The Return Of A King

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

I have I must admit not read that many Stephen King books in my life. Not at any dislike of the horror genre or a snobby attitude towards bestselling writers but simply because there's so many books and so little time.

So based on a very small sample I can't say I'm really all that much of a fan. Simply because the plots seem to be that a person (group of people) face some incredible evil beyond the forces of human knowledge and yet with one bound he/she/it pulls through. To which my thought is "Really"?

Indeed of the small number (it really needs to be stressed) that I have read the only one I really liked was his non fiction trek into the genre on books, films and TV Danse Macarbre. It has been decades since a book of his (and he's prolific. Prolific in a "I'm writing by myself not James Patterson like with someone else") has come my way.

But cometh a trip to the library cometh the book.

Revival

As regular readers will know I try not to chat about the plot as much as  I possibly can. So let me say this it's not a gore-fest. What happens is a slowly building sense of unease. I like my horror that way.

Also as is rare in such a book it's difficult to say there's an evil character as such. Which makes the book's moral questions credible.

You can tell I think from the above two sentences that I loved this novel. Obviously I'd need to read a lot more but it made me think of John Wyndham writer of the Day Of The Triffids in that within the demands of the genre Stephen King is trying to write an extraordinary story in as ordinary a way as possible. No hyperbole with Mr King.

My interest in the King is not dead. It is revived.

Until the next time.

Does Welsh Labour read books? (Libraries As Preventative Medicine)

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Recently here in Wales there has been a report come out which says that should the funds ring fenced for health continue to be protected it might mean that leisure centres and libraries "unaffordable" in the future. The Welsh first minister, Labour's Carwyn Jones put his grave face on when he said that this was an "inevitable" result in the cuts by Westminster to the Welsh budget.

So the Welsh Conservatives respond in such a highly trained way you wondered whether London threw them a fish afterwards by saying that the situation was because of how Labour has mismanaged the resources it actually had.

Who is right? Well of course the answer is both. Westminster has cut, and will continue to cut the Welsh budget. On the other hand as I've documented in this blog from time to time Welsh Labour seem to prefer tackling issues with grandiose gestures rather than focusing on the nitty gritty of people need in their daily lives. You compare the Welsh Labour government with that of the SNP in Edinburgh and it fails, and miserably at that.

But for the purposes of this post I wanted to discuss the notion, which the Welsh Labour leader appeared to have accepted that to protect the health services in Wales you will need to cut leisure centres and libraries in the future.

What logic is there that the health service will be protected by cutting back on services that will help prevent health conditions? For years we have been told as a nation that we should actively participate in sport which would help to prevent heart conditions for example. So how does it help the NHS that people who could have had healthier bodies because of the proximity of a local leisure centre find it closed? You know what the increased budget will be spent on? It will be spent on people who were denied the means of participating in sports and physically suffered accordingly. False economy number one.

But there are plenty of people who will shout in protest for the leisure centre, so let me shout in protest for the library as a haven for preventative medicine instead. Dementia is a cruel disease of the mind where there is no cure. But it is known that one of the things that helps to at the very least is keeping yourself mentally as well as physically active.

Consider the library then as the leisure centre for the mind. It doesn't really matter what book you've borrowed. It could be James Joyce or James Patterson (plus one other) the point is that you've borrowed a book. Which means first that you have made the physical effort to go to a library. Then you have taken it home, then you sat down and started enjoying the quiet pleasure of turning a page whilst mentally engaging your brain.

Cutting the number of libraries will mean that this vital piece of mental stimulation for many communities will be lost. Consequently there will be a greater risk of dementia cases for the NHS to deal with. Welsh Labour Councils have already closed libraries (Rhondda Cynon Taff) or messed around with them (Bridgend). A more widespread closure programme will make the potential Alzheimer's timebomb even worse.

False economy number two.

And just to confirm I practice what I preach yesterday I finished reading Timetable of Death by Edward Marston. It's not the best Victorian police procedural I've ever read (that goes to the Inspector Cribb novels of Peter Lovesey) but taking the crime genre purely as entertainment I can't recall enjoying a book more for quite a while now.

If there is a piece of possible irritation it might be that Inspector Colbeck and his assistant Sargent Leeming might be of that brilliant upper class detective working class sidekick cliché. But I say possible because this novel is part of a series and being the first I've read (but not the first of the series, there's been at least fourteen) I don't know. Am not going to find out online either. I'll wait until another book in the series comes my way.

The other book finished yesterday was Moranthology by Caitlin Moran. A collection of her columns and articles in The Times newspaper. I loved it. One of those books where you're disappointed for having finished it.

Perhaps Welsh Labour may be interested in her essay regarding Libraries as "Cathedrals of The Soul". Explaining how to her the library was her university which gave her an education for her future life and how library closures will affect a town and the people in it.

But you won't will you Welsh Labour. You don't seem to care about books.

But think of this Welsh Labour. You may laugh at the little old lady with her piles of historical romances, Or the fifty three year old man with his crime novel set in Victorian England with added trains. But reading may mean that we are less of a burden on the NHS.

