if I feel too enclosed.

But, I did discover the wonders of the Moroccan hamans: vast, dark, hot caverns of steam, with Moroccan ladies who sure know how to give a good massage. Costs about a fiver (well, it did then) and you emerge back out of the uninviting, intimidating, tiny entrance feeling cleaner than you've ever felt before. (Many hotels have their own hamans now and charge a lot but the public ones are far more fun.)

Then it was down to Essaouira, which took A LONG TIME. But when we saw the glistening white city with the sea beyond as we approached from a height, I was overwhelmed by its beauty. The sun was now shining again and continued to do so for the rest of our stay.

However, the hotel we stayed at, some distance from the city, was another of these massive, modern, impersonal places that are springing up at an alarming rate in Morocco. No character. No atmosphere. And an unheated swimming pool so of no use to me whatsoever.

And by the time we had left our taxi and arrived at our room, my lovely new boots had 'disappeared'. So, yes, lots of possesions can 'disappear' in Morocco, one way or another.

But, I took to Essaouira immediately, far preferring it to Marrakech. It had a hippy, laid back feel to it and I relaxed into the less frantic, less noisy, less busy life style.

We found the cafe Chez Mustapha on the first day, on the street leading to Moulay Hassan (one of the main squares and right next to the Atlantic Sea). We just liked the look of it and found, straight away, that it was a good choice. Friendly staff, speedy service (not always the case in Morocco and that's definitely an understatement), delicious, inexpensive food, nous-nous (latte), lovely hot chocolate etc etc.

And the owner, Mustupha, was kindness and gentleness personified. A good looking Rastapharian (bet I've spelt that wrong) with impressive dread-locks, a beautiful, welcoming smile and a joyous greeting year upon year.

Sadly, he died a few years ago and his nephew, Hisham, has taken over. But he's just as lovely, just as welcoming. So, it's our choice of cafe in Essaouira whenever we return. And that's one of the secrets of a good holiday: returning to the same places. We do that in Italy, too, and so you build up a relationship that is far more than owner/waiter and customer.

I found a hole-in-the-wall hamman down a side street and had a hamman every day, which compensated for not having a swim, followed by a hot chocolate at Chez Mustupha with my damp hair swathed in a Morrocan scarf.

Took a taxi to Diabet and had an amazing lunch of omelette and bread in what is basically a shack, suitably called 'The Jimi Hendrix Cafe'. Loved the walk back to Essaouira on the beach, dodging horses and camels for hire.

Had fish soup at the restaurant right at the water's edge in the port. Marvelled at the brilliant sunset. Watched the stray dogs playing on the beach from our balcony. (Balconies play an important part in our Moroccan holidays).

Yes, Essaouira was more than alright. It had captivated me.

But what of the music, you may ask? What indeed.

It took approximately five minutes to have our first taste of Gnawa music, which neither John nor I had ever heard of before.

We were walking through our hotel lounge on our way out for supper in town and two young men in beautiful costumes and unusual instruments were playing this strange music. John asked them what it was. Gnawa music, they replied. It would have been nice to hear more but we were famished (actually, I was famished and had to chide John along) so off we went.

So, that was our introduction to Gnawa music.

But John's curiosity had been aroused and when we returned home, he trawled the web for info about Gnawa music and discovered that there was to be a Gnawa and World Music Festival in Essaouira the next June. Can't remember if this was actually the first one or second one. Anyway, it was still in its infancy.

Let's go, John suggested. Okay, I said but I want to stay in a hotel with a heated swimming pool, nearer to the town. So, we chose The Sofitel, just a bit further from town than the Hotel des Illes. I wasn't all that fussed about attending the concerts (because I don't like crowds) but the thought of returning to Essaouira, lounging by the pool, having hammans etc appealed.

Can we have a room that's facing inwards, though, I asked, because one of the venues was going to be on the beach opposite and I thought the music might keep me awake. Because, and here's another irony, I don't usually like loud noises.

This time, we stayed at La Villa Des Orangers, in Marrakech first. Travelling from Winchester to Essaouira in one go is exhausting, to say the least, so we usually factor in a night in Marrakech after arriving and then before leaving.

