Cor luv-a-duck

I've just adopted a duck!
I know, I know - you'd think I have enough bills to deal with. (Groan.)

Anyway, this is the very best of causes.
I've mentioned before that I have a friend who runs a charity called ALD Life.
Her younger son has recently had a bone marrow transplant to prevent the progression of the disease.
(You can read about his older brother here.)

Yet she still finds time and energy to fundraise for the charity.
Her latest initiative has been to join in the Great British Duck Race.
On 31st August, up to 250,000 rubber ducks will float down the Thames to set a new world record and raise £££ for charities.

If you'd like to adopt a duck and help raise money for ALD Life, you can do so here.

How bad can you get?

On the subject of 'so bad, it's great', have you seen the results of the 26th Bulwer-Lytton contest for ghastly first liners?

You think it's easy to be this bad?

Done and Dusty

So that's the Oh-Limp-Ix over with for another 4 years then.

Inevitably, living in a family of sports nuts, I caught occasional glimpses of the action during the last fortnight.
Enough to see that it's as much about personal endeavour (triumph over adversity, ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances, yada yada ...) as it is about sporting prowess and national pride.

And I saw a little of the closing ceremony, which was as spectacular as you might expect for an event costing several squillion quid.

I heard the commentators gushing about the 'passionate words' being sung.
So I listened:

Beijing, Beijing,
We like Beijing.
Beijing, Beijing,
We like Beijing.

Passionate? Now I don't know about you, but I prefer a bit more ... er ... passion in my passion.
Anyway, I've come up with a suggestion for a second verse:

Beijing, Beijing,
It is quite nice.
Beijing, Beijing,
Let's say it twice.

So what's next for 2012?
Howzabout this?

London, London,
Jump on the bus.
London, London,
We'll make a fuss.

Whaddya reckon? Are you inspired? Uplifted?
Is it passionate enough for you?

Feel free to add your own submissions in the comments box.

PS: It wasn't all sunshine and laughter.

Normal service has been resumed

Summer 2008, eh?
It's been wet.
Very wet.

During our time in Cornwall, we squeezed in a single day shivering on the beach.

But ...
... there were trips to Lands End, the Lizard, Penzance, Falmouth, the aptly-named Eden Project (where I've always wanted to go and it certainly fulfilled expectations).


Then there was a damp forest picnic ...


and a walk to the cliffs ...


... And pasties to be consumed ...


... And a hefty dollop of Cornish culture in the shape of a night spent grooving at a Four Tons of Funk gig.
(This latter was so far removed from my cultural frames of reference it's hard to describe.
Suffice to say we were conspicuous for being among the very few people NOT wearing dayglo Afro wigs, psychedelic stretch nylon mini skirts or flares and massive heels exceeded only by the length of diamante-encrusted false eyelashes.)

Oh, and I had an evening jamming with Minx's samba band while da boyz watched the Oh-Limp-Ix.

But best of all were the late, late, very late nights spent with the Magical Minx, putting the world to rights.
(Unfortunately, the world seems determined to ignore our efforts, but we're not giving up.)

So it's been wet, yes.
But definitely not a wash-out.

And there's still another couple of weeks of holiday left.
The forecast is ... wet.

But we have plans.

All our bags are packed ...

... and we're ready to go.

First Born now has what I'd describe as a bubble cut. All bouncy curls ...
And Little Guy has morphed into Peter Petrelli.

Somehow he persuaded me to dye his hair black as well as cut it.
He said he wants to be an Emo.


I told him he should forge his own style.
He said he has, cos he doesn't self-harm.
And anyway, he's really a Goth Hippy Rock Skater.

Sigh ... the dye is my attempt at compromise ...

And I can also guilt trip him by showing the stains on my nails and jeans (while hoping he doesn't suss it's my fault for not taking them off).

Meddling with the medals

So the Olympics are here.
Sigh ...

How did I find myself in this sports-mad family when I even lost the losers' race in my primary school?

And when I talk about the politics ...
... 3 pairs of ears simultaneously close ...
... 3 pairs of hands simultaneously cover said ears ...
... and 3 mouths simultaneously yell, 'Killjoy!'
... swiftly followed by 'What's for supper? It's hard work lying on this settee watching other people sweat.'

I know I'm not the only one to care about the issues.

And here's the proof ...

Dear friends, As the Beijing Olympics begin, the world looks on with mixed emotions. It's a moment which should bring us closer together, and Chinese citizens deserve their excitement -- but the Chinese government still hasn't opened meaningful dialogue with the Dalai Lama, or changed its stance on Burma, Darfur and other pressing issues. The Dalai Lama's Olympic handshake is circling the world, headed for Beijing. Click below to see more and join the call for dialogue! CLICK HERE TO SHAKE HANDS Even worse, extremists in China are promoting the view that Olympic activism like ours is anti-Chinese. We can't stay silent, but we also can't let our efforts be abused to divide people. So what can we do? The answer comes from the Dalai Lama himself, in an unambiguous gesture of Olympic spirit and friendship: a handshake. It began in London, passed hand to hand by thousands of us -- now the handshake has gone online, and is criss-crossing the globe on its way to Beijing. All of us can join, Chinese and non-Chinese, and it comes with a promise: to hold ALL our governments accountable where they fall short, in Tibet, Iraq, Burma or beyond. We'll deliver our message in a bold media campaign in Hong Kong and around the world: Click below to see how the Olympic handshake started, sign up to join in, and watch it circle the globe -- http://www.avaaz.org/en/handshake The worldwide outcry has produced a little progress, but much resistance from Chinese officials so far. If we are to see advances not setbacks after the Games, we need to show both that our voices will never fall silent, and that our challenge is a positive one. We have one last chance to reclaim the spirit of the Olympics, with the message of friendship and dialogue we share with the Dalai Lama. The more people join the global handshake, the more powerful our message will be when it hits the Chinese and international media. "One World, One Dream" is an ideal that's bigger than the Olympics -- it's time for citizens around the world to take it back.

In short - people talking

Thought some of you might be interested in this:

We are looking for new short stories written by unknown authors which we hope to produce into free audio books narrated by professional British actors.

Peopletalk is a non-profit group, comprising British trained actors, writers, producers and documentary makers who have combined their expertise in order to provide a free internet audio book, anecdotal story and social history documentaries site.

What are you waiting for?
Remember - you heard about it here, so when it comes to the celebration party, save me a slice of gateau.

