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Bavarian Hols!

17/8/2014

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We've been away for the last few weeks, mostly walking in Bavaria, however, we found time to spend an evening and most of the following day with some old German friends we've known since our twenties, and lunched with another friend, a colleague of Judith's who was herself holidaying near Salzburg. It's always a lovely thing to see and revisit friends. We've been to Salzburg several times now but always in a hurry it seems, so can't claim to have explored the city beyond the level of a cursory glance. This situation is of course unacceptable and must be remedied at some point in the future once and for all! It's the birthplace of Mozart, for goodness sake! We did however bring back some Mozart Ball sweets for family and friends, though not the official ones that you can purchase at only one shop in Salzburg that always appears to have grafted to it an eternity-long queue.

Most of our other time in Ruhpolding, where we were based at the very agreeable Hotel Maigerschwendt, was spent walking and swimming. The hotel's meals were so unreservedly excellent, not to mention brilliantly varied, that exercise was most definitely required if we wished to return home with the same sized waistband we'd arrived with. We swam every day possible in the marvellous Vita Alpina swimming pool and gradually built up from zero to a respectable twelve lengths of their Olympic-sized open-air pool. Vita Alpina is really a swimming complex; it contains various outdoor pools to satisfy the requirements of all its visitors - swimming, diving, fun etc; its indoor facilities include a massive slide, wave pool, several pools for families with small children, and our favourite - the Wellness Pool. This is accessed from inside but is in the open-air, it's heated to something like blood temperature and contains all kinds of fountains, waterfalls and jacuzzi-like offerings - bliss! We generally finished off with ten minutes in the steam room before reinvigorating ourselves under the cold shower before leaving Vita Alpina in search of a coffee like a couple of inanely grinning Telly-Tubbies!

The remarkable thing about holidaying in Ruhpolding is that all this was absolutely free, because if you're a guest of one of the hotels you are given an Extra Card, which gives free daily entry to the pool and free bus travel as well as use of the local chairlift and cable-car - other things are free or at a reduced price too. I imagine this must make it a particularly appealing destination for families with children. We had some great walks, probably my favourite being a five hour round-trip along an old smugglers' route to Austria where you actually walk underneath a waterfall.


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For the first time ever I forsook reading books (well, not really!). What I mean is, I took no printed books with me and relied on Kindle for my reading supply. The main book I read was The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. It is a mystery novel, published in 1859 - Collins is generally acknowledged to be the father of detective fiction. It is an epistolatory novel, with accounts given in the first person, much like testimonies, by different protagonists from the story. It also highlights the poor legal rights accorded to women once they were married - Collins had a legal training, so I daresay this was a point of some importance to him. The book's main character, Walter Hartright, a humble drawing master, assisted by the immensely characterful Marian Halcombe, assumes the role of 'the sleuth' throughout most of the story. We are never in any doubt about who the novel's baddies are - I mean to say, how could anyone called Sir Percival Glyde be viewed with anything but dark suspicion? And as for Count Fosco, an Italian no less - he seems to possess diabolically inspired powers at various times! The task Hartright commits himself to is uncovering a terrible secret, which, should it ever be revealed will undoubtedly ruin both men. Collins skilfully manages to make us wait until the very last chapters of the book before we are certain of 'the secret'. A hundred and fifty years after it was written the book remains a page-turner. Did I have any reservations? Well, yes, it's rather long-winded and probably contains a bit too much exposition and repetition for a good many modern readers - but of course we must always bear in mind whilst reading that the book first appeared in a serialised form which probably accounts for some of this. However, the book's overall effect and its place in literary history makes it well worth an occasional struggle with exasperation and impatience when the story decides to meander along for yet another fifty pages. I must admit I found the character of Laura Fairlie a little over-romanticised and sentimental - however, this is an accusation often made against Dickens' females too - I guess it was a requirement of Victorian fiction that its love interests were sweet and pure and accordingly rather brainless. Anyway, who would have the temerity to suggest Collins and Dickens were doing it wrong? They knew exactly what they were about and wrote specifically for the times they lived in. This is a great read and one that definitely contributed to my holiday pleasure!


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Early Reading

10/8/2014

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Although I often write about books in this blog, I try not to harp on constantly about my own writing, and I always hope that I can be forgiven on those occasions when I feel it’s appropriate to do a plug for one or other of my books.  Actually, I’d much prefer to talk about books I’ve read rather than ones I’ve written.

Books have always been an essential part of my life, well, as far back as I can recall anyway. This goes for my wife Judith too, who devours books so fast I’m surprised she doesn’t get chronic indigestion. Actually, we were busy at it first thing this morning, discussing books that is, over our boiled eggs and toasted rye bread with tahini. She’d heard on the radio that a new study has shown conclusively that reading is an important part of brain development in children. I have no clue exactly when I started reading. My mother always said I took to it like a duck to water and once I’d set off there was absolutely no stopping me. I recall (vaguely) going to London for a family holiday when I was five and Mam said I read everything in sight. Five year olds have no sense of discernment and are blissfully unaware of that awful, sadly yet to come crippler ‘appropriateness’. My parents and big brother, all quite shy in their way, smiled diffidently whenever  we ascended or descended tube train escalators, whilst I, without any concept yet of an inner censor and in a voice that really ‘travelled’, read aloud all the advertisments passing-by - “Meet the Kings and Queens of England at Madam Tussauds ... Beefeater Gin ... Sirdar corsets for ladies with a fuller figure” - you get the picture.

