Do children read The Prisoner of Zenda any more? If not, why not? It's GREAT!
A year or so ago I decided that I didn't want to read (or re-read) any of the books at the beach, so I took myself to the little bookshop in Whitstable for a peruse. And there, sitting on a shelf, with a rather natty red livery, was The Prisoner of Zenda. My original copy is a paperback Puffin Classic, well thumbed and covered in food and hot chocolate stains. I am a neater reader now, if nothing else.
This is the basic story. Rudolf Rassendyll, rich young layabout, takes himself off to Ruritania for a holiday. While there, he happens upon the man who is about to be crowned King (as you do) and AMAZING! they could be twins. They have a great meal and lots of wine and in the morning the King is gone! Shock, horror, but he's meant to be crowned today and if he's not his evil half-brother Black Michael will usurp the throne and darkness will descend.
So Rudolf shaves off his beard and is crowned in the King's place. Michael, who has of course kidnapped the King, is not happy. Chuck in a beautiful Princess, a dastardly blackguard, two faithful helpers, lots of gun and sword battles and an utterly FANTABULOUS denouement and you have one of the best action stories ever ever ever.
This is probably why there have been two movies - with Douglas Fairbanks in one, and Stewart Granger in the other. It's hard to say which is the better, but Deborah Kerr plays the Princess in the latter and my feelings for Deborah Kerr are well known, so...
Anthony Hope (Sir Anthony Hope Hawkins to you) was a bit of a Stella Gibbons - he wrote lots of books but is most famous for one overwhelming stroke of genius.
Don't sit about this Christmas waiting for the tellybox to provide entertainment and excitement, pick up a copy of The Prisoner of Zenda and immerse yourself in the most buckling swash of all time.
Wednesday, 21 December 2011
221. The End is Nigh
At 5.30 this evening I will be FREE! freefreefree!
I'm going to get my thatch made into something bearable, so that Herself stops looking at me strangely. Poor woman, she puts up with enough, without me turning into some kind of neanderthal woman - rubbish hair, rubbish eyebrows, strange skin. Got to GET IT TOGETHER. Take a leaf out of my dear departed Granny's book.
I'm going to bake a Santiago Tart. Apparently you have to GRATE the pastry. Should be interesting.
I'm going to make the Christmas gravy. Chicken wings. That's all I'm saying.
I discovered that some little stocking gifts I bought were not fit for purpose, so I have to do some extra shopping.
I'm going to make the Hound some festive neck-wear, so she feels involved.
I'm going to make cheese palmiers and that scrummy cheesey dip with the caraway seeds.
I'm going to enjoy Christmas.
And then I'm going to Suffolk, where I will write, run and relax.
FREEDOM! I won't let you down.
I'm going to get my thatch made into something bearable, so that Herself stops looking at me strangely. Poor woman, she puts up with enough, without me turning into some kind of neanderthal woman - rubbish hair, rubbish eyebrows, strange skin. Got to GET IT TOGETHER. Take a leaf out of my dear departed Granny's book.
I'm going to bake a Santiago Tart. Apparently you have to GRATE the pastry. Should be interesting.
I'm going to make the Christmas gravy. Chicken wings. That's all I'm saying.
I discovered that some little stocking gifts I bought were not fit for purpose, so I have to do some extra shopping.
I'm going to make the Hound some festive neck-wear, so she feels involved.
I'm going to make cheese palmiers and that scrummy cheesey dip with the caraway seeds.
I'm going to enjoy Christmas.
And then I'm going to Suffolk, where I will write, run and relax.
FREEDOM! I won't let you down.
Friday, 16 December 2011
220. One for you, One for me
Westfield shopping centre, London. 09.20 hours, Thursday 15th December 2011.
It's just me, the cleaners and the security guards. I dredge the recesses of my memory for the location of the wonderfully huge branch of UniQlo I plundered so successfully last year, and am literally the first person in the shop. And this is how it went:
"Tights for her, t-shirt for me. T-shirt for him, cashmere cardigan for me. Gloves for him, another T-shirt for me. Ooh, this is fun. This is what Christmas should be about! Shirt for her, thermal leggings for me..."