(We didn't manage this, though, on the return journey this year and since I had picked up a nice little bout of bacterial gastro-enteritis on the last day, that journey was a nightmare. (It was probably the Salad Nicoise with tap-water-cleaned lettuce that did for me). Shan't do that again i.e. travel in one day/have Salad Nicoise. I can't guarantee not getting a stomach bug again, though. No-one can.)

We'd already had a look-see at La Villa Des Orangers on that Xmas trip because it looked so attractive in the brochure. We'd had to wade through inches of rain water in the long entrance passage but fresh rose petals in large bowls of water were an encouraging feature. And as soon as we got inside, we knew this was the place for us: an old riad hotel, something out of The Arabian Nights. Beautiful beyond compare.

We go back there every year now and it's my favourite ever hotel and written about extensively in my 2008 blog. Plus, John has a video of it on his daftnot stupid site, set to music played by the two resident musicians, who play very traditional Gnawa music. I like to do my writing whilst they're playing - it's very soothing (although I do sometimes get up and dance a little.)

So, back to the June visit and off we went to Essaouira and The Sofitel. Again, we found that this is not our type of hotel because it's very large and modern and, again, we found the breakfast disapointing. But the pool was magnificent, a real pleaure to swim in, and our sea view from the balcony (no inward looking rooms left) gave a glorious view of Essaouira and the sea. (And I had no probs with the music on the beach).

And so to the music. John went mainly by himself but we did both watch a few sets at Moulay Hassan from roof-top terrace restaurants. But I just couldn't get enthusiastic about the Gnawa music. Too different, too loud, too repetitive.

Did amble along to see a set at Bab Marrakech, which was just a large piece of waste land then, and mingled with the crowd no probs but I left after a while. And then we tried to see an afternoon set in one of the smaller venues within the walls. Sat at a restaurant in the sun (to get a tan - STUPID) and waited and waited and waited. Food eventually arrived - grilled sardines, which I now feel dizzy just thinking about - but no music. Not a sausage.

And, of course, I got sun-burn and sun-stroke and spent a few very uncomfortable days feeling wretched and embarrasingly bright sun-burnt red. Tend not to sit in the sun, now, in Morocco!

John didn't suggest we go the next year, although he had really enjoyed it. I guessed he thought he might be pushing his luck (plus it's tres expensive). So we missed Zigi Marley, which still makes me want to spit.

The next year, though, John had come up with a plan. He'd noticed a hotel set in the walls opposite Bab Marrakech. The Hotel Blue. Extremely pricy but it had a swimming pool and we could watch some of the sets from the hotel's roof-terrace. Okay, I said, rather grudgingly. I suppose I can manage that.

And it was this, our second trip to the Festival, which changed everything.

But it was also the year that we had the awful experience I referred to right at the beginning of this post.

To get this into context, John is very tall and has no problems with crowds. I am five feet tall, have chronic muscle fatigue and a wonky back so I'm vulnerable if knocked. Plus, of course, I hate crowds.

We had discovered a quicker and less busy narrow back street branching off to the left about a hundred or so metres from our hotel to move around in within the walls. So, we used this back way to walk from Moulay Hassan, after the set there had finished, to get to our hotel.

All was well until, almost there, we approached the corner which joined onto a larger street. By this time, our back street had become very busy so turning round and going back wasn't an option. And what was in front of us was a mass of people, squashed together like sardines (bloody sardines again!) in a very confined space, all trying to go in different directions. It was not quite a stampede but had all the makings of one.

What had happened was that the set at the nearby Bab Marrakech, outside the walls, had just finished and people were trying to get inside the city through the gate. Other people, however, were trying to get out. So there were three streams of hundreds of people all jostling for space.

To make things worse, stall holders had set up food stalls right by the corner and along the wall, making a narrow space even narrower. Plus, there were lots of those infernal bikes, motor-bikes and carts causing obstructions (another negative of Essaouira).

We were so close to our hotel and yet so far away. At first, I froze in a blind panic but then realised that if I stayed still, I'd be knocked over and there wouldn't have been any space for anyone to bend down and pick me up. It was a momunmental crush and I was very frightened.

So, I said to John, I'm going for it and I did what I would never normally do: using all my strength, I pushed past people very roughly and headed for the hotel. For me, it was a case of the survival.

