Lady Codiva – a poem (for The Pages 13)

We welcome our Canadian friend and poet, Jane Richer, again, who has penned this fun poem, which I initially thought was drawn from a true life event, but not so – it was all from Jane’s imagination.

Lady Codiva

Well she wasn’t naked on a steed

but she was still ‘starkers’; yes indeed.

Only wearing rubber boots as far as I can tell

a Lady Codiva; fishing, ‘Au Natural!

Now I ‘ve seen some very strange sights

but never this way to get a fish to bite.

I wonder if this got her in the mood

standing in her Wellingtons, in the nude?

Well it was time for me to get back home

even though I was adverse to leave her alone.

This had brightened my day; what a real hoot

rarely do you see anyone fishing in their ‘Birthday suit!’

©Jane Richer

The Garden at Little Oak 14 (for The Pages)

By Rosa Johnson:

 What happened to the seasons this year? Summer in March, the wettest April ever, June all sorts of weather but it certainly wasn’t flaming;  July not a day without rain and August some wet some warm, some cold and some not so cold.

Lots of us have seen garden crops fail.  Cherries, and apples  like the Russet, failed because the blossom came out in the warm weather in March but April was so wet and cold insects including bees all stayed at home and little pollinating was done.  Later flowering fruits haven’t done so badly. Our Grenadier produced a good crop of apples and as an early fruiting variety we have already picked them. Autumn raspberries are looking good.

The currants were good and I have already made my jamcum and it set well. A new friend has promised me some damsons, which is wonderful because she has stoned them and frozen them as well. It’s great to be able to swap some of our produce. She had some of our red currants and I have frozen some black currants for her and also have a few apples left for her to freeze. Our Bramley apples don’t look as good as usual but there will be enough if the jays leave them alone.

We’ve only managed a handful of French beans and runners to date but a second planting is beginning to yield and we hope for a long season from now in which we can recoup our losses earlier in the year.  First sowings of beetroot and spinach did not survive but the second ones are looking good. Lettuces were the same, we have some Little Gem now, but there were no early ones.

We have succeeded with aubergines for the first time this year. We heard a tip that grafted plants yielded better than those grown from seed and it was right but unfortunately they are just as susceptible to bugs like aphids, white fly and red spider mite as seed grown plants. Treating them is difficult but washing up detergent and water as a spray helped to some extent except with red spider. The plants look terrible now but are still producing lovely black fruits, so who cares about the bugs?

My husband never stops telling everyone he hasn’t known a year when he’s had to mow lawns so many times.  Grass grows faster than anything else but moss, in our plot. Now, in August, the lawns are green and lush with grass and moss and though the moss was removed in March, now it’s as bad as ever.

We put up a new rose arch in the spring. We were given a large white clematis which flowered in June and we also put up a winter flowering white clematis and a azorina on the other side. We have always called this annual pink bell climber azorina but when I looked it up on Wikipaedia it talked about a damsel fish! Ah well can’t win ‘em all. I have now discovered the plant is spelt azorina not azurina as I previously thought.

 

 

 

 

The rose arch near the house.                                                Azorina on rose arch.

The rose arch by the house has been with us for years and the two purple clematis  it supports have excelled themselves intertwining with the small pale pink Fuchsia and with the abelia behind them both, it looks pretty good. The pot standard geranium under the arch had a bonanza of blooms all at once… we lost count at fifty two.

Our agapanthus flowers have done well this year, both in the ground and in pots. Campanulas always flourish here, no matter what the weather. The small blue flowered one creates a haze over the drive and the paths round the house in early summer and the larger white flowered campanula is doing well in pots now.

 

 White campanula

The musk rose enjoyed the inclement weather. Great swathes of blancmange-pink blooms spread along about ten feet of the fence at the back while the white Rambling Rector climbed over the pergola with the albertine. Most of the bush and standard roses suffered in the rain and the Arthur Hellier single rose flowers were eaten by a squirrel as fast as they opened.  I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the wretched little creature sitting among the very thorny branches consuming all the blooms as fast as they opened. I’m glad to report that despite the attention of said squirrel Arthur was not deterred from producing his usual abundance of large orange hips.

The new yellow rose has bloomed  profusely since the end of April.

