I do apologise for the late arrival of this blog post, but life has been rather frantic of late. My main priority was returning the final edits of the second Alan Cadbury mystery, The Way, The Truth and The Dead. In case anyone should think that crowd-funders somehow have softer (I hesitate to say ‘lower’) editorial or production standards, than more conventional publishers, I should point out that Unbound are extremely rigorous – maybe because of this fear. So my Script Editor, Liz Garner, made me tighten up everybody’s motives and characters and now the Copy Editor has been through the manuscript with the proverbial fine-toothed comb. Some of the problems she raised have been hard to sort out:
‘If Alan is arriving at Weybridge by helicopter on Thursday, how come on p. 127 you said he was planning to meet Trixie in her flat for a curry-and-chips on that very day? And why was she naked? Seems a bit odd for a Thursday. And besides, on p. 42 he vowed he would never set foot in Surrey ever again, even if his life depended on it. I’m sorry, but I think you will have to sort this out.’
Copy editors’ comments can be damning, but they are always impeccably kind and polite: there is never so much as a hint that the author is/was a brain-dead cretin. Anyhow, after a full week of battling with my own inconsistencies, I’m out on the other side – and a little wiser, I hope.
The publicity people at Head of Zeus have been arranging a series of signings for my Stonehenge book. This week I’ll be spending a day in London visiting bookshops and signing stock copies. The day ends with a visit to the Hatchards (Piccadilly) Christmas Party, where I’ll get to meet readers and sign their books. I might also be able to get my chops around some mince pies and mulled wine. Those are the sort of gigs I really enjoy: people, food and drink!
I have also signed a contract with Penguin to write a short book based around the British landscape. I’ve taken a few weeks to find my way into it. Penguin want the book (provisional title: Sketches) to be personal, but they also expect some new and original ideas that will fire readers’ imaginations. After several sessions with my Editor at Penguin, Thomas Penn, I think we’ve now cracked it and the words are beginning to flow more naturally. I find it very difficult to write a book whose purpose I don’t fully understand. To put it another way: I have got to know roughly where I’m supposed to be heading, if I am to have any hope of getting there – or indeed anywhere! And that’s what really scares me about Donald Trump. There’s a limit to how far any politician can follow a philosophy of drift. Taking a Long View of his up-coming presidency (which this blog is meant to do), I have to say I am scared stiff. Trump and Brexit. Has the world gone mad?
When I get too depressed by the antics of populists1 or the stupid, rich and powerful, I increasingly take refuge in the garden. Maybe I’ll become a hermit, although not an ascetic. Like the Carthusians, my cell will feature a hatch through which Maisie will pass fresh oysters and glasses of Viognier (a grape that goes superbly with shellfish). But, and this isn’t something I’ve had to say of late, I digress. Let us now return to the garden, this autumn.
As we’ve already discussed, the Opening for the NGS was a great success, but as so often happens in gardening, the best-looking displays arrived late. In particular, the asters didn’t reach their full glory for at least another fortnight, and when they did flower, the display was stunning. Walking past them in the warm days of late September, you couldn’t help noticing that the air around and above them was literally alive and humming with bees. What a wonderful, peaceful sound that is. Here are two pictures of asters in the Long Border. You’ll have to imagine the bees.
The easterly, or pergola, end of the Long Border has a different colour scheme to the warmer tones of the seat end. Maisie can carry colours in her head to an extraordinary extent and can spot plants in garden centres that will blend with her plantings at home. I, on the other hand, always get colours wrong. So the plants I choose invariably clash with those around them, so have to be planted elsewhere – which can cause chaos. In her wisdom, Maisie has made the pergola end of the border, which is naturally shaded by the now very large black poplars nearby, a cooler colour area. Yellows, creams and whites predominate, with here and there splashes of something brighter – often in blue. This next picture shows how the cooler parts of the Long Border look in mid-autumn. I think this planting is superb in its subtlety.
Away from the set-piece Long Border, the expression of autumn colour can be gentler. I love this corner of the Rose Garden. Note also the leaves on the lawn. I absolutely detest those ear-splitting leaf-blowers that afflict large gardens and public spaces at this time of year. Surely autumn is meant to be about peace, reflection and mellow fruitfulness, and not that God-awful din? I bet Trump has a huge personal collection of the noisiest leaf-blowers.
The previous pictures were all taken in early October, but it is now mid-November and the autumn tints are in their last stages. Severe gales have helped thin out the leaves, too. This final picture of the Meadow still retains some strong colours, but there is also a slight hint of melancholy. Winter cannot be far away now. So let’s make the most of November. Next month is the season of digging and cutting back. I must wheel-barrow muck to the vegetable garden. Time to get busy!
1 My definition of a populist: someone who is prepared to do, write or proclaim anything that might get him or herself elected.