Now you see me, now you ...

Back for a brief breather.

Brighton was great.
A bit too much wandering round shops for my liking, but I try to go with the flow ...

Speaking of flowing, my fave day was spent at Cuckmere Meanders - and not just cos it sounds like a Yiddish curse.
(Kish mir in tuchus, anyone? No? Well, kiss my arse anyway.)

Back now with just enough time to type up a report, pay some bills, check emails, visit dad, cut both boys' hair (!!!) and repack before heading off for some quality love & light, Cornish style-ee.

Put the kettle on, Minx.

A brief break

We're off tomorrow here to spend some time with Gorgeous Goddaughter.

See you soon.

If you want to party in my comments box while I'm away, you're welcome.
But PLEASE tidy up afterwards.
It took me ages to scrape the chocolate off last time ...

The art of the scribe

What sort of life might you lead in a parallel universe?
I know what I would choose to be.
An archaeologist. Or, to be more, specific, an Egyptologist.

I've always felt drawn to Ancient Egypt.
I would love to travel down the Nile ...
... to walk on those same sands, under that same sun and gaze at the timeless features of images created thousands of years ago and to guess at their secrets.

In the meantime, over here in this universe, I've had to be content spending hours in The British Museum, imagining the hands that carved the flawless statues ... imagining the lives of the people they depict ...

Thanks to the power of fiction and the vivid imagination of one woman, I now have a clearer picture than ever before.

Allow me to explain.
Periodically, I receive emails from authors or their publicists asking me to review a particular book.
I've always sent a polite but firm refusal, explaining that I rarely publish reviews on my blog and only then when I have a close connection to either the author or the subject matter.

I received one such email a few months ago.
I was about to compose my standard response when the book's title caught my eye.
A single word.
A name.
Nefertiti.

Intrigued, I followed the links to Michelle Moran's site and blog.
And then emailed Michelle to tell her that I would be delighted to make an exception to my usual rule.


From the moment I held the book with its sumptuous cover I was drawn in, fascinated to learn more.
Narrated by Mutnodjmet, Nefertiti's younger sister, the book brings to life the period from 1351 BC to 1335 BC.
During those turbulent years, Nefertiti married Akhenaten, the Heretic King, bore him 6 daughters, presided over the virtual collapse of the once great kingdom, became Pharaoh in her own right, was widowed and finally died a violent death.

Michelle's rich evocative prose enables you to feel the desert heat, smell the herbs and spices and the sweet smell of death, taste the unfamiliar food and drink ...
Yet in terms of corruption and political intrigue, it seems little has changed in the last few thousand years.
The story of 2 very different sisters and the dynamics of their family life is likewise timeless.
The pacing is spot on and the dialogue positively crackles with authenticity, with only the very rare lapse into Americanisms.

Michelle quotes an Egyptian proverb:
To speak the name of the dead is to make them live again.

Nefertiti, that ancient icon of beauty and power, is a name familiar to most of us, but I doubt if many will have any real insight into her story and character, or be able to picture the times in which she lived.
Thanks to this book, that need be the case no longer.

I have the feeling Nefertiti would approve.

This scares the shift out of me ...

I don't know about you, but this video makes me want to run away and hide.

Too much.
Too fast.

(UK version here.)

I think I might have been Babel Fished

My Google alerts told me about this.

It looks like a blog ... sort of ... but it also looks spammy.
There are bits of me, my blog and site in there that look like they've been translated into another language and back again several times in a Chinese Whispersish style ...

Anyone got any ideas?

UPDATE:
AH I SEE!
THANKS TO PIERRE'S COMMENT I NOW KNOW I'VE BEEN SPLOGGED.
I SUPPOSE THERE'S A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING ...

No refuge from ignorance

Around the corner from where I live there's a refugee hostel in a converted church.
It provided the setting for some of the scenes in Trading Tatiana.

When I wrote the book, the system was very different from now.
In those days families would be housed there in flimsy adapted units for months at a time.
The children went to local schools, learned English, made friends ...
... and then disappeared without warning to be dispersed around the country or deported.

These days no one stays longer than a few days.
A fleet of mini-buses sits outside at all hours, moving lost and confused-looking people in and out like livestock.

I walked past yesterday.
3 guys were sitting on the steps outside talking quietly.
I looked into the eyes of a man who reminded me a bit of my brother and wondered what his story was.
What sights had he seen?
What had induced him to leave his home and seek refuge here?

I'd never seen him before.
He wouldn't have been there the previous day and he won't be there the next, when his place will be taken by another refugee with another story.

An elderly English couple was walking towards me.
'Just look at them hanging about,' the man grumbled. 'That's all they ever do. Just hang about ...'

Strange, isn't it?
We were looking in the same direction but seeing very different things.
I saw a fellow human being.
He saw a problem.
I saw a victim.
He saw a scrounger.

I wonder what that young man saw when he looked at us ...

Let the editor beware

Some writers are more sensitive than others.

Giles Coren was - um - very cross when someone removed the word 'a' from a review he'd written.

Yes, very cross indeed. See here for a copy of the letter he sent to complain.

See? Now that's what I call cross ...

(Thanks to Tommy at Toasting Napoleon for the link.)

Future imperfect

Is that a tense?
The concept makes me feel tense. Does that count?

I whinged about it here and moaned a bit more here.

But you just can't stop progress.

Because IT is here.

Spex appeal

One of the consequences of getting older is facing the inevitability of a certain choice:
you either get much longer arms ...
... or you get reading glasses.

I'm not vain but I can be quite lazy so I chose the latter rather than shift all my long-sleeve clothes to the summer end of the wardrobe.

In fact, I'm so 'not vain' that if I'm reading outdoors I wear my shades and my glasses.
(Another consequence of getting older is that you don't care so much about looking ridiculous.)

But there are disadvantages.
I don't lose my glasses that often but I do have an irritating tendency to lose the case.
You can hang your glasses round your neck on a chain, but you'd look really stupid if you did that with the case.
And where would you stop?
Keys? Wallet? Tissues? Bottle of water?
All ending up dangling from your neck?
You'd end up with a season ticket to the osteopath ...

A friend of mine has one of those chain things and also keeps a spare pair of glasses at work.
Trouble is, whenever she uses them she forgets they're not the ones on the chain and spends the day flinging them on the floor.

More often than not, I shove mine on top of my head and only occasionally forget they're there.