 Rock rose

A thirty year old copper Acer was taken down in June.  It had become huge and was shading our favourite lawn for sitting and eating out. The garden looks much better without it, but thirty years ago we were rather over enthusiastic gardeners and like many others we planted trees too close together. There is a very nice conifer revealed by removal of the Acer and we have achieved a pleasant change. A small self planted yew in another part of the garden had to go too. This is contrary to our usual custom because we maintain that plants put themselves in better places than we choose for them. The yew got it wrong and was growing underneath a weeping beech which was not ideal for the spindly yew or the beech. We are still learning.

©Rosa Johnson

Short Story: In this Corner

 In This Corner is a short story by Jane Richer, an American writer who was to have been published in The Pages, but kindly agreed to let me post it on my blog instead.

 In This Corner

‘In this corner, showing extreme arrogance, is Mr. Progress! Already a Heavyweight- repeated K.O.’s in water, sewage, land, air and weather. Written on his left glove is Greed and equally powerful on his right glove is Apathy. He is wearing dingy grey trunks.’
   Mr Progress stepped, strutted to the centre of the ring, taunting his opponent.

 ’Oh, I’m frightened. Mary Poppins is going to knock me out.  Boohoo, I am crying acid tears!’
   Officiating was a nondescript young man.

‘ … and in this corner, shouldering a world’s balance is Mother Nature! Also a Heavyweight- she has unleashed her wrath, sending Tsunami, earthquake, flood, volcanic eruptions, forest fires, pestilence, plague, windstorms and Tornadoes. She is wearing trunks of sunshine and light and there is a wreath of golden velvet flowers in her hair.”
   ‘Now I want a fair fight. Let’s get ready to rumble!’
   The bell sounded and Mr. P danced around M.N. feinting and jabbing, she ducked and weaved and as she danced a small field of sweet-smelling grass appeared on the ring’s floor.
   Progress changed the grass into a muddy, slick film of water, as he punched Mother Nature in the stomach with a leaking oil tanker. The hit pushed her against the ropes and from her belly flowed sticky dying birds and fish.

   Round 1 went to Mr. Progress as the bell sounded.

   The combatants sat and waited for the bell. M.N. drank a clear, cool fresh glass of water and Mr. P. puffed on a smoke stack, his inky, greasy hair, wreathed with thick black soot and ash.

   The Bell sounds: Round 2

    Mr. Progress pounded his gloves together and somewhere a forest was clear cut. M.N. did a rapid jab to his solar plexus and Mr. Progress grunted, momentarily winded. Small trees are planted around the lumberjack’s cuttings and a new forest begins to grow.
    Mr. Progress growls and feints to the left before raising his right glove and punching Mother Nature viciously under the chin.
   Down she dropped, and a rain-forest died and butterflies dropped dead, cocooning her.

   Mr. P. laughs and says,’ I win! How could I not have? Mankind in its greed has made me strong, but it is Apathy that has made me great. People turn a blind eye towards me, safe in their own lives, with bellies full, content in their self-delusion. Your precious Children are your downfall Mother Nature. I am only their Servant.’
   ‘STOP!’ a voice shouts, ringing like a thousand church bells.
Mr. P. wheeled around, gaping at the young man in the referee’s outfit.

    ’I call this a draw,’ he said.
   ‘What? She is down, I have clearly won,’ snarls Mr. P. ‘Who are you, to dictate to Me?’ he snaps.
   Mother Nature slowly rose to her feet, smiling she said,’ Surely Mr. Progress, you recognize God?’
   God smiled gently at M.N., then rounded on Progress and said, ‘I have allowed you on my world, because without you Mankind would have stagnated! Now you have over-stepped your boundaries. You were to co-exist with M.N., not conspire against her. If you clear-cut, then you replanted new trees as well. If you strip-mined for materials and minerals, then you saved land for fish and wildlife, sparing rivers for new co-habitation. You have been lax in all your promises to nature and my children. If you continue to bring my world into unbalance and chaos, then Mr. P., when you next step into this ring it will be ME that you will face – IN THIS CORNER!’

©Jane Richer

Publication or Bust

Today we have another poem by Rosa Johnson, one for us writers and poets of a certain age and beyond, perhaps – but read on.  Please note, this poem is not editable.

   PUBLICATION OR BUST 

 

  There’s an idea bumming round in my head,

   but it won’t settle.

   It escapes my grasp and continues on its errant tack,

   so frail it will not buckle, brittle yet will not crack.