Think of that Welsh Labour.....and cut the stupid showy projects instead.

Until the next time.

The Big Mac Novel

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Well Jack O'Judgement by Edgar Wallace is finished. Let my say at the outset that I liked it a lot in a sort of don't think about it wallow in it sort of way. Rather like the Sir Walter Scott historical novel The Talisman that I chatted about recently as long as you don't take it seriously you'll be fine. This book is, to use an old expression, a rattling good yarn.

(Must admit that I'd been waiting for a while for an another writer that I could say I disliked one book but liked the next one. Did not expect it to be Edgar Wallace!)

But when it was finished it made me realised that what I was reading was what I would like to call a Big Mac novel.

The thing about a Big Mac is this. You want it, you eat it,you've enjoyed it. But soon after you've forgotten all about it. A Big Mac novel is a work where the writer has specifically set out to write a bestseller. You've read it, let's say you've enjoyed it, but soon it'll just escape your mind.

When I was a teenager/in my twenties many Jack Higgins/HarryPatterson novels were consumed in the mistaken belief that I too could be a rough tough man's man (especially when I took my glasses off). But The Eagle Has Landed aside I can barely only remember some of the plots of the books and have forgotten many more. Ditto Dick Francis. And as for Alistair Maclean could not tell you the plots of his novels other than those that were made into films (and let me say here, his books were dull the films were better).

Or perhaps Frederick Forsyth is a better example. After his first three thrillers can anyone really recall a book of his? Or for the ladies Barbara Cartland, a woman who produced so many romantic novels I'd be amazed if she could remember the plot of them all let alone the reader.

(Of course there are exceptions. One of my favourite "Big Mac" writers as I've mentioned before was Arthur Hailey, author of Airport and Hotel and whose ebook versions of his novels sell for the astonishly high price of six pounds)

You could just say that this is because I'm a man in his fifties. Something I can't deny. But there are many other books I can remember reading at that time that I can recall now as if it was yesterday. Also, can you drag from the memory the plot of all the James Patterson (plus one other) thrillers you've read?

I'm not being snobbish. There's nothing wrong with having a Big Mac medium meal. I had one last Friday.....

(A quick aside here that was a mistake. I'd finished the afternoon/evening shift at work and for reasons that I won't bother you with needed to get something outside of the house for dinner. Well after ten o'clock on a Friday evening going through the drive through in my Kia Picanto surrounded by the young dudes and dudettes in their flashy over the top shiny alloyed wheeled cars made it the longest time I've ever had to hang round there for a burger)

.....but it's just that a fuller meal is better.

The next book randomly picked, which yet again seems to show that my Kindle has a sense of humour is the first part of the three cities trilogy, Lourdes by Emile Zola. Firstly because this weekend has been all Francais due to the election of Emmanuel Macron. The new President has already pronounced that he's going to seek the transfer of jobs from the City of London to France due to Brexit. Must admit that I'm going to have absolutely no sympathy for anybody there who loses their job who in the past practically wet themselves with excitement because a company closed offices/factories for "efficiency savings" in Britain despite the human/social consequences because it sent the share price up (but note before you call me a "traitor" or a "saboteur" I'm talking about those people only).

And it's also rather funny that having never read Emile Zola before this year I have in the past few months read a book about him and a short story (The Flood - Worth reading).

Must admit it shows that I'm more ignorant of France than I thought. I never realised that Lourdes was a city. You learn something everyday. Such as never go to a Mcdonalds drive through on a Friday night.

Until the next time.

Reading Before A Saturday Night Out

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

A "Saturday night out" conjures up images doesn't it. Of forgetting for a few hours the cares the world has thrown at you and just having a good time. You return to the perpetual hangover that is life on Sunday morning this is Saturday night....and you're out.

But I'm fifty three. Saturday nights have often been spent working and when I am free nodding off in front of the TV seems to be the most wildest things I've done. Times of wine (other alcoholic beverages are available),women (another gender could be available should you wish) and song (other leisure pursuits are available) are long since past. Then again I don't drink, am not a good singer and as for the opposite sex I'll leave that to your imagination.......as well as my own.

Yesterday however we were as a family going out. To ironically enough Penarth (given that's the area where we're moving to) and a restaurant there to celebrate the twenty first birthday of a friend's son. There are few things that make you realise the passage of time and how ancient and decrepit you've become than watching someone who you have known since birth move permanently into adulthood. There was a moment that I could carry him as you would any fragile object. Now he is a job, a girlfriend and that look of hope that only the young can carry off for a while. To him, we are probably fond memories of the past but his future he can start moving on for himself without the help of us relics.

The thing about going out for the evening is that there comes a moment where you have nothing to do because in half hour/forty five minutes it'll be time to get ready. That moment where the TV has been taken over by your daughter and the wife in the same position as you has decided to take a nap. Of course she will need greater time to get ready, having double my wardrobe space and yet apparently never having "a thing to wear".

So the Kindle is taken and I start reading H Rider Haggard's King Solomon's Mines. A book by a reputation and the half hour session I had with it is a "manly" read. Indeed if King Solomon's Mines was a person it would be having a few pre party lagers before we left and mocking me for my teetotalism and indeed the fact that I've a Kia Picanto and not some 4x4 "all terrain" thing.