Last night I was saying goodnight to da boyz.
As I kissed and cuddled LG on the bottom bunk, my glasses tumbled from my head.
Somehow they shot behind his pillow and through the tiny gap between bed and wall.

What you have to bear in mind is that their room is cluttered.
Very cluttered.
Every square inch is taken up.
If you want to move anything of significance you have to shift everything in the entire room.

Suffice to say, it was over half an hour later when their light was eventually switched off and my specs, with new must-have cobweb accessories (it's the latest thing, darling) were returned to their rightful place on my nose.

Now, has anyone seen where I left the case?

Demonstrating the quality/quanitity conundrum

There's a blogger I know and love who posts rarely, but when she does ...

She can't do links.
She does strange things, creating new posts when I suspect they're all part of the same one.
Her sidebar has a mind of its own.
As do some of her photos ...

But her words ...

Ah ...
Her words have wings and will make you laugh, cry and gasp as you grapple with their profundity.

Check this out.

The Commitments

Right now, let's see ...

First we have the human ones: G, the boys, dad, extended family, friends ...

The there are the practical ones:

• my WIP
• editing
• blogging
• Bookarazzi and the forum
• EDWG (admin and co-ordination)
• Parents' forum at FB's school (secretary)
• Reading Connects Parents' Steering Group at same school
• Volunteer reading mentor at same (starts next term)
  
• job-sharing role of barmitzvah class teacher at our synagogue. (Complicated - I have no qualifications, experience or training, so I'm going to have to learn as I go along in order to stay one step ahead of the class ...)

The problem is that when I'm in the grip of my WIP (which sounds like something he'd be interested in - but isn't) all I want to do is write... write ... write ...

Blogging the life - and death - of Riley

How strange that I should have published this post about birth and death in the blogosphere just before the news came out that we have lost our oldest contributor.

Olive Riley started blogging last year at the age of 107.

(I mentioned her here back in Feb 07 when her first post was published.)
She published 70 posts giving a unique insight into the perspective of a woman born in 1899.

On one day in January 2008 the blog had 350,000 visitors.
In the days since she died, her blog has crashed, unable to carry the load.

Olive's voice reached around the globe and her words will live on in this amazing new world she became a part of.

And so goodbye, Olive Riley, and thanks for the memories.

Dan's the Man

Not all of us have births or other child-related rites of passage to celebrate.

For my mate Mait (Daniel Maitland, that is) there can be other types of creativity to shout about.

Dan's in my writers' group and is a talented novelist, short story writer, poet and musician.

Last week I went to the launch of his album, Rumours of a Nice Day, where he's pulled together his myriad skills and put them onto one lovely round shiny disc.

With elements of folk, blues, jazz and quintessential Dan-ness, the album is a worthy addition to any music-lover's CD rack.

You can check Dan's MySpace here to hear some of the tracks.
Then buy the album. And enjoy.

Blogging from the cradle to the grave

I've blogged before about the sadness of losing someone we have to come to know via the blogosphere.

Zinnia Cyclamen has written an insightful and important post about how we need to take into account the very real connections we make in this virtual reality and how we need to think about how to deal with our feelings when a blogger dies.

She links for example to Michael Thaler who started blogging in order to record his last months of life following his diagnosis of terminal cancer.

Yes. All life is here.

And so it's only fitting that we should also share in the joyous beginnings.

Followers of the blog by Clare Sudbery, prolific author and founder of the forum that led to Bookarazzi, will be aware of the ups and downs she has gone through over this last year or so, when she and her partner were trying for a 2nd baby.

We shared her devastation when she miscarried, with resonances for many of us who recalled similar experiences.
Then we went through the excitement and anxiety when she fell pregnant again, but suffered horribly with hyperemesis.
The baby was due on 7th July and we all held our collective breath.

She carried on blogging all through the long drawn-out labour.
And then yesterday ...

WELCOME TO THE WORLD, OSCAR!

And mega congrats to Clare, Ally and Felix.
Thanks for allowing us all to share the road.

I have impeccable taste

Way back in Dec 2006, I came to the conclusion that I had no choice ...
... I was going to have to find a way to supplement my writing income.

A month later, I reported that I had the answer, when I completed my first freelance appraisal.
Since then, I have done approx 2 edits a month - most of these have been for The Writers' Workshop, but I've also done a couple for The Literary Agent as well as some private ones.

It's ideal.
I have the ultimate flexibility - I can work on manuscripts wherever and whenever - on the tube going to dad, in the park on hot sunny days, lying on the settee at night after everyone else is in bed ...
And I can fit it in around the needs of the family and still go on school trips etc.
It's also helped to hone my own writing skills.
I can see when something isn't working, analyse the problem and come up with solutions.
I know I can make a real difference and feedback from grateful clients is always very satisfying.
I see my role as akin to that of a midwife, though my commitment often goes beyond the gestation period and birth of a final draft.

And sometimes, not often but sometimes, I read an MS that takes my breath away.
One that I know deserves to be published, even though I'm fully aware of the realities of attempting to get a book published these days.
(If you need convincing, see here and click the links back to the previous posts.)

In over 18 months, I have felt so strongly about 2 submissions that I have told the Writers' Workshop that, subject to any issues raised in my report being dealt with, I highly recommend the author.
What happens then is the MS receives a free read and if the reader agrees with me it will be pitched to one of the agents the Workshop has links with.

In the case of John Constable (no links though I'm trying to persuade him he needs a web presence) the book was a Chandleresque thriller, filled with witty one liners, a plausible plot and strong characters.
The Workshop agreed with me that the MS was well-written and strong.
Sadly, they felt that given the overcrowded nature of the crime market, John's book wasn't sufficiently different to be guaranteed success.

Nothing daunted, and armed with the knowledge that the people who make it are the ones who never give up, John began pitching to agents himself and meanwhile started working on a new book, into which I also had some input in the early stages.

I've just heard that this second book has been shortlisted for the Harry Bowling Prize.
You can see the full short list here.
The winner will be announced at an awards ceremony in September.

So - well done, John! I couldn't be more delighted for you that you are receiving the recognition you so richly deserve.
And well done, me - for spotting the potential of your writing.

Now - what can I do to persuade you to start a blog ...

Tatiana lives on

Sue Guiney (may the blessings of the blogoverse rain down upon her) has published a wonderful review of Trading Tatiana on her blog.