 

   I tell myself,    ‘Be brave,  use modern language.

   It has impact.  There’s a strength behind it.’

   There’s  passion and to spare if I can find it!

   Still I hesitate to start.

   How can a modern poem be a sell-out,

   If I don’t use words like ‘tits’ and ‘shit’ and ‘fart’?

 

   Shall I don foul worn-out old trousers?

   Grab any old hat I can get?

   Peer over very dark glasses? Stink and sweat?

   We could go far, my poems and I.

   Some verses scan! And from now on i’ll avoid punctuation

   and capital letters where and  whenever i can

 

  I’ll be an objector, agnostic, drop-out, I’ll be an activist

  crawl round the city pubs all day and end up pissed!

  I’ll deplore war, oppose the monarchy and all it stands for.

  Chicken out of vasectomy, crow over the size of my cock,

  worship sex, and collect milk bottles at the top of a high-rise block.

  I’ll cultivate a penchant for all things lewd,

  live on  take-aways  and reject that filthy all-organic food.

  I won’t wash my hair, I will abhor repression,

  and launch a violent attack on each offensive weapon.

 

 And would it be an innovation to avoid the sordid connotation?

 To write about race with meaning and emotion?

 Does anyone read that sort of  crap?

 Poetry today must raise a real commotion.  

 You must go for the filthy innuendo and obscenity,

 praise despair and applaud profanity,

 have amphetamines on tap.

 And then?  Commit suicide!

 O consolation, consolation, Publication!

 ’Nuff said:

 I’ll be a real sensation when I’m dead!

 

© Rosa Johnson

Poem: LIZA, WHERE THE KITES ARE.

A poem from Rosa Johnson today, in memory of a beloved friend and companion.   

 

 

LIZA, WHERE THE KITES  ARE.

Following us across the fields towards the shore,

she’s already hanging back, lagging behind, bringing up the rear

at a safe distance. She’d rather not be here at all.

We turn, and see she’s watching kites, head forward,

ears down, knowing we‘ll call her and hitch her lead to the collar.

Reluctantly she closes in, anxiety brimming. 

Knowing we shall go where the kites are.

 

Her sight is deteriorating, her hearing

isn’t good but she’s the first to know,

the kites are out. They sweep low swinging over

the hedge. They rise again soaring, rumbling,

their full breasts cradling the wind  beneath them. 

She wants to make a run for it, she thinks she might,

but loyalty persuades her to  stay with us, though fearing  to go,

where the kites are.

 

Wind-surfing enthusiasts out on the water, leap

and swing,  relishing the risks they take,

defying fear.  Wires rattle, the sea is restless,

splashing, splattering, bumping, lifting the boards as they ride

the waves oblivious of the torment they are causing our little animal.

Poor dog, she wishes she was somewhere else, anywhere but here,

where the kites are.

 

After five minutes we turn for home. I’m holding the lead.

She takes off at speed, towing me after her. There’s

no lagging behind now, she has the energy of  two

and my legs move faster than they have in years.

Up the bank and over the track, across the park

and into the field where, encouraged by her successful  escape,

she allows her  tail to swing, allows me to rest, and look back

 to see the others laughing, coming to join us  from the shore,

where the kites are.

 

©Rosa Johnson

 

Chest a Minute…

 

A Slice of Life from June Gundlack:

Chest a minute… Another day in the life of a writer, so it had to be written!

I had no idea, that the chest I’d ‘inherited’ on the day I was born … was to become something that would be captured by London Underground. Normally, if someone losses something, they can toddle along to Lost Property and hope the goods have been handed in, in good condition. 

Today, at Loughton Station – I walked towards the ticket barriers.  I tapped my Oyster card on the turnstile and the arms unfolded – I proceeded in a northerly direction to pass through the arms.  They closed mid proceedings and captured… yes, my CHEST.  ‘Ouch, bl**dy ouch’, were the first words to come to me.  A member of the station staff released me by tapping their escapee card on the turnstile successfully releasing my arms and other bits, I could see a slight smile and cringe as she walked away.  ‘Yes, lady, it was painful’,  I wanted to shout.  But, glad of my freedom, I continued in a northerly direction and onwards to…the dentist.  A nice way to spend a Saturday, the hottest 1^st October in history.