And obviously, we made it or I wouldn't be writing this now.

And when we got to our room, me weeping copiously in a state of shock, I discovered that I'd been pick-pocketed. I'd had an Adidas bag over my shoulders and the zipped apartment had been opened and my cigarette case (a lovely antique one John had bought for me in Portugal - not expensive but very pretty), lighter, credit cards and Rayban sunglasses had gone.

John cancelled my cards immediately and the next day, I bought new sunglasses (you can't be in Morocco without sunglasses unless you like eye-strain). But we were still alive and undamaged and, quite frankly, that was the main thing. Possessions can be replaced. Lives can't.

And, in fact, no-one was hurt. A miracle if you ask me. And as far as we know, no-one has been hurt in any of the festivals, despite the large crowds.

I remember that each day after that, I scoured every stall and rug sale for that cigarette case, because by now I was just angry. And if I'd seen it, I would have jolly well taken it back, making a big fuss as I did so.

So, you would have thought that that would have been IT for me. No more Essaouira Festival, particularly since I didn't 'get' the Gnawa music.

But strange things can happen.

Remember that it's the Essaouira Gnawa and World Music Festival.

After that crush incident, we still went to Moulay Hassan, experimenting with different ways to avoid the crowds (going the long way round the walls on the outside is by far the best way), so we could watch sets there or, occasionally, watch Bab Marrakech sets from the roof of our hotel. But I was sure I didn't want to return the next year. It was just too much hastle.

But then, one night, after we'd returned from Moulay Housan and were tucked up in bed, about mid-night, a group started up just outside. We didn't have a balcony room so we couldn't see anything going on in Bab Marrakech. So, I lay there for a while, just listening and liking what I was hearing. Then my feet started to tap and I had an overwhelming desire to see this group for myself and hear the music more clearly.

So, to John's surprise, I jumped out of bed, threw on my enormous white hotel dressing gown, told John I couldn't stand it any more and rushed out.

He thought I had gone down to reception to complain about the music (!) but eventually he found me on the roof. I was dancing, shouting and waving my arms, in sheer abandon. I had never heard such wonderful music in all my life.

It was a Paris-based group called Thalweg, who you've probably never heard of, playing African/Celt music, and it was sublime. I wouldn't have minded if I'd died of happiness and gone to Heaven there and then. It was a very spiritual experience.

And thus the passion was born.

And clinched by the last set of the Festival, which we watched from our hotel roof-terrace. Yusou N'Dour. From Senegal. With an enormous band. He's very famous as a World Music musician (been in our charts, played at televised Africa Aid concerts etc) and with a voice like velvet cream.

He did a ten minute rendition of the song 'Africa' which still gives me goose-bumps. John videoed just a minute or so on his little digital camera and it's still one of the most popular posts on his You Tube site. Again, a very spiritual experience. A real feeling of an audience of different nationalities, faiths, gender, culture etc all united by the music.

And I think, for me, that wonderful sense of connection in a fragmented world then made the Festival more important than just the music.

So, we've been back every year and seen and heard such sublime music that you could weep with joy. And I even 'got' the Gnawa music eventually. It stopped seeming strange and discordant and , instead, I recognized songs (even though they're sung in Arabic so I don't understand the words), appreciated the skill of the dancers, understood the Gnawa tradition that has been passed on from generation to generation, loved the fushion with other musical genres and, perhaps most of all, felt the spiritual context of the music - a joyous praise of God. And as a Christian, that delights me. I am sharing praise with mainly Muslims and we are all praising the same God.

John, of course, just loves the music, which he first recorded for sound only (a few years ago) but then progressed to both sound and visuals.

Morocco is in our blood now, Gnawa music under our skin, and so we will tolerate all the crap that often comes with a visit. And that includes knowing that we'll always come back with fewer of our possessions than when we arrived. The Festival is notorious for its pick-pockets - it draws them in from all over Morocco and beyond. And they're very professional.

I was even warned about this by a Morrocan friend in Winchester just before the very Festival when I was pick-pocketed. I thought I'd been careful, but obviously I wasn't careful enough. And who would want a battery for a very specific type of camera? I bet that guy felt more than a little disappointed when he saw what he'd knicked.