For the clickphobes among you, this is what she says:

One of the unexpected joys of becoming a part of this blogging world is the way I have met authors I might never have come across and have become familiar with their work.
One of these authors is the talented and funny, Debi Alper and one of those books is her novel, Trading Tatiana.
This is neither Debi's first nor most recent book (which is why I chose it, to be honest). It was published in 2004 and has everything a political crime thriller should have: drug-addicts, Eastern European thugs, S&M devotees, mysterious foreign women, oppressed single mothers, dangerous and ruthless men. It is fast-paced, expertly constructed, written with an acute eye for detail and facile use of language. In short, it was great fun to read. I, quite literally, couldn't put it down.
But there is something else about this book which makes it more than a terrific beach read and I believe it is the heart and soul of all of Debi's work and, probably, Debi herself. Trading Tatiana is steeped in the difficult political issues of our urban community back in the UK -- political asylum, the plight and exploitation of Ukrainian refugees, the abuse of women. It is about how one single person can change the world and be changed by it by refusing to turn a blind eye.
And so Trading Tatiana is more than "just" a great read with a terrific plot. It creates a world of living characters and forces them to do what so many of us "real" people refuse to do, namely, "the right thing." At the heart of this work is an investigation of the problems and power of political activism, and so Debi's work becomes not only exciting and captivating, but also challenging to us all, to the way we live our own lives and the roles we are willing to play in our own communities. An excellent find indeed!

The trouble with writing ...

When I'm immersed in my fictional world it can sometimes be very difficult to engage with the real world.

Today I was crossing London to see my dad.
Finding a corner seat on the tube, I grabbed my WIP and pen and found the words flowing faster than I could get them down.

Great, you might say.
And it was - except for one problem.

In spite of the signs on the platform ...
... and on the front of the train ...
... and inside the carriage ...
... and the electronic voice announcements re the next station and where the train would terminate ...
I not only got on the wrong branch of the Northern Line, but had also gone halfway to High Barnet before I realised.
Doh!

It doesn't end there, I'm afraid.
As soon as the tube came out of the tunnel, I phoned dad and told him I was on my way and not to eat lunch without me.
Aware I was running over half an hour late, I dashed out of the station, grabbed a copy of the Metro for dad and raced to his flat.

He wasn't there.
Double doh!

It's happened before and I prepared to scour the streets looking for him.
And where did I eventually find him?
At the station, that's where.
As soon as I'd called he walked to meet me.
I must have rushed straight past him.

In my defense, he must have missed me too.
His excuse is that he's 93.
Mine? I'm a writer, innit?

email schmemail

Apologies to JC (don't be silly, not that one) and anyone else who is wondering why I haven't replied to their emails.

Please check your settings as I've sent mail from different accounts and assume they are not getting through, though they don't bounce back.
I invariably reply to emails within 48 hrs of receipt, so if you don't hear from me, please assume my replies are going astray.

JC - I'm afraid I've misplaced your phone no to compound the problem ...

The youth of today ...

... have so much potential.

Given the right opportunities and encouragement, they are capable of mindblowing achievements.

Here's an example.
Remember I told you about the films First Born was involved in at school with Cineclub?
(See here and here.)

Today saw us back at the British Film Institute on the South Bank -
- one of the most prestigious venues in the country.

The cinema was packed full for the Silver Star awards - Cineclub's version of the Oscars.
Films were nominated in 8 different categories.
FB & friends' film was chosen from a host of other entries to be one of 11 schools nominated for the Cineclub choice award.

Considering this was their first ever film, the nomination is a massive credit to their ingenuity, talent, creativity and hard work.
In fact ALL the films were amazing.
A combination of the skills imparted by the Cineclub professionals, the commitment of the teachers who had given their time freely out of school hours and - most of all - the sheer breadth of imagination of these kids resulted in some staggering work.

Cineclub started in 2004 and since then has helped over 3500 young people to script, shoot and edit over 350 films, with the proviso that the students themselves take control of the whole process.

This is no patronising, lowest-common-denominator initiative.
The films produced are of a very high standard by any reckoning.
Cineclub itself is partnered by BFI, Film London and Empire magazine and the workers who facilitate the schools are all professionals working in the film industry as directors, scriptwriters etc.

And the schools themselves are not exclusive bastions of wealth and privilege -
- in fact some are among the roughest and toughest in the country.

FB's film didn't win the award, though we were told they were in the final 3.
You can see all the winners on the Cineclub site.

And if you haven't seen it already, you can see Retribution here.

Don't know what it signifies but ...

I have no idea how it got there, but it seems this post has been nominated for something or other and you can vote for it here if you feel so inclined ...

Debi recommends ...

This book by Joanna Czechowska.

Jo is a member of my writers' group. The book was originally published in Poland but had never been through an editing process and wasn't available in English.
Her publishers agreed to produce an English language edition.
When Jo asked me to do an appraisal, copy edit and proof read for her, I was only too delighted.
Why? Because it's a great book of course.

I was asked to provide a cover blurb - this is what I said:

Intelligently written, with a wry and gentle humour, The Black Madonna of Derby provides a vivid and topical insight into three generations of a Polish immigrant family as they struggle to find a balance between two cultures.

You can buy either version here.

Let's all run away and join the circus!

There can't be many people who are not captivated by the magic of the circus.

I know I am which is why there's a scene set at a circus in Trading Tatiana.

While some still operate on the old model of plastic smiles and performing animals, others have the imagination to come up with a new twist on an old theme.

One such visionary is Sarah Salway, who is involved with a novel and exciting concept.
Welcome to ... (drum roll, please)

The Tiny Circus.

Click here to see how it works,
here to check out the blog and follow the story as it unfolds,
and here to get involved yourself via the wiki.

Fun, or what?

BTW - did you know that John Major is reputed to be the only person to have run away from the circus to join a bank?

Is it fair to be free?

I keep saying 'free trade' when I mean 'fair trade'.
It's an easy mistake to make.
Freedom, it seems, is in the eye of the beholder.

Some of you may know that I was privileged to live on and off in Grenada between 1982-6.
I originally went because I wanted to contribute in any way I possibly could to the Grenadian revolution.

One of the most visible aspects of the revo was the hand-painted billboards all round the island, portraying strong and positive images and with messages extolling equality and collective responsibility.
They were inspiring and uplifting - such a change for those of us accustomed to being bombarded by advertising hoardings exhorting us to buy the latest must-have products and services.