Still it was (with reservations which I'll chat about when I've finished it) an entertaining read. You can see that this is the sort of book where the writer sort out to create a bestseller. Sort of a James Patterson (plus one other) of his day.

And I must admit it put my mind off the evening for the short period of time. Reading can do that. It can immerse you.

But eventually reality had to bite. It was time to throw on the aftershave (had to be one the wife had bought "Blue Water" by Davidoff. Not on an endorsement. As long as you don't smell like a dung heap I'm no judge of smells). Put on clothing that I've already laid out. In particular a blue shirt that has the magic ability to hide my body circumference no matter how wide it's turning out. And finally proceed to wait for half hour whilst wife/daughter get themselves "just" right whilst never feeling completely happy.

As for the dinner the company was nice and the artistically placed food (not a fan) was good but not worth the wait. It could almost be described as a quiet night out. Which at my age is probably as good as it gets.

Until the next time.

On The Best Books To Give For People Who Are Unwell

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Twitter can sometimes cause surprises even with regard to this blog. I hadn't thought of anything to post when I was chatting to people in it about books.

The other people involved in this converstion were @AnnaCaig ,@Efrogwraig and @MacdocLeonard (all rights reserved etc,etc).

The chat moved from being able to praise an author directly online after having read their work, to my doubts Miguel De Cervantes that, even by ouja twitter, he could use just 140 characters, to the relative merits of  Don Quixote, Miss Read and Jane Austen.

But what intrigued me the most was when @Efrogwraig advised that not only was @AnnaCaig a journalist writing a book column in the Sheffield Telegraph (and incidentally has a book blog https://murderundergroundbrokethecamel.wordpress.com) but also gave her books when unwell. Which got me thinking? What is the perfect book to give for someone who's ill?

In some respects I'm not the perfect person to have asked this. In my life I've been fortunate that only twice have I been in hospital as a patient. The first time aged four to take my tonsils out, the second to have my wisdom teeth extracted in my late twenties/early forties. I can't remember my four year old reading habit but books second time around took a back seat from recovering from the anaesthetic and listening on hospital radio to West Ham losing in the quarter final of the F A cup against Luton Town.

I do however remember having the flu in junior school and picking up Black Beauty by Anna Sewell to read sitting in an armchair and going through it pausing when everything seemed to be swirling around me. Praised this book in the past and won't repeat myself here except to say that on reflection perhaps the episodic nature of the story as different issues befall the eponymous horse made it easy for an ill boy to digest it all.

The worst place to answer this question is probably at a hospital shop. The last time I went inside one (daughter's physiotherapy for her knee) around January did have a look at the books on offer. Certainly it was a different selection than when the shop was owned by W H Smith. Then it seemed to be current bestsellers,what were bestsellers and what they seemed to hope would be bestsellers. Lots of thrillers by James Patterson (and one other) and Clive Cussler (and one other) adorned the shelves. To think I'm so old I can remember when Clive Cussler wrote rubbish thrillers by himself.

Now the books seem to be bestsellers of decades earlier. SS GB by Len Deighton (before the TV series - Am not a fan which I'll explain if I ever get to read another book by him again. Let's just say this cemented my dislike) and The Dead Of Jericho by the late Colin Dexter (I've read this and a few other Morse novels and, and I'm sorry to say this, the TV series was much, much better) were the titles that sprang to mind. But though the selection was interesting it didn't really seem to hit the right note.

So perhaps the answer lay in the one and only time I gave books to a person whilst they were in hospital. Over a decade ago a friend of ours was struck by an infection which though she is much better now has changed her life forever. At that time she was staying in a hospital in Llandough (near Cardiff  and funnily enough one of the places we're looking to move to now) for a number of weeks as I recall, and possibly even a few months.

Before going to visit her for the first time I was in the Waterstones bookshop in Cardiff having decided that grapes/flowers didn't really cut it as gifts given  the circumstance so decided to get her a couple of books instead. But for reasons that seem inexplicable to me then, let alone now, I bought a couple of gritty dark crime novels by Patricia Cornwell.

What made this decision odd was not only that these books were dark crime thrillers, not just that they were from her medical examiner Kay Scarpetta series to be read by a woman stuck in hospital for (then) an unknown period of time but also that I'd never read a Patricia Cornwell novel before....and indeed since.

(A quick aside here. The reason I've not read Patricia Cornwell is simply because there are so many books but so little time and they've simply not come up on the pile of the great unread. As to how do I know therefore that her novels are dark and gritty? Simple. I've judged a book by it's cover)

And the reaction of our friend? She has moaned about it to me ever since. Complaining that she so loved the thrillers she's had to buy every other Patricia Cornwell book including getting a hardback copy before the paperback came out. Unwittingly I had created a superfan. Ms Cornwell you don't have to thank me.

And the point to be made? Unless the person's condition is terminal perhaps the best book to buy an unwell person is one where people have worst problems than the recipient of the gift is facing. Like say danger on the streets....or death.

Until the next time.