But it's more than that. If you accidently leave something on a counter, on a table, under a table, even for just a minute or so, it will be gone. The quickest 'disappearing' of possessions occured somewhere between Gatwick and Marrakech airport - two engraved Zippo lighters. Other possessions that have gone walk-about have been another pair of sunglasses, a really nice black pashmina, a broach and some paintings that John bought. Probably more, too, but I don't keep a record.

We try to take as little as possible that's valuable and when John is carrying his camera, I walk a little way behind and bad-eye anyone who looks suspicious. It's quite exciting actually. I really am a 'have-a-go' person and it could well be the end of me but, quite frankly, I don't care.

So, back to the agentcoop experience.

That experience in the Bab Marrakech Square was the worst I'd ever seen. I truly thought that something really terrible had happened. If my memory serves me well, the groups actually left the stage for a while. And lots of people were running frantically to get away, many crying.

And then it all calmed down, the music resumed and what the f... was that all about? I thought.

We were told the next day that there had been a fight, involving at least one knife, and that's not the kind of thing you want to experience at a music concert.

As for security, though, there's far more than you realise if you're just at ground level. The police and army have numerous trucks below our balcony and we watch what they do. There are a mixture of regular soldiers/policemen plus a splattering of 'big-wigs' with walkie-talkies. Always restless, always watching, always liasing.

And there are a lot of plain-clothes policemen, too, who occasionally come out of the crowd dragging some youth along, accompanied be a group of the 'innocent' youth's friends, yapping away, trying, I guess, to say the police have got the wrong person. They often put their captives in a police truck but always let them go eventually. So, the fight within the crowd that you witnessed was probably stopped by under-cover policemen.

Plus, there are numerous check-points on the route to Essaouira. (We even got stopped on the way to Casablanca airport - had to show our passports). So, I think that the authorities are keenly aware of the need for security.

Well, I can hardly believe this - I've just about finished this response... well, almost. Just to say, if you are new to my site, don't have the foggiest about what I've been writing about, and want to learn more about the Essaouira Gnawa and World Music Festivals, you can read my two blogs on the Festivals here and here in the posts section.

I've also written a post about our private Lila session at Maleem Mahmoud Guinea's home a few Xmases ago. That's posted here on John's daftnotstupid site. Plus, of course, a lot of recordings, the last two years' being visual, and recordings of other music in other countries, and not just World or Gnawa music. (He did have some superb recordings of Van Morrison at the Glastonbury Abbey Festival taken a few years ago but had to take them off because of copy-right reasons).

If, though, you've been put off by agentcoop's experience during this year's Essaouira Festival or you've heard the music and don't particularly like it, then I wouldn't blame you at all for not wanting to go.

All I'm doing in my blogs, and what John is doing in posting his recordings, is give you a taste of how incredible the experience is for us and we just want to share it with others. (No-one pays us to do this, by the way. Pity! Could do with some dosh to help finance it all.) And if you do like the music but can't make it in person, then at least you can get a flavour of it from our web-sites.

One thing, though. I've always felt that I'm missing out on the atmosphere of being in the crowd. Had been considering being more adventurous next June, if we can go. (God Willing.) But I don't like the idea of being jostled by hyped up young men being stupid or having a fight, so I think I'll give that a miss.

So, thank you agentcoop. You've done me a great service. And thank you for taking the time to write your comments. It's always good to get feed-back.

Essaouira 2008 - Maalem Hamid Kasri - Moulay Hamid - Crowd

A lot of this video is quite dark because John forgot to change the setting but you do get a sense of the audience and the music. I have never seen the square and adjoining roads so full before. But what the video shows is both the audience participation and the fact that there were no problems with crowd control.

Ky-Mani Marley at Essaouira 2008 - T8 No Woman No Cry

I've included this video, unashamadly, because despite having it on the 2008 Essaouira blog, I think it shows here what I indicated with the Hamid El Kasri video. Ki-Many came on after Hamid El Kasri and was, in fact, the last act at Bab Marrakesh.

Listen, at the beginning of the video, to the roar of the crowd when they realise what song he's started to sing. (There's a tremendous respect for Bob Marley in Morocco, plus a love of reggae music.) It was one of the most thrilling experiences I've ever had. The 'if I'd died then, I'd have died happy' type of feeling.

