A catalogue of inventions

Today, we received one of those little catalogues full of things you never thought you needed. There are, among other,things, a 'long reach lotion applicator' for applying cream to your back, and bullet-proof nail varnish. Past catalogues of this ilk have included such necessities as a personalised gear stick cover and a bewildering little trolley for wheeling your house plants from one room to another.

Does anyone actually buy these things? Apart from the numerous appliances for removing 'unwanted hair' (these publications are always much exercised over the problem of unwanted hair, so there must be a lot of it about), who in their right mind would contemplate making a purchase? Take the trolley. Presumably if someone is fit enough to convey a plant onto the trolley, it would be a lot easier for them just to carry it. And the nail varnish. If I were unfortunate enough to find myself under fire, my nails are arguably the part of me I would mind about least. Bullet-proof face cream or shampoo, perhaps. But nail varnish?

In little sheds and workshops all over the world there must be mad inventors creating gaps in the market and then trying to fill them. When there are real problems to be solved (like how to prevent duvet covers from swallowing up everything else in the washing machine), I suspect that most of them are wasting their time

Dream sequences

I always think that a dream sequence in a novel is a cop-out. Literary dreams hold up the narrative, are often irrelevant, and are usually rather boring. Take this, for example:

Woman lost in London. She's meant to be at a concert with her husband, but has lost him. She's forgotten where she lives, and has only keys and about two pounds in her pocket. It's dark. She's crying. She meets her neighbour, and asks where she (they) lives. "January," says the neighbour sharply. "But I asked for the address!" "January!" the neighbour repeats.

That's it. End of dream.

Are you bored yet? I am. And it was my dream. Last night. John had a much more interesting one about three men ("who might or might not have been triplets") who were all thriller-writers. That's a bit more like it. But even that would badly interrupt any story, wouldn't it? I think people put dreams into novels to play for time, or to entertain themselves.

(My most interesting dream was many years ago, and I dreamt that I was collecting jockstraps. That's right. Jockstraps. Including a Jamaican wrestler's jockstrap. I dread to think what that said about me.)

Sausage quota

We're always being told what to eat, right? Five-a-day, no chips, no fat, no fun. And drink (one glass of wine. Red, of course). Well, now it's two sausages a day. That's what's recommended. No more than two sausages a day (or two rashers of bacon), or "the equivalent". What is the equivalent of two sausages a day? Why two? Why sausages?

The world's going mad.

The value of feedback

Like all writers, I sometimes receive lovely emails from readers (I've yet to receive an unlovley one, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time). I came home today to find this:

"I'm writing this through very damp eyes, and sniffing. Dead Earnest is a brilliant book. I read your other book first and loved it so much, I had to get Dead Earnest.

That's all I want to say, really, except that I hope the new book comes out really soon."*

She added that she had never contacted a writer before.

Given all that's been happening recently, this kind of email is especially heartening, and I am always very grateful when people take the trouble to make contact. Writing is often like dropping books or stories into a void; one has no idea what happens to them, whether people like them or hate them, or even who reads them. Family and friends are invariably kind, and any criticisms couched in the gentlest of terms, but a message from a stranger is somehow especially welcome.

Years go, when I was a student nurse, I was so taken with the Strangers and Brothers series by C P Snow, that I phoned him up to tell him how much I loved his books. He was very surprised (of course he was. What can I have been thinking of?), but pleased and polite, and asked me what my job was. I've never forgotten that phone call (I doubt whether he did, either!).

* So do I!

University Challenge

I just had to tell anyone who's interested (and probably several who are not) that I got 14 - yes FOURTEEN - questions right during tonight's University Challenge. Some people go through life hoovering up facts (I have two small grandsons who do this), and others, like me, manage to bypass nearly all of them. Hence, my general knowledge is beyond hopeless. So I am always amazed at the sheer scope of the knowledge of the contestants, and wonder how it is that such young people can have packed so much knowledge into their heads in such a relativley short time.

John and I compete to see who can get the most questions right (usually he does), but tonight he's out playing bridge (another thing I can't do) so I was on my own, with no-one to impress. I usually get the classical music ones right, but not much else. Tonight, I excelled myself.

Dorothy Parker

In a comment elsewhere, Aliya asked whether Dorothy Parker always told the truth. I've been thinking about this, and have decided that the answer is almost certainly no. Can someone be a great wit, and also entirely truthful? I think it's unlikely. It's a bit like having a sense of humour but always being charitable. Dorothy Parker was very funny, but rarely kind. An example (a book review):

"This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force."

But I admire her, and I envy that sharp, quick wit. She managed to say the things that most people only think of days later, when the moment has passed. However, I'm not sure I would have wanted to have her as a friend.

More walkies (Geoffrey again)

Geoffrey is a very slow learner (or his owners are...).