If you thought mammograms were uncomfortable – don’t try the ticket barrier hug without local anaesthetic, especially if carrying a heavy chest!   

© June Gundlack

Trace Your Roots by Maureen Vincent-Northam: Press Review

 The hunt for your ancestors just got a whole lot easier!

Herefordshire author, Maureen Vincent Northam, has put her experience as a genealogist into a great book designed to help anyone eager to delve into their UK family history, whether their starting off point is the UK, US, Australia or Canada.

Inspired originally by her interest in local history and old buildings, Maureen stumbled upon genealogy about a dozen years ago. Since then she has helped many people trace their families.

 

Trace Your Roots

Trace your Roots is jam packed with valuable information in the form of hundreds of tips that leads you through the process of growing your family tree in your own way. “Not everyone starts at the same place,” Maureen says, “The chapters are organised so that it’s easy to use a ‘pick ‘n mix’ approach. For example, some people don’t need to look at war records or immigration records. The book shows the most effective ways to begin researching your family’s history; ways to read between the lines when tackling the civil resources, how to get the most from all of the parish records, which records to consult in order to delve deeper into your ancestors’ past and… that pidgin Latin can be fun!

“We are all curious to know who we are and I’m passionate to get people to record their family history. This can sometimes seem daunting to the beginner and I hope my book puts fun into it.”

Maureen is delighted to use her skills as a writer to inspire people of all ages to explore their past. In our world of instant communication, it’s more important than ever to preserve our history and this is an excellent way to do it.

With great tips on ways to gather background evidence; understanding and deciphering old documents and records; information on less well-known sources, advice on creating family archives and all of the most useful websites and addresses, Trace your Roots will ensure your family tree flourishes!

Available from Amazon UK: £7.99 Maureen’s Genealogy Blog: http://trace-your-roots.blogspot.co.uk/

The Garden at Little Oak 13 (The Pages article)

(Early March 2012)

Everyone here on the coast is talking about the mild winter of 2011/2012. Now we are in March which has begun with winds, a little rain, and a couple of ground frosts with afternoons which are bright and warm.  It was often the same last month. We had only 16mm of rain in the whole of February.  Last year there were 64mm and in 2010 there were 97mm. Rainfall this winter has been extremely low in the South and temperatures have been abnormally high.

Editor’s note: …and then came summer weather – in March!

In November last year we had wall flowers, annual and perennial which had flowered continuously and are still flowering now. Kerria was blooming for Christmas as were the small blue campanulas in our garden trough accompanied by winter flowering heathers. The bumble bees were particularly pleased to find these and the primulas and sometimes even the honey bees came on a quick sortie.

Roses of all shapes and sizes were flowering at the end of the year too.  We would have managed Christmas roses if our hellebores had been white. I’ve never seen a proper white Christmas rose although they appear a lot on Christmas cards.  The bottle brush plant, native of and brought as seed from Australia about ten years ago is already sprouting. Having said that the giant echiums we were given by friends in Alderney seems to have been bitten by the frosts we had about a fortnight ago. They are biennials and we have onlymanaged to flower them once, this is not really any wonder because they rise to eight feet high.

Echiums

We’ve set up a new rose arch to accommodate the two white clematis we have acquired this year. One is an evergreen climber whose bell flowers appear in the winter months and the other is a big bold flower, Mrs George Jackman, more accustomed to summer flowering. We bought a flat pack arch and assembled it quickly and easily. We gave it a support post on each leg and it is stable.  The plants are still in pots and are lifted into the greenhouse when the night is cold.

We have a new floribunda rose too, Golden memories, planted so it can be seen from the kitchen. Currently we have snowdrops, golden crocuses and daffodils in the same bed and the last of the aconites. The weather seems to have inspired the daffodils to produce unusually dense vegetation with plenty of flowers. The one remaining fish in the pond nearby hasn’t been to the bottom for any length of time throughout the winter but has been surfacing, hoping to be fed on most days. He has grown to quite a size.

Daffodils

My husband is exercising body and mind on a new border which is more or less unseen from the house.  The compost bins were already secreted in that corner but there was a scruffy raised bed which had become unsightly so it had to go. A lowly berberis hedge is flourishing and will soon hide the bins from general view. A pink cistus went in there last week and a hart’s tongue fern is due to join it when the snowdrops are over. They are growing all around it, or is it the fern growing up through the snowdrops? It’s hard to say but something’s gotta give.