When you came off the plane at the tiny Pearls airport, one of the first things you saw was one of these billboards saying Welcome to Free Grenada.

On 19th October 1983, there was a disastrous and devastating coup, followed on the 25th by a US invasion.

(Ancient history now, I know.
You can find details and background to the revo, coup and invasion here.)

One of the first things the Americans did was rip down all the billboards.

They left the one at the airport though and simply covered up the word 'free'.

You said it, guys.

A highly technical post

So there was I complaining about being a techy twit when Emma Darwin pointed me in the direction of this video.
It seems I am not alone.

And just to prove how apt it is, I have no idea how to do that funny YouTube linky thingy that everyone else seems to have no problem with.

Zimbabwe - is there anything we can do?

Well apparently there is.

I've received this email from Avaaz.

Dear friends,

African leaders can still save Zimbabwe by holding an emergency summit to broker a legitimate government. Click below to join the call:

On Friday, 27th June, Zimbabwe will hold a cruel sham of a vote for President. The opposition Movement for Democratic Change has just withdrawn from the run-off -- not in concession of victory, rather in recognition that Mugabe's campaign of violence and terror has erased any hope for a democratic election.

But against the odds, hope survives. Amidst growing international pressure, Mugabe's ZANU-PF party and the opposition have entered private talks. A unity government may be possible yet.

The United Nations Security Council unanimously held on Monday that free and fair elections are now impossible in Zimbabwe. The UN Secretary-General spoke out. But it is African leaders, most of all Thabo Mbeki, who hold the key. Even Mugabe cannot cling to power without their cooperation. Today, we're launching an emergency campaign, petitioning these leaders to call an immediate summit, isolate Mugabe, and broker a legitimate government for Zimbabwe. Our call will be published in big newspaper advertisements in South Africa, Tanzania, Angola, and Mozambique this week -- click here to see the ads and endorse their message:

http://www.avaaz.org/en/save_zimbabwe/10.php?cl=101794013

Zimbabwe's neighbours supply its electricity and goods, and control the borders. Many Southern African leaders are already calling for the postponement of the election -- but there's a real danger that they will end up accepting this charade. This would be a grave miscalculation: if Mugabe succeeds in his de facto coup, Zimbabwe's implosion will accelerate, and chaos could spread throughout the region.

So our campaign will publicly name those African leaders who hold Mugabe's last remaining lifeline. If these leaders step up strongly now, they can convince enough of Mugabe's officials that change is coming one way or another -- and set the stage for Morgan Tsvangirai to lead a unity government to pull Zimbabwe back together.

Robert Mugabe saved Zimbabwe from colonialism. Now it's time for African leaders to save Zimbabwe from him.

Help us raise 250,000 voices this week, including a great roar from every country in Africa, to be delivered in an immediate multi-country ad campaign. Click to see the ads, sign, and then forward this to friends:

http://www.avaaz.org/en/save_zimbabwe/10.php?cl=101794013

With hope and determination,

Ben, Alice, Paul, Graziela, Mark, Ricken, Iain, Veronique, Pascal, and Milena -- the Avaaz.org team

PS: For more information and sources for the facts above, see:

Thabo Mbeki and the emergency talks for a settlement:
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/africa/article4200177.ece

United Nations Security Council declares free and fair elections "impossible":
http://www.reuters.com/article/topNews/idUSL2026827820080624

Elections going ahead despite MDC pull-out:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/7468849.stm

Mugabe: "Only God will remove me!"
http://www.thetimes.co.za/SpecialReports/Zimbabwe/Article.aspx?id=788598

Regional leaders criticizing Mugabe:
Tanzania's Kikwete - http://allafrica.com/stories/200806200336.html
Rwanda's Kagame - http://allafrica.com/stories/200806190003.html
Kenya's Odinga - http://allafrica.com/stories/200806190949.html
Uganda's Museveni - http://allafrica.com/stories/200806120016.html

An easy way to make a small difference

If demonstrations, petitions etc are not your thing, there is an easy way to make a small difference.
You don't even have to look away from this screen.
A couple of clicks and someone somewhere gets a meal they otherwise wouldn't have had.

I've mentioned The Hunger Site and its sister sites before (check the tabs at the top of their page).
I automatically click in every time I log on.
It takes me a matter of seconds.

This month sees the 9th birthday of The Hunger Site.

Since June 1999, they have funded 573,000,000 cups of food!
Yep - that's not a typo - 573 MILLION cups of food ...

And all by people taking just a few seconds of their time to click on their site.

Books - the next chapter?

If I had to list my greatest loves in life (apart from human ones) books and coffee would be jostling for position at the top.

So how cool can the Espresso Book Machine be?
(See here for article in The Bookseller.)
And how cool can Blackwell bookshop be for pioneering its use in 60 stores around the country?

This is how it works:

• 1,000,000 titles
• fully bound, printed to library quality
• printed in 7 minutes while you wait

Now maybe I'm missing something (in which case I'm sure someone will let me know) but this looks like a win/win situation to me.
While bookshop shelves will still be fully stocked, the machine will enable customers to access a range of books comparable to those currently only available online.
(Yah boo sucks to Amazon.)

Obscure? Out of print? No problem.
Concerned about the environmental impact of book production? Just print the copies as they're requested.
Love the bookshop experience but hate not being able to get the book you want or at least having to wait for it to be ordered? Just punch it into the machine.
Frustrated as an author about the limited amount of time your book remains on the shelves? Can still be available years after publication.

Looks like a positive result for publishers, authors, booksellers, readers ...

River Reviews Tatiana

It's some time since Trading Tatiana was published, so it's great to know she's still attracting new readers.

It's even better when they go to the trouble of posting a review.
And better still when the review is as positive as this one from Riverwillow.

In case anyone is linkophobic, this is what she had to say:

Like Debi's previous book, Nirvana Bites, this book is set in South London and is full of local colour and we do end up back at the Nirvana Housing Co-op, which is wonderful. The book is fast and furious, Debi has a great sense of humour, the scene where Jo first meets Bare Botty Man's botty (you have to read this) is wonderful. What is also fantastic is that, as anyone who's met Debi or has read her blog knows, she has a very strong sense of social justice which comes across in this novel. If you can get your hands on a copy of this and read it, do, you will be entertained, terrified and ultimately moved.

Told you we could change the world!

Do you remember Meltem Avcil?
(See my posts here and here.)