The very first book I actually remember reading by myself, a book that is still one of my all time favourites, is The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame. It was published in 1908 and the cast of characters first came to life in the bedtime stories Grahame made up for his son Alastair. It is a wonderful children’s tale  about a group of anthropomorphised animals who enjoy a series of adventures together along the river bank where they live. It starts with the self-effacing and most beloved Mr Mole being suddenly overtaken by a strange wanderlust one Spring morning:

The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash; till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his brush on the floor, said 'Bother!' and 'O blow!' and also 'Hang spring-cleaning!' and bolted out of the house without even waiting to put on his coat. Something up above was calling him imperiously, and he made for the steep little tunnel which answered in his case to the gravelled carriage-drive owned by animals whose residences are nearer to the sun and air. So he scraped and scratched and scrabbled and scrooged and then he scrooged again and scrabbled and scratched and scraped, working busily with his little paws and muttering to himself, 'Up we go! Up we go!' till at last, pop! his snout came out into the sunlight, and he found himself rolling in the warm grass of a great meadow.

I love this book! Ithink the above is one of the most beguiling opening paragraphs I have ever read. It’s probably thirty years since I last read The Wind in the Willows and I have just reminded myself to do so again.

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Unhealthy Practices

2/8/2014

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We enjoy a good ‘wind-up’ in the Johnson family. I was telling my son the other day when he came round for a chat about the reaction I got from Judith when she came in from work one afternoon. Whilst gazing awkwardly at the floor, I began, “Jude, I have something I feel I need to get off my chest!”

“What?” she asked absent-mindedly as she leafed through her mail.

I kept my eyes averted from hers (I’m an awful corpser!). “I’ve got involved with something that’s probably quite unhealthy,” I said falteringly.

I now had her full attention. “What do you mean?” she asked. I could sense tension, glimpse a growing apprehension behind her eyes.

“Since starting work down in the cellar ... I’ve become addicted to The Archers” I ‘fessed up.

I then received a friendly clip round the ear!

The Archers (in case you didn’t know) is a long running UK radio soap (the longest running soap-opera in the world I believe!) about a farming community who live in an imaginary English village called Ambridge. It’s not really known for particularly sensationalist storylines. Like all soaps it does occasionally try to hook in new listeners and possibly excite its older ones with the odd minor crime or sexual indiscretion, but mostly the show just plods along with storylines about agricultural quotas, new milking equipment, proposed bypasses that threaten to destroy village life as we know it (or hear it at least), and perhaps the odd storyline designed to really get the pulse racing e.g. the stress of having a new kitchen installed. Phew! Spicey stuff, huh? The thing that probably makes The Archers slightly different to the TV soaps is the demographic of its audience; it is a soap about mostly middle-class characters that is most probably appreciated by largely middle-class listeners.

I was only joking about becoming ‘hooked’ - although I do admit to having listened on a daily basis for several weeks now whilst repointing my cellar walls. However, I’ve been listening in from time to time ever since I was a small boy and at least bear no outward signs of damage! The characters have remained vaguely familiar to me over the years by making an occasional excursion into Ambridge country from time to time - although I admit to having massive gaps in my knowledge. For instance, whatever happened to Sid Perks? ... where has Brenda Tucker gone? etc. At the moment there’s an illicit romance going on between Roy Tucker (married to Hayley) and the recently-widowed Lizzie Pargeter - the seeds of their passion were sown whilst doing some research under canvas at a recent music festival - this is about as hot and sticky as it ever gets for a resident of Ambridge. Radio 4 listeners must be glued to their radios in open-mouthed awe at the sheer sauciness of this storyline. I recall with some trepidation a few months, about a decade back, when Judith and I came near to full-on Archers’ addiction. This was at a time when agricultural businessman Brian Aldridge (married to Jennifer) started looking at Gaelic-Minx Siobhan’s portfolio of assets a little too closely. I seem to recall he was setting up a business in Hungary and Siobhan, a linguist, was acting as a translator for him. I think she taught him a few things he didn’t previously know, nudge, nudge, wink, wink, know what I mean?

Anyway, Judith was horrified that I’d been listening to The Archers and I am now thoroughly sworn off again! There’s no problem, I really can handle it ... but, well ... if only I could find out how Hayley’s going to learn about Roy and Lizzie’s peccadillo ... will Jennifer manage to convince Brian to let her have the hideously outdated shell-motif tiles removed from their guest bathroom, especially after all the recent upheaval and expense of their newly installed designer kitchen ... is Peggy Wooley suffering from loneliness or is she actually going quite, quite, doolali ... is Home Farm, long-inhabited by generations of Archers, about to be destroyed by the newly proposed road?

Hope so!


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