In the middle of the new border is an ancient clematis montana . The trunk is gnarled and ugly so something to disguise it will have to be included in the design.  The clematis climbs into a wreck of a holly tree which becomes a thing o beauty when the flowers grace its old boughs in April and May.

For the first time since we came to this house we decked our halls with our own holly berries for Christmas 2011. We’ve always seen plenty of holly berries in the garden until about the second week in December when the birds, particularly the greedy pigeons home in and strip them every year. This year we were prepared and prevented the onslaught. We enveloped two good branches of berries in clear polythene bags. The weather at the time was somewhat windy and the idea back fired a bit when friends thought they were being helpful pointing out that some polythene had blown into the hedge and shouldn’t we move it, it looks rather as though… well you know!

Holly

Two lawns were mown in January and look none the worse for it. They will be much easier to mow again when the time comes. The Bramley and the Grenadier have been pruned, well after the Russet. I’m told that’s how it should be.

The last of the stored Bramleys were turning soft and yellow and since we had some ready stewed apples in the freezer we opted to give them to the blackbirds when we had a cold day. We realised then that robins liked apple and so did wood mice. One morning at breakfast we looked out of the window at the hollowed-out skin of a Bramley and lo and behold the mouse had taken up residence, sitting in the apple cup, on his little wamp gorging himself. This fellow has lost part of his tail so he/she is always easily identified. We often see him running to and fro under the yucca and in and out of the ferns.

Bird life has been a joy in the garden all through the winter. Our greedy Greater Spotted Woodpecker pair have visited the feeders every day, though they rarely come together.  They arrive in the birch tree, take stock of the situation on the feeder below and drop onto it via the pergola. Other birds scatter and do not return until the woodpeckers have gone. We haven’t seen the nuthatches, probably because they have been able to feed themselves in the wild. The pheasant came quite regularly to gather crumbs under the feeders where the smaller birds dropped them. He is large and rather fat now, but beautiful. Green Woodpeckers are setting up home in the ash trees on either side of the front gate. One round hole is easily seen from the landing window. Blackbirds are building in the front hedge and their neighbours are a pair of chaffinches. We have long- tailed tits, robins, gold finches, greenfinches and dunnocks nesting  elsewhere in the garden.

On Sunday I saw a stranger in the field opposite the house. We see sparrow hawks regularly and the small bird population disappears when his face appears on the horizon or he takes up his position in the silver birch.  The stranger was half as big again as the sparrow hawk and didn’t crouch as they do. It sat on a fence post and through my binoculars I estimated the length from the top of the white head to the end of the black tail feathers hanging down the post was all of 2ft, and as he perched the body was more or less vertical. The head was white flecked with brown or black, neck the same and the white colouring continued to form a shawl over the shoulders but the lower back under parts appeared much darker. My neighbour thinks this was an unusually marked buzzard. There are buzzards around and I know there is some variation in buzzard colouring. The wingspan is, in my opinion wider than that of an average buzzard so I am not sure. Any ideas anyone?  I think this bird could be an escapee.

Spring is here. I saw two butterflies basking in the sun this morning. A red admiral and a small comma. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a comma so early in the year. Things are really beginning to happen in the garden now which should make for a more entertaining edition next time The Pages comes out.

(Editor’s note: articles will now appear in this blog, as I am not going to publish The Pages any more. With apologies.)

© Rosa Johnson

David Robinson on Writing a Novel – His Novel – in a Week: Cont.

David Robinson never gives up. Whatever life and health throws at him, he throws a story or two back, and often a novel. Writing a novel in a week is not going to be an exception. Read on!

‘A Novel in a Week

I’m going to write novel in week.

Pauses for gapes and gasps of utter astonishment.

Why?

No reason at all. I’m semi-retired, dogged by poor sleep, mainly through poor health, so I spend a lot of hours at the computer, filling the time by writing and pottering about the web. Then I read this piece about someone else who had tried it and I thought, “yeah, why not?”

As anyone who knows me will testify, my output is prodigious. To write one of my popular, light-hearted Sanford 3rd Age Club Mysteries, takes about month. Major thrillers, such as The Handshaker and Voices, take a little longer, but never more than three months when the ideas and words are flowing.

But a novel in a week? It’s impossible isn’t it?

I would agree, but I’m still going for it.