Meltem personified the evil and inhuman practice prevalent in this country of treating vulnerable refugee children like unsolicited junk mail.

Yet Meltem was one of the lucky ones, comparatively speaking.
In spite of the appalling horrors she was forced to endure at the hands of uncaring politicians and bureaucrats, her case was widely publicised.

This week I received an email from PAIH, who had championed Meltem's case.

I am writing to you because you supported the campaign for Meltem Avcil to stay in the UK with her mum after the Home Office tried to deport her IN November 2007. I just want you to know that Meltem Avcil has now got indefinite leave to remain and is living in Newcastle with her mum. Meltem says she is dead grateful for all the help she got from you and from people in Doncaster, the UK and elsewhere. She is living in Newcastle with her mum and they are quite happy there. She is now at school in year 9 and is glad to be back at school although she misses Doncaster.

Thanks again for your help. If you would like to donate money to our campaigns or humanitarian work please go to www.paih.org – thanks!

Now, let me ask you a question.

Do you honestly believe that without the huge amount of public pressure brought to bear on the authorities Meltem would still be here?

You did that!

All of you who signed petitions, sent emails, publicised her plight on your blogs ...

We're privileged to have this power.
A small amount of time, effort and focus from us can actually save lives.

Knowing this, can we possibly justify NOT speaking out and acting when we hear of a case like Meltem's?

For an inspiring example of just how much difference ordinary people - people like you and me - can make, please watch this video.
It may make you cry.
It certainly left me in bits.
But our tears will help no one.

Watch and cry by all means ...
And then work out just what you can do to make a difference.

See here for the full Guardian article with more inspiring examples.

And here are just a few facts and figures:

There are between 283,500 and 450,000 failed asylum seekers in the UK.

At least 26,000 failed asylum seekers are destitute, living on Red Cross food parcels.
23,430 new claims for asylum were lodged in 2007 and 73% were refused.

Last year, 13,595 failed asylum seekers including their dependents were deported.

During 2006, 3,500 adults and 1,300 children were detained in dawn raids.

Around 27,000 people are put in detention centres every year.

There have been at least 12 suicides in detention centres.

The UK takes 3% of the worldwide refugee population and ranks 14th in the EU for the number of asylum applications

No one monitors what happens to people who are returned.

The Pipe Runneth Over

One of the things I missed out on during my absence was reporting back from the latest Pipe & Slippers.

This was the 3rd P&S event I've attended and it occurred to me that I've known at least one person in each of the (highly impressive) lineups.

First up was here, and Marie Phillips (fellow Bookarazzi buddy) was on stage as one of the eclectic and diverse performers.
Then here - blogmates John Ahearn and Barbara Smith (another Bookarazzi buddy) launched their poetry collections.
Most recently, Emma Darwin (also of Bookarazzi fame as well as living a few doors away from yours truly) read and so did Dan Maitland (who's in my writers' group).

The next P&S is scheduled for 7th Sept and is going to be a bit different this time.
The plan is to hold it in a marquee in Brockwell Park and call it Pipefest, or possibly Slipperstock.
The organisers promise it's going to be HUGE!

Once again someone close to home is scheduled to appear.
This time it's her.

Amazonian bullies

Amazon have been abusing their power - big time.

See here for a Bookarazzi article describing their disgusting bullying tactics.
Scroll down to the bottom of the post to see what you can do to stand up to the bullies in the corporate playground.

Bah!

Oooh, lookee here ...

My recent enforced absence from the blogosphere is the longest break I've taken (apart from hols) since I first started blogging.

I didn't even check my own blog during my absence, let alone anyone else's, going online only in brief bursts to check my emails.

I still have lots of catching up to do but have finally taken a peek at my stats.
I found a load of referrals from a site I didn't recognise.
And it seems that while my back was turned, this post was nominated as Post of the Week here, by none other than the fragrant floral one herself, Zinnia Cyclamen.
(Thanks, Zin.)

I haven't quite worked out the link yet (perhaps someone can help me?) but there seems to be a connection to this wonderful-sounding blog-related book, You're Not the Only One, with all profits going to Warchild.

Blimey! You turn your back for a moment and see what happens?
A fortnight in internet terms equals several months or even years in Real Life ...

G hits the (off) road

Remember way back here when G had to pull out of the marathon?

We held the sponsorship for SOS Africa over to the next event which was ...
yesterday at the North Downs 30K -
a grueling 18 miles cross-country run, which he completed with his usual style.
(Though with a limp as the terrain proved a real test for his ankle.)

Anyway, if you have already sponsored him, thank you.
And if you haven't - please go here and remind we why I don't mind getting up early on a Sunday morning to cheer him on!

SOS Africa is a very worthy cause.
Every penny donated will go directly towards helping those who need it most.
Hurry! Not long to go before the page closes.

The Party in Pictures

Dear First Born,

After we left the synagogue, G took you home and you crashed straight into bed.

Meanwhile, a small posse of wonderful friends joined me at the school.
We all worked flat out for 3 hrs, shifting tables and chairs, making salads, chopping fruit and laying out the food and drink.
(I love, LOVE, LOVE my friends ...)

We dashed back home with just enough time to change.
You were still in bed, exhausted and unable to move.

G and I had to dress you lying down.

When we got to the school, G and I made a short attempt to do the hosting meet-and-greet thingy.

Here we are looking like Little and Large.

Then you called me and wanted me near you, so the mother role took over from the hostessy one.



You kept saying how ill you felt.
You ate nothing, but drank several glasses of iced lemonade.

Meanwhile, I'm delighted to say everyone else seemed to be feasting and having fun.

My Fab Dad and Gorgeous Goddaughter

When it came to the speeches I peeled myself away from your side.
The content of my speech was pretty much the same as the open letter I sent to you, though I can't be sure as I spoke off the top of my head and from the bottom of my heart.

We had 5 different groups of friends performing live slots - this party was always going to be different - and then we got to the dancing.
First LG was hoisted up onto a chair, then me and then I looked over at you.
'He can handle it,' I said.
And so you too were lifted up to celebrate your coming of age.



When it came to the really wild dancing I kept checking over at you.



I could see you were a little more animated, talking and laughing with your friends.

2 of your glamorous friends

Then G and I found ourselves in the centre of the whirling masses.
Suddenly the crowd parted and there you were coming towards us with a huge grin on your face.
Someone found LG and for a few precious moments the 4 of us danced together, circling with our arms round each other's shoulders, with frequent changes of direction so you didn't get too dizzy.
It sounds like a shmaltzy Hollywood moment written like this.
But it was Our Moment and it was Real.

