Book 3: Corduroy Mansions

Alexander McCall Smith is, undoubtedly, one of my favourite authors. His gentle rambling through the thoughts of his characters never ceases to entertain me. I was first introduced to him when I moved to Zambia, being presented with The No 1 Ladies Detective Agency. It was love at first read: the book captured so much of the essence of Africa, with its sunsets and scenery, its lazy days and lazy people, its hard work to procure a living, its poverty and its wealth. From then on I was addicted.

So it was an utter delight to pick up Corduroy Mansions from the library. Its origin is a daily story printed in The Daily Telegraph, all 100 episodes being collated together for the book. Having already read the 44 Scotland Street series that he produced for The Scotsman I knew the type of tale to expect. The stories centre around the inhabitants of Corduroy Mansions, described as 'crumpled': a slightly run down block of flats in Pimlico (but, after all, it is Pimlico, so not that run down).

There are uncomfortable similarities to the 44 Scotland Street stories - there is a man with a dog, there is a mysterious, lost painting, it ends with a bizarre poem - but nevertheless the characters are fresh and realistic. Undoubtedly my favourite (despite his meagre appearances) is Oedipus Snark 'possibly the first ever nasty Liberal Democrat MP' whose evil permeates the book through his employee, his girlfriend and his mother. Yet my biggest laugh-out-loud moment was with Terence Moongrove and his attempt to recharge his car battery, and subsequent choice of replacement vehicle.

It is an art to write a story every day of about 1000 words which not only follows on from the previous day but also can be read independently. It makes Corduroy Mansions an easy book to pick up and put down but also, as a writer, a fascinating exercise in introducing characters and storylines. Sometimes it is clunky but usually it flows remarkably easily.

I realise that AMS has produced a second series of stories for the newspaper, some of which I read online at the time, but I look forward to catching up on the whole family of characters when published together in a book. It is light, easy reading, and if you enjoy AMS's philosophical wandering through life you cannot be disappointed with this series.

Book 2: Something Fresh by PG Wodehouse

If you stick with me for all my summer book reviews you will discover they are all light reads. I saw PG Wodehouse on the shelf and gave a little sigh of relief. Wodehouse always has an excellent use of the English language and a farcical mix of over-the-top characters.

"Something Fresh" doesn't fail with either. It is the first of the Blandings novels, introducing the slightly demented Lord Emsworth, his wayward son Hon Freddie Threepwood, the Efficient Baxter (the secretary) and the butler, Beach. Of course, Wodehouse is better known for Bertie Wooster and his butler Jeeves, but I thought it would be worth giving other characters a go.

There is a delightful mix-up over the loss (or was it theft?) of a valuable scarab. Realising there is money being rewarded for its recovery various people chase off to Blandings Castle to try to retrieve it. This cannot be done with open honesty but by the most devious means possible, so that no-one knows who they are or what they are really up to. The description of the severely sleep-deprived Baxter believing he is hallucinating in the pub (when we, the reader, really know what he sees and hears to be true) is superb.

Truly Wodehouse is a master of the pompous upper-class character and inevitable farce in stately homes. Clearly it is from a bygone era, and it is hard to imagine what a modern equivalent might be, but on finishing the book I fell asleep drafting my own play for a West End stage: a bedroom farce with unknown guests and unwanted interruptions. Thankfully for the rest of the world, I slept before it became a reality. Even more thankfully, Wodehouse manages it to perfection and is freely available from the library.

Summer reading by Withenay Wanders

Richard and Judy have their list; the TV book club theirs.

I have a random collection taken from the library whilst my children work on their 'Space Hop' Summer Challenge. They are not chosen for their literary merit but usually for being a light read. Or for being at eye-level and with an attractive cover, of course.

So, first off the shelf is The Tea House on Mulberry Street by Sharon Owens.

I liked the sound of this: I like tea shops, as a general rule, and therefore am immediately attracted to the idea of sitting in one, drinking cups of tea and watching the world go by. Furthermore, when I took it off the shelf I read the review form the Irish Independent: "Maeve Binchy meets Joanna Trollope ... gives you a warm glow like a nice cup of tea." Exactly what I needed for a bit of summer reading.

The story is set in Ireland and revolves - unsurprisingly - around a tea shop and the love lives of its owners and regulars. There is a fairly standard mix of unfaithful husbands, affairs with sexy men, long lost loves, never-to-be loves and the aching for a baby marital strife. Everyone wants change but no-one is sure how to get it.

The tempting descriptions of cheesecake and desserts have me salivating from the start. The characters are well-written, introduced slowly from the beginning of the book, with sufficient back-story to give credence. However, I confess I was disappointed with the end. It was delightfully predictable and the author did manage to tie up all the loose ends, though rather handed to me (the reader) on a plate in the final chapter. It would have been nice to have something a little more enigmatic. For example, the story of Clare (loved and lost) probably could have been a book in itself, if the author had wished. Instead it all neatly tied up (oh look! he's just around the corner and currently single ...) and we quickly passed on to another character.

There are certainly interesting ideas in the story and a delightful mix of people to indulge myself with. There are several other books by the same author at the library and I wouldn't dismiss them if I wanted something light to read, but to my mind it was not in the same class as Maeve Binchy.

Good day, bad day

Okay, so I need your votes at the end please. (If I was really clever there would be an appropriate widget or response button, but technophobe that I am, I rely solely on the 'comments' box.)

Is this a good day or a bad day?

Alarm didn't go off.
Husband woke naturally and in comfortable time to catch train.

Daughter bounced into the room, fully dressed, at 7.15.
Son has to be woken at 8.30.