Essaouira 2008 - Coming into Esaaouira

Oud and Darbouka players at Villa des Orangers, Marrakech

MAGGIE'S TIPS FOR CHRISTMAS PRESENTS

2009-12-03T18:46:00.004Z

I've just finished re-editing Chapter 10 of Cyprus Blues and need a bit of light relief. And since Xmas is loomimg up fast and furious, I thought I'd give you some tips on what to do/what not to do about Xmas presents (all of which has been learnt by personal experience).

So, here goes:-

* If you're a single parent, as I was once, don't overload your kid/s with too many presents to try to over-compensate. Not only does this enormous pile of presents take an age to wrap and then an age to unwrap, but totally devalues presents as such.

* If possible, don't leave present wrapping until the last minute. It totally ruins Christmas Eve and you won't enjoy the wonderful Carol Service on Radio 4 (how I love that station - best in the world) and all the goodies on TV (if there are any), parties (if you're lucky enough to be invited) etc.

* Don't be over-ambitious if you're making a present. You could easily run out of time and then feel stressed. (I once designed, made and decorated a wooden cradle for Lou's doll and was up until late on Xmas Eve varnishing the darn thing, which she actually never used.)

* Don't wrap up/make/finish off presents when you're drunk. It's not fun. And can be very messy. And puts you in a very bad mood for Xmas Day.

* If your offspring have that uncanny knack (and most of them do) of not only locating hidden presents but gently easing open the wrappings to see what's inside, then double wrap the present/s and sellotape securely around every edge. 'Louisa-proofing' is what I call it.

* The smaller the child, the more likely it will be that he/she/they will be far more interested in the boxes and wrapping paper than the contents. So don't bother with the present or choose something really small and then wrap it as if it's 'pass the parcel'. Kids love the excitement and anticipation and fun involved.

* Resist the tempation of being bullied into the'latest must-have' or 'I've got to have what my friend will get' because it will probably very expensive, climate-change unfriendly and often not used after the fist day. And if your kids get bullied at school because they've not got that new Blue Ray Game (whatever that is) etc, then remember that bullies are little shites and will get their comeuppance one day.

* Keep your presents small and simple and inexpensive and stuff that's actually NEEDED and that goes for all of your recipients.

* Golden Rule - if you can't afford it, don't buy it. The world's finances are in a total mess becuase too many people bought what they couldn't afford, like houses. And, like most things, sensible education concerning good finance begins at home.

* If money is really tight, don't fall into the trap of making a deal with a money-lender. You can use essential clothing etc for presents or scour charity shops. Lou still has the jigsaw puzzles I got for her in charity shops (and jigsaw puzzles take ages to do so it keeps your kids well and truly occupied, allowing you the luxury of doing what you'd like to do, e.g. snoozing). Even a large bag of sweets can be very welcome, which leads onto my next tip.

* Presentation is all. Choose goods that are easy to wrap, so that means a no no for e.g. chocolate boxes/ biscuit boxes that are a strange shape. However, a way of getting round this is to use a bright, cheerful carrier bag (keep all those that you get with purchases over the year), place the present inside and cover with crinkled tissue paper. Or,newpaper or magazine paper can be used or paper that groceries were placed in. Find something funky/different to wrap the present up in.

* Talking of tissue paper, although it's easy to use and less likely to tear than the shinny rolls so beloved of W H Smiths, Sainsburys etc, you can often see through it so that there is no mystery as to the contents. Double layer it or triple until there's a definite element of suprise.

* Avoid fancy festive strings to tie around your presents. I bought several boxes of such things, which came in a pack with bows, from Marks and Spencers (in the sale), and they're a nightmare to use - too thick, too unwieldly and too annoying for words. Also, bows come off very easily. Much better to cut and 'scissor' pieces of fine wrapping thread to provide a central display.

* Buy your Xmas cards, wrapping paper, bows, frills etc in the post-Xmas sales - they're so cheap.Even if you're a bit short of cash, you won't have to fork out too much.