I don't have the full set of photos yet, but these are some that the Minxmeister sent (more here).

And now life goes on.
Today LG left for a week's stay on a farm in Dartmoor and I miss him already.

It ain't easy being a parent, but that's not something you would know about yet.

So just enjoy this time now - as an adult in Jewish law, a teenager in English law, but always and for ever my baby.
And I make the law in this house as you well know!

An open letter to my First Born

Dear First Born,

Well, we made it.
You made it.
Talk about taking it to the wire ...
Until literally the very last minute when you climbed the stairs onto the bimah, we didn't know what, if anything, you would be able to do.

Let's rewind a bit now that we have time to sit back and reflect on this amazing journey of yours.

In fact let's go back a year to here.
(I notice at that point you were half an inch shorter than me - you're now 2" taller than I am ...)
At every stage, we all felt that the portion that coincided with your Hebrew birthday was meant to be.
It's called Naso and the Sedra begins by dealing with the sons of Gershon.
Gershon is, of course, your dad's Hebrew name.
And the Haftorah?
Shimshon.
Samson.
Yes, my big, strong, long-haired son. How could we doubt this was meant to be?

Now let's fast forward to a couple of months ago.
When we arrived home carless from Cornwall, that was the point at which we realised you were struggling with your massive haftorah portion.
We told you that it would be fine if you only learned the first and last sentences.
That, along with the maftir and blessings, would be a huge achievement as far as we were concerned.

In typical FB fashion, it was at that point that something must have clicked in your brain and within a fortnight you had learned the whole thing!

So now let's fast forward to here.
LG got sick.
And then here - measles.

We had a few precious days, when LG was better and G and I had our bed back.
I kept looking at you.
You were so well - fit and strong - though we knew it was almost inevitable that the virus was lurking inside you, biding its time.

During the days we drank every positive drop and celebrated your English birthday in style.
There was no point in panicking - it was out of our hands.
I lay in bed each night though, calculating which days would be the worst for you to fall ill and what the consequences would be.
If it happened by x, you should have recovered sufficiently.
If it happened by y, you wouldn't have fallen ill yet.
If it happened by z, it would depend which day the rash came out ...

We needed to take into account, not just your own health, but also the period you would be contagious.
On the other hand, a point would arrive at which it would be too late to cancel ...

Then, exactly a week before the big day, you were prostrated by a crashing headache and dizziness.
More calculations - this time focusing on when the rash would break out.

On Sunday and Monday mornings, you woke up (in our bed - poor G had been relegated back to the bunk bed again) saying you felt better, but then felt ill again in the afternoons.

Monday pm the rash appeared, but not on your face as is the norm, but on your chest and legs.
Though poorly, you weren't nearly as ill as LG had been.
'Triumph!' we shouted. 'The homeopathy worked! The contagious period will be over by Saturday and though we've no doubt you won't be feeling your best, you should be well enough ...'

Poor deluded saps, eh?
On Wednesday, the rash exploded onto your face and spread across your body.
The fever raged.
Your headache was blinding, you were so dizzy you couldn't raise your head from the pillow.
Your eyes were streaming and bloodshot and your lips cracked and dry.
You had pains in your stomach reminiscent of the awful time a few years ago when you were diagnosed with Henoch Schonlein Purpura.

Meanwhile, this was the day after the last day it would have been possible to cancel.
The Health Authority were adamant that we should count the 5 day contagious period from the Monday, which meant that that wouldn't be an issue, but you were so ill ...

You couldn't be left of course, so G and I had to work out a system for the next few days.
He delivered everything in the car to the school where the party would be held and then came home.
I then walked there and worked to produce the food for the 150 guests.
I couldn't have done it without the help of the Amazing Grace at the school.
She was only supposed to show me round and make sure I had access to cookers, fridges, freezers etc, but in the event, she worked alongside me for hours at a time.

Back home, I spent every moment with you, sponging you down and trying to soothe you.

On the Wed and Thurs you could hardly speak, except to croak,
'Why me? Why is this happening to me?'
I told you I couldn't answer that question.
I said that you can plan and plan and plan, but that ultimately we can't control what life may throw at us.
All we can control is the way we respond.
I said that maybe you had been given this ordeal to handle, precisely because you're so special.

We gave you the option of postponing.
But you knew that would mean you wouldn't be able to do the portion you had struggled so hard to learn, as it only comes round once a year.
'It was meant to be that I would have that portion,' you rasped.
'If you believe that, then you must also believe that it's meant to be that you've become ill,' I told you.

On Thursday night, I took you to the toilet.
When you got up, you nearly passed out and G and I helped you back to bed where you fell prostrate.
But something had changed.
Your skin was no longer burning.
Your breathing was more regular and deeper.
I could see that you had just scaled the peak.
But would there be enough time to recover sufficiently for Saturday?

The next day, you were indeed a little better.
You could raise your head and speak a bit more.
Your sense of humour returned and with the easing of the illness, there was a teensy space for your determination to kick in, even though you hadn't eaten and had barely slept for 5 days.

In the evening, Minx and the Feckers arrived which was wonderful for the rest of us but to be honest probably didn't make that much difference to you as you were still in bed with the curtains closed.
'I hope I get a good night's sleep tonight,' you murmured.
'Me too, poppet,' I replied.

It wasn't though, was it?
Your skin reacted in its usual way and you were almost clawing it off with irritation.
Your eyes were so red and sore, you looked like I'd imagine Gollum would after a couple of millennia chain smoking and drinking.

And you were scared.
So scared that you were hallucinating.
I didn't panic - I could see this wasn't fever.
All I could do was use every trick I knew to try to calm you and help you relax.
In the event, I reckon we managed a maximum of a couple of hours twitchy sleep.

In the morning, G and I dressed you.
Your hair was matted and I pulled it back into a pony tail.
Even with your poor sore eyes, you looked stunning to me.

Your legs were buckling with exhaustion, weakness and dizziness.
We told you that whatever you managed to do would be an incredible triumph and not to feel you had to do more than you could physically handle.

And what did you do?
Every single part, that's what.
You didn't hold the Sefer Torah, which would have been far too heavy.
And you sat with the Rev's arm round you, rather than standing.
And your voice was so quiet.
But the synagogue was so silent I swear I could have heard your heartbeat.