I continued this excellent policy for much of the rest of the day, and got home with an empty bank account and a smile on my face. I can highly recommend it. After all, you know as well as I do that at least 65% of your Christmas presents are going to be dull, tacky, useless or all three, so why not avoid disappointment by treating yourself to something you know you'll really like? One for you, one for me.
It's just me, the cleaners and the security guards. I dredge the recesses of my memory for the location of the wonderfully huge branch of UniQlo I plundered so successfully last year, and am literally the first person in the shop. And this is how it went:
"Tights for her, t-shirt for me. T-shirt for him, cashmere cardigan for me. Gloves for him, another T-shirt for me. Ooh, this is fun. This is what Christmas should be about! Shirt for her, thermal leggings for me..."
I continued this excellent policy for much of the rest of the day, and got home with an empty bank account and a smile on my face. I can highly recommend it. After all, you know as well as I do that at least 65% of your Christmas presents are going to be dull, tacky, useless or all three, so why not avoid disappointment by treating yourself to something you know you'll really like? One for you, one for me.
Wednesday, 14 December 2011
219. A Sneaky Morning Off
The suits haven't come to brief me, so I've had the morning off. Shhh. It's great when that happens, particularly when I've been working hard and am a bit grumpy. I catch up on all the blogs and other e-phemera I like reading, whizz around the internet following various unconnected trains of thought and usually spend at least £15 on books and music.
Then I catch up on my own blog (hence three entries in ten minutes) and enjoy the feeling of rolling that little ball of guilt off my shoulders.
Today I have also had a couple of good ideas for my Christmas present shopping trip tomorrow.
I should go and offer my services to the general writing pool - and maybe I will. In a minute...
Then I catch up on my own blog (hence three entries in ten minutes) and enjoy the feeling of rolling that little ball of guilt off my shoulders.
Today I have also had a couple of good ideas for my Christmas present shopping trip tomorrow.
I should go and offer my services to the general writing pool - and maybe I will. In a minute...
218. Christmas Movies
Now, we all know that I've got rubbish taste in everything but books, birds and bowwows, and that extends to Christmas movies, too. I've been making a list of the films I've got to watch in the next three weeks or miss my annual chance, and they are:
1) Love, Actually
2) Elf
3) Santa Claus - the Movie
4) Miracle on 34th Street (the modern one)
5) Scrooge (with Alastair Sim)
6) "Merry Christmas you old Building and Loan"
7) Great Expectations (the David Lean one)
But there's reading to be done, too. Christmas is when the best writing for children really comes into its own, so this time every year I have to read John Masefield's The Box of Delights and Susan Cooper's The Dark is Rising (see previous blog post).
Ooh, fun! I'm excited now...
1) Love, Actually
2) Elf
3) Santa Claus - the Movie
4) Miracle on 34th Street (the modern one)
5) Scrooge (with Alastair Sim)
6) "Merry Christmas you old Building and Loan"
7) Great Expectations (the David Lean one)
But there's reading to be done, too. Christmas is when the best writing for children really comes into its own, so this time every year I have to read John Masefield's The Box of Delights and Susan Cooper's The Dark is Rising (see previous blog post).
Ooh, fun! I'm excited now...
217. Christmas Quality Street
Before you get excited, there isn't a special variety of Quality Street for Christmas. Sorry for any confusion. I am referring to the tin of Quality Street that we buy at Christmas because it's the only time in the year that Herself allows such edible indulgence.
I bought our tin last Saturday, the same day the tree went up. And those two events in conjunction made me feel Christmassy for the first time this year. It's partly because Herself loves the tree thing so much. I was allowed to carry the tree up the stairs, and hold it while she put up its stand. I was allowed to help with the lights , and I put a few baubles on too. Then the little face was too much so she took over and moved all my baubles. But I don't mind. She has made our pikey little £15 tree from Faversham look really pretty.