Let’s be clear on this; I don’t expect to produce a perfect, publishable work in seven days, but I do expect a solid, working first draft, and my calculations, based on a typing speed of 25 wpm, indicate that I can do it.

It will mean changes to my regular writing routine. For a start off, there will be more hours on the word processor rather then the Web. Secondly detail planning is needed. I’m not a planner; never have been, but without some kind of written plan, I have no chance. I have to take into account our weekly jaunts to Tesco’s to pick up life’s necessities such as food and teabags, and the dog will be going for shorter walks… that’s slightly misleading. Thanks to my arthritic knees, if the walks get any shorter, he’ll only get as far as the front gate.

I have several advantages, if they can be described as such. I’m quite hard of hearing so the TV and radio do not distract me. Not that I watch TV even when I have the chance. The missus doesn’t distract me, either … mind you, she doesn’t even talk to me unless she’s nagging about trivia like rent, gas and electricity bills.

I’m also quite focussed. Although I tend to keep two or three projects on the go at a time, to stave off the threat of boredom, when I’m on song with one of them, I stick with it.

The be all and all is I’m going to try. It’s not a bet, it’s not for charity, it’s not for any reason at all other than the same reason people keep climbing Everest. Because it’s there.

And the result? Whether I write 70,000 or 20,000 words, the end product will be revised, polished, tidied up and sent to my publishers, Crooked Cat Books, and if they don’t want it, I’ll probably self-publish.

Would you like to follow the progress of this insane idea? As well as writing the actual novel, I’ll be blogging the result at http://novelinaweek.blogspot.co.uk You’re more than welcome to tag along.’

Adventures through the Ages: Leap of Faith

I first wrote about Leap of Faith by Richard Hardie in my now defunct blog, when I happened upon the first version of the YA novel –  because I was drawn to the original cover design for the book. It goes to show that the cover is very important when it comes to drawing the reader in. Since being published by the American publisher, Caleb Mason, at Publerati : http://www.publerati.com , the cover was updated, but still by the same, very talented illustrator, Tracey Tucker.

My review on Amazon is more up to date than in the old blog, so I will tag that on the end of here.

Leap of Faith has already become a series, as the second book, ‘The Trouble with Swords’ is now with the Publerati team, and Richard has started book three in The Temporal Detective Agency series. As Sir Galahad, the celebrity chef at Olé Grill, I will have a hand – or a wooden spoon – in a spin-off cook book with recipes through the centuries. My research has begun. A fifth century recipe a lá Camelot is being written up.

Camelot is incidentally where it all began.

Tertia, the narrator of the story and the heroine, no less, and Unita (Neets to friends) may seem like two unlikely detectives, and between them do they get into a lot of trouble as they try to solve one mystery after another.  How did Tertia find herself on Nelson’s plinth in Trafalgar Square – and where is Nelson’s statue? Will they solve that first problem, and where does it lead to? And will they defeat evil as they do? The Temporal Detective Agency is run by Marlene, sister of Merlin (yes, at the time of Camelot – modern-time wizardry, perhaps, used to access times and places way back in history), and situated in Merlin’s cave (where else?) on the Gower, on the Welsh coast, from where the girls zip in and out of the centuries.

Whether you’re a young adult, young at heart, or interested in historical fiction the alternative way, this book is an excellent read. 

Leap of Faith was published by the US publisher Publerati  on the 27^th April .  The new Kindle version  is available on Amazon http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=richard+hardie+leap+of+faith

It’s also available from Amazon US.

Amazon review:

‘Richard Hardie’s book Leap of Faith is the first in a series of ‘The Temporal Detective Agency’ kind, for young adults and for the young at heart – and for anyone taking an interest in the twists and turns of history – and how tweaks in the back-stories don’t alter history, as much as it adds to it – and in a very exciting, clever way. The story is ace! Tertia and Unita travels through the ages, sorting out problems, defeating evil and bringing back ‘lost’ items (even buildings!) from the 21st century, with Marlene, the sister of Merl (Merlin) being their boss. There’s one adventure after another, and Richard has to know his history really well to play around with it as he does. I have one word for it: Fantastic!’

Find out more about Richard and his work in the interview with Maureen Vincent-Northam, at http://writerschecklist.blogspot.com

Richard blogs at: http://richardhardies.blogspot.co.uk/