Remember when I said earlier that we can't control what life may throw at us, only the way we respond?
Well, you responded with such strength of character, determination and maturity that every one of the 180+ people who watched you was overwhelmed.

Remember too when I said that maybe this had happened because you're special?
I really do think that.
Your achievement in learning and reciting your portion would have been amazing enough.
For you to do it in spite of those odds and in the face of such adversity takes you and your achievement onto a whole other level.

I'm not going to talk here about the party in the evening.
It deserves another whole letter on its own and I'll share it with everyone later with photos.

Meanwhile you're still unwell and lying on the settee complaining that I'm not with you.
I'll finish now and come and join you to watch some junk daytime tv.
You've certainly earned it!

Love and kisses from your very proud Mamma.

A teensy taster

Details to follow ...

Oh

It is measles.
It didn't follow the usual pattern and we couldn't see the tell-tale signs so had convinced ourselves LG had a feverish cold.
Then yesterday, the 5th day of him being ill, the rash erupted.

So here's the deal.
We can call it Numerology 2.

90% of non-immune people who come into contact with measles will contract it themselves.
The most contagious times are 4 days before the rash appears and 4 days after.
The incubation period is 10-14 days.
FB's barmitzvah is in 13 days.

In other words, the timing couldn't possibly be worse.

G has swapped beds with LG who's in with me.
We've managed to get hold of the homeopathic preventative remedy and are dosing up FB.
And we're all washing hands in a way that even Lady Macbeth would consider excessive.

All of which could well be a case of shutting stable doors long after the horse has buggered off.
There's nothing more we can do. Except wait.

I anticipate a barrage of criticism along the lines of us being irresponsible parents for not having had our children vaccinated.
But in spite of everything I still think that was the right decision.
(G's not so sure.)

In the meantime, you won't be seeing much of me on the blog for a while.
I have a sick child to care for.

She's back!

Have you noticed that the blogosphere has been a darker, dingier place these last few weeks?

Less colour, less life, less light ...

Just as I'd got to the point when I could no longer hold back the blog squatters, who were all set for a rave in her abandoned comments box ...

She's back!
And she's brighter and more beautiful than ever!

Welcome back, Minxy!

I need cloning

Many many (very many) years ago, a friend did some kind of aura analysis on me.
(No, I don't understand either.)

The only bit I remember was when he advised me, 'One Debi, not many'.
He was responding to the insight that I was too adaptable to whoever I happened to be with at the time and needed to work on developing a strong inner core.

As the years passed I managed to achieve that sense of self and learned how to maintain an ability to adapt while holding on to a fundamental Debiness.

The problem now is that one Debi is not enough.
I need cloning.
Let's see.
I need one Debi to stay home and administer cuddles, comfort and cold compresses to LG's fevered brow.
Then I need another to go to dad.
(I usually visit him at least twice a week, but by a bit of bad timing I haven't been for a week and Big Bro hasn't been able to make it either.)
A 3rd is required to finish the MS appraisal I'm working on.
A 4th can focus on the barmitzvah.
And while we're at it, I might as well have another to start work on Book 6.

Now, it's clear we also need one who can co-ordinate all the others while lying on the settee eating chocolate.
As the prototype, I think it only apt that I should volunteer for this role.

My baby's unwell

Little Guy is currently lying on my bed.
Measles is sweeping round the school felling all the kids who haven't had their MMR jab, though I don't know if that's what the problem is.
(Smell the fear!)

Barmitzvah preparations ... editing ... the progress of my writing career ...
It's at times like this that you know what the really important things in life are ...
ie the health of those you love.

Litbloggers of the world unite!

This is an excellent post about whether litbloggers have anything useful to say.

Thanks to Frank at Books Inq for passing it on.

Numerology

I know, I know.
Just because it's understandable that I should be totally obsessed about First Born's forthcoming barmitzvah, doesn't mean I should inflict it on all of you here.

But hey, it's my bloggy and I'll try if I want to ...

Let's break it down into numbers:

• 21 - number of barmitzvah-related Word docs on my laptop
  
• 7 - number of barmitzvah-related spreadsheets on my laptop
• 174 - number of people who have responded to invitation
• 17 - number of people who haven't responded but I suspect are coming
• 24 - number of people who haven't responded but I suspect are not coming
• 149 - number of people who have said they're coming to the synagogue service
• 157 - number of people who have said they're coming to the party
• 7 - number of people who have said they'd like to have a live music slot at the party
• 5 - number of weeks since we said FB didn't have to do the whole huge portion if he couldn't handle it - at which point everything clicked into place and he's going to do the lot after all.
  
• 3 - number of hours between the service and the party in which to get to the venue, set up and decorate the space, lay out the tables, set up the sound system, arrange the food etc, make the salads, change outfits ...
• 3 - number of weeks left before the big day!
• beyond number - number of wonderful friends who are supporting us. Couldn't do it without you, guys!
  

The poetry post

Poems, eh?
Truth is, I just can't create them.

I'm too verbose and lack the discipline to restrict my words.
Why write a few lines about something when you can write a whole book?
Or even a series?

But I knows what I likes and I likes what I know.
I have some wonderful poetry books on my shelf.
*waves at Barbara Smith and John Ahearn*

Anyway, First Born had to write a sonnet for his homework yesterday.
I don't know about you, but I reckon this is pretty impressive for a (not quite) 13 year old.

You were like a summer's day,

Warm and relaxing like the air;

So colourful red, blue and yellow but never gray.

Your skin was like velvet, smooth and fair.

When I was in trouble I knew to reach

For you would grab and hold on to me

Your hair was like the golden sand on the beach.

You were as unpredictable as the sea

And as mysterious as a cold misty night.

Like a secret spy under cover

You were stunning but hiding from the light;

I was so happy to be your lover.

I want to tell you before the door closes,

Your life was a shower of sweet red roses.

RIP

The long and the short of it

Elizabeth Baines (fellow member of Bookarazzi) aka Fiction Bitch is a wonderful writer and one of those people I've been happy to have moved from my virtual life into my real one.

But being clever and talented doesn't always mean you get the recognition you deserve.

So I'm absolutely delighted to announce that Elizabeth's beautifully crafted book of short stories, Balancing on the Edge of the World, has been long listed for the Frank O'Connor Short Story Award!

Way to go, Elizabeth. It couldn't happen to a nicer person.
I'm doing the reflected glory and basking thing here ...