* One way of spreading out the cost is to keep an eye open for bargains that you know your recipients will want. My very favourite store for doing this is Boots. (If Boots wasn't a privately owned company, I'd buy shares in it.) There are always 3-for-the-price- of-two / buy one get one free type of offers all the year round.

* And what about those unwanted presents that you receive? Find a little cubby hole and store them there, so you can give them as presents next year. We had a relative who always used our presents, as either birthday presents or Xmas presents for us the next year. Once we had got wise to this, we made damn sure that we gave her presents that we would love to have. And it worked a treat.

* Salvage whatever you can from the great unwrapping ceremony and recycle the next year.

* Attractive Xmas cards can be used as gift tags.

* If you were given some particularly gorgeous cards the year before (particularly if they're hand made - Lou's hand-made cards are particularly lovely), display them with this year's cards, otherwise it's a waste.

* If you're buying for people who already have absolutely everything, then think in terms of Oxfam's charity gifts to help people in developing countries (Oxfam have a brochure of a whole range of pratical gifts). But don't do that if your recipients could actually do with their own their presents. Otherwise it just smacks of liberal, Guardian readers, middle-class arrogance.

* And finally, above all, don't spend too much, enjoy the act of giving and receiving, support, if you can, such charities as The St Martins in The Field Xmas Appeal (always aired on Radio 4). And DON'T spoil your kids. We already have too many spoilt kids in this country and it's not good for them and not good for us.

Okay. Back to Chapter 11.

CONFESSION TIME

2009-11-21T19:13:00.008Z

I don't want you to think that I'm reluctant to continue with my second novel - Winchester Blues. It's just that I've got writer's itch concerning Cyprus Blues and I want to scratch it. Must scratch it, actually.

Woops. Supper is ready. (John cooks on Saturday and he is a marvellous cook!) Must go. Will continue this post tomorrow.

Okay, so supper last night was great: roast pork, crunchy crackling, squash, cabbage, roast potatoes and oodles of red wine. Plus, John's home-made ice-cream afterwards.

(John has created several ice-cream recipes using his own ice-cream maker. One,for him, overflowing with cream and calories, and a more weight-watcher version for me. And that latter recipe was actually published in Saucy Shorts for Chefs (a paper-back collection of stories and recipes) to accompany my short story Rennaisance.)

Anyway, I was explaining to him over supper, gesticulating with my fork to emphasis my point, a valiant piece of squash bravely hanging on in there, about the lot of the writer.

"A writer needs two things," I slurred. "perseverance as well as talent. And, of course, patience."

"That's three things," he said, rather unnecessarily, I thought.

But the point I then went on to elaborate is that you can't just write something and accept your first draft as 'ready to go'. You have to edit, edit,edit and then edit again until, in your own eyes, it's as good as it can be.

So, having decided not to find a literary agent for Cyprus Blues, I had originally thought 'blow this', I'll just stick the whole novel on the web.But the more I thought about this, the more I realised that I don't actually know how on earth I would advertise it.

This led me to thinking that perhaps I should first try to find a small publisher, with low over-heads, who's prepared to take the chance with an unknown writer (relatively speaking).

(I have chronicled my editing of Cyprus Blues in my writing section so, technically, that is where this should be. However, it works better for me if I write in this general post section. To read my earlier comments, refer to those sections about novels I have written, short story writing and journalism.)

Anyway, it has been some time since my last edit of Cyprus Blues, which I thought would be the final one. But in gathering up the chapters, introductory letter and synopsis, I decided to have a re-read, just to refresh my memory. And horror of horrors, I saw that it could all be improved again.

So, I then had a choice - put it to one side and count it as useful practice in novel writing and leave it at that or re-edit.

And I chose the latter. This novel is way too important for me to give up on it now.

It has been a two-pronged re-edit.

Firstly, I have been reading a chapter at a time, making corrections as I go along, whilst having a coffee/hot chocolate and ciggie in any number of pub gardens, after I've had a swim and before I take Archie for a walk.

In fact, I totally surprised myself last week. I was at The King Alfred's Pub, outside, of course (groan, moan)trying to read the chapter where Big Al gives a potted version of the history of Cyprus.

Originally, I'd found this a very difficult chapter. The danger was that it might sound too much like telling (the big no no in writing). So, I'd had to work especially hard on it previously AD INFINITUM.