In the three hours of my daughter's dance lesson, my son and I managed a trip to the tile shop to pick up the mosaics and to IKEA (a 40 minute drive each way) for furniture.
The mosaics hadn't come in. 'Friday,' she says. Builder (and tiler) not impressed.
The bedroom furniture was in, and kitchen worksurface so large that son had to hold it in place in the car for the entire journey home (or risk decapitation!) It helps being female and on your own - better still, with a child in tow: there is always some man available to lift the heavy boxes and pack the car properly for you.

The urgent shower tray delivery, that the builder wants yesterday, isn't in. Or, at least, they haven't rung. Further investigation reveals it is in but the man in charge was off yesterday. I collect it before collecting my daughter from dance: I am late for her.

The road is blocked off. Turns out it is for a delivery to my house.

My daughter's friend accidentally breaks something I brought back from Zambia.
Daughter, son and their two friends play very happily together all afternoon: no tears, no grief, no arguments ... and only a modicum of TV/computer/DS time.

Bathstore claim they've delivered all our sanitary ware two weeks ago 'and the computer can't be wrong'.
Bathstore ring back later to say they've located the error...

Man comes to fix washing machine. He runs a rinse cycle and can find nothing wrong.
After he's gone I run a cottons wash and water again leaks onto the tea-towel on the floor.

Lovely lady from electricity company rings and apologises for refunding us money in April then demanding £500 from us in June. She agrees to either of my proposed repayment plans: my choice!

Bake choc chip muffins and chocolate courgette cake.
Forget to cook dinner.

Husband gets home early. Or, at least, in time to see the children before bed.
He has to work on a presentation for tomorrow.

Whilst writing this I run the bath in plenty of time for my daughter (the combi boiler and bath size combine to require a good 5-10 minutes to get a half-decent layer of water) ... only to discover that I forgot to close the plug.

Only one G&T.

So tell me: good day, or bad day?!

Summer holiday fun

Am I a peculiar mother, given I dread the summer holidays?

I am blessed by only having a shade over 5 weeks in which to entertain my children, but still the thought of it stretching out in front of me fills me with dread.

Five weeks! What to do? What to do?

I have spent too many of them moving house, of course. Last year we moved in the summer half-term, but the previous two summers had been spent moving house. And this year we move back into our refurbished house (woo hoo!!) So perhaps that is much of the dread. After all, young children and packing boxes and chaos is not a good mix. They get fed up, bored, frustrated and I get nothing done.

This summer I had decided to take a more chilled out approach. The first week I'd get the children into some activity or childcare, whilst the house was completed, then I'd have three weeks in which to gradually move back in. We could alternative house-moving with days out (yes, the technical term is bribery) and be all settled before our late, brief holiday and term starting again.

Then this happened. Now my three weeks has vanished. I am still overseeing a house refurb and entertaining the children. Furthermore, if the build overruns any more our holiday will be threatened and my desire to be settled before term recommences looks less and less likely.

Well, I have dealt with the first problems by finding more activities for the children to attend and, believe it or not, I am sorry and a little resentful. Being 9 and 7, my children are a good age for enjoying many activities and days out, and the need for me to be around for last minute corrections and purchases for the house limits the flexibility I would like for doing such things with them. Despite the grey cloud of five weeks looming, I do love my kids and recognise this is precious time with them, time that I will never recoup.

I have no doubt we'll manage to squeeze something in other than trips to IKEA. But I am - now - looking forward to next summer when I will be in control, not the builders or removal men!

Dear Blog,

Sorry not to have called by for a while. It is quite scary how much time the house refurbishment takes up. Combine that with children that will insist on attention, clothes that pile up demanding to be washed, end of term activities and celebrations and a husband working so, so hard and - well, you get my absenteeism.

Please forgive me. I still love you.

I'm sorry I haven't had chance to tell you about the debacle over my daughter's report. Nor about the magnificent rendition of 'Bright Eyes' on the trombone by my son. Nor the BMB meet-up in Manchester last week. Nor the builders' optimism about finishing the job on time.

I haven't told you about the book's progress: how it is loved by my writing group but nearly annihilated by others. I haven't managed to write about orange albinism (inspired by the story of the black couple who gave birth to a white baby) nor wax lyrical about the beauties of St Andrews (aside from the golf). I haven't entered the writing competitions that I planned too, nor read the books that are piling up in my bedroom.

I haven't shared all the exciting things we're going to do during our summer holidays. We're moving house. We hope. (Well, now I have shared all the exciting things we're going to do during our summer holidays...)

Don't despair: I'll be back imminently with tales of family laughter and woe. Just not last week. And maybe not next week, but who knows?

With love,

Catharine

Tied to the apron strings? I think not!

Last weekend my daughter went on Brownie Camp. This was her first time away with friends, rather than staying with grandparents or for a sleepover. Her mother (that is, me!) was all fretful and concerned.

She bounced into the place they were staying and squeaked and squealed with excitement over her bed, the drawer and shelf she could put things on. (She does have these things at home as well!) She was delighted to be sharing with some older girls and another girl in her year. She rushed around, finding out about the facilities and showing the girls who arrived just moments later what there was available.

I decided to leave after she ran past me at great speed shouting, "Bye mum!" with barely a glance. I know when I'm not needed!

Being mum, I did spend much of the peaceful weekend without her worrying. Was she okay? Did she talk with friends? Would she manage to keep up with the other girls? Would she be laughed at, teased, ridiculed? Did she eat what she was given? Has she cried herself to sleep or (for that matter) has she slept at all?

She almost paid attention to me when I returned to pick her up, although chatting to her roommate was more interesting than helping me pack and collect everything. Eventually I got a chance to talk with her.

"I missed you!" I said, giving her a kiss.

She smiled. "Where were you?" she asked.

"At home," I replied.

"Oh. I did wonder," she said ... and promptly fell asleep in the car.