The weather was really blustery that day and I'd had to anchor down anything that could fly away. But I was so intrigued as the story of Cyprus unfolded, that I forgot that I'd written it and just kept reading, despite the fact that it was cold as well as windy. And that pleasure in reading it has given me the kind of motivation I need to push for a publisher.

Secondly, at home, I've made the corrections on the computer version. Pleased to say that I've only changed a small amount of text. The real changes have been in punctuation and sentence length.

I'd already re-edited the novel to minimise the use of ! (another writing no no) but had obviously not done a very good job of it because they were all over the bloody place!

I also recognised the fact that too many of my sentences were way too long STILL. So, I did a lot of separating into two. I'd also used a lot of : ; and -, which made my writing look more like a report than a novel.

And, I'd used loads and loads of conjuctions, particularly which.

Today, I was up to chapter 13 reading from my print out and chapter 8 on the computer, which isn't bad going. Should be finished before Xmas, when my itch to continue working on Winchester Blues will become irresistible.

However, in reading aloud chapter 8, I insinctively included a new term of endearment that Jack uses on Kate to butter her up, so to speak. 'That's so good,' I thought.

Trouble is, I'll have to include that in the following chapters and the only way for me to remember it is to write it in large letters and stick the message right in front of me on my computer. (Shall't tell you what it is. You'll have to guess when you eventually read the book (which I hope you will!).

So...I have perseverance...I have patience...but do I have talent? Now that's up to other people to judge. All I know is that I'm making this novel as good as I possibly can and then who knows...

WANT A GOOD LAUGH ?

2009-11-08T18:15:00.004Z

Do you ever get cold callers phoning you up at the most inconvienent times and expecting you to divulge information to them - total strangers?

Well, if you do, click on this link http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IW5j--N5Plo to hear one unusual and effective way of dealing with such a caller.

John found this on the internet and emailed it to me;I find it an absolute tonic to brighten any grey day.

I don't know if this conversation was fabricated or actually real but it's so funny that it is doesn't matter either way.

Enjoy.

And a thank you to the person who posted this in the first place.

TOO CLOSE TO HOME

2009-11-01T18:49:00.004Z

* Too Close To Home by Linwood Barclay (Orion Books 2008) - read Sept/Oct 2009

One thing is for sure - Linwood Barclay does not write literary prose, which is why I like him!

The emphasis in his writing is character and plot and just like his last novel (his 1st?), he takes an ordinary family and puts them into a nightmare situation. For most of the novel you've no idea what the actual answer is, which makes for a perfect page-turner of a novel. He's easy to read and the story and characters pull you in effortlessly.

The plot of this novel goes like this: the central family of dad, mum, and teenage son live next door to a house where the family have just been murdered but they are far more involved than they care to be. I shan't say anymore. Buy the book if you're interested and need an easy, exciting read.

Maggie gives the thumbs up on this (like the music reviewers in The Independent newspaper)!

(Due to a slight technical understanding between myself and my computer advisor, and perhaps influenced by the tiredness of a very hectic week-end (or the large Bloody Mary I was drinking at the time), I inadvertently created a new post for this book review instead of putting it in the existing book review post.

I cut and pasted this into that review but couldn't delete it from here so here it stays as well. So, if you wish to read more of my book reviews, go to that post and feast your eyes on or disagree with my comments.)

THE THUNDERSTORM

2009-10-06T18:11:00.005+01:00

Found this poem the other day which I wrote about ten years ago and had totally forgotten about. Hope you enjoy it.

the thunderstorm

Trapped in my car
I watch the hard pellets of rain
machine gun into the windscreen
Shrapnel of spray
bounces back
into the darkness beyond

I recall the film 'The Birds'
and imagine each raindrop
as a
blackbird's piercing beak gouging
deep holes
into the re-enforced metal of the roof
Despite the claustraphobic heat
I shiver

I dare not move
The world beyond has shrunk into
a black unknown

I am only sure of what I see within:
my own sharp knees and rigid hands
and
the wide-eyed stare which stares back
from
the small mirror
used
in calmer times
for make-up

I am late
he will be gone
This is the only thing now of which I'm certain