Last night Herself was out, so I put on the Christmas tree lights, arranged the woollen rug over my ancient knees, tucked the dog into one side and the Quality Street into the other, and put on The Vicar of Dibley from my Complete Collection on DVD. Bliss.
I bought our tin last Saturday, the same day the tree went up. And those two events in conjunction made me feel Christmassy for the first time this year. It's partly because Herself loves the tree thing so much. I was allowed to carry the tree up the stairs, and hold it while she put up its stand. I was allowed to help with the lights , and I put a few baubles on too. Then the little face was too much so she took over and moved all my baubles. But I don't mind. She has made our pikey little £15 tree from Faversham look really pretty.
Last night Herself was out, so I put on the Christmas tree lights, arranged the woollen rug over my ancient knees, tucked the dog into one side and the Quality Street into the other, and put on The Vicar of Dibley from my Complete Collection on DVD. Bliss.
Tuesday, 6 December 2011
216. The Pursuit of Love
A friend asked me to name my favourite book yesterday. I blinked. So she relented and asked me for my three favourite books. I"ve been thinking about it, but I'm not ready to commit yet.
One of the contenders, however, has to be The Pursuit of Love. Nancy Mitford has been described as 'literary Marmite' - a sobriquet I repeat here only to hint at the unbreachable gap between likers and haters. But I am my mother's only daughter, so I am a Liker with a big 'L'. I think if I had not been a liker the unbreachable gap would have been between me and my mother. Perish the thought.
I think I was 15 or so when I first read The Pursuit of Love and although I thought it was very funny I missed the point of most of the second half of the novel. When I re-read it now, however, I can see the darkness, as well as the light. But the early part of the story, when the children are young, is still my favourite. Some of the best jokes I have ever read cluster together in the pages of The Pursuit of Love. But its reach extends further than that...
I was thinking about William Fiennes the other day - another writer I like very much. His father is Lord Saye and Sele, and I was pondering if that made William an Hon. 'He's a triffic Hon' I said to myself, without pause.
I'm a sad geek - we all know that - but it made me laugh to go from English rules of primogeniture to the young Radletts clustered in the Hons cupboard. My walk through the cemetery is enlivened by these things.
Whether you like her, or loathe her, Nancy was an admirably good writer. The characters come up off the page in a way that makes me want to spit with jealousy, but the novels are tightly plotted too - nothing is wasted. Those who dismiss her writing as posh froth aren't paying attention.
So I'm struggling on with my 'Top Three' and it may well be that The Pursuit of Love will make the cut. In the meantime, I am enjoying what I consider to be essential research - a few evenings spent in the company of Nancy Mitford and her world.
One of the contenders, however, has to be The Pursuit of Love. Nancy Mitford has been described as 'literary Marmite' - a sobriquet I repeat here only to hint at the unbreachable gap between likers and haters. But I am my mother's only daughter, so I am a Liker with a big 'L'. I think if I had not been a liker the unbreachable gap would have been between me and my mother. Perish the thought.
I think I was 15 or so when I first read The Pursuit of Love and although I thought it was very funny I missed the point of most of the second half of the novel. When I re-read it now, however, I can see the darkness, as well as the light. But the early part of the story, when the children are young, is still my favourite. Some of the best jokes I have ever read cluster together in the pages of The Pursuit of Love. But its reach extends further than that...
I was thinking about William Fiennes the other day - another writer I like very much. His father is Lord Saye and Sele, and I was pondering if that made William an Hon. 'He's a triffic Hon' I said to myself, without pause.
I'm a sad geek - we all know that - but it made me laugh to go from English rules of primogeniture to the young Radletts clustered in the Hons cupboard. My walk through the cemetery is enlivened by these things.
Whether you like her, or loathe her, Nancy was an admirably good writer. The characters come up off the page in a way that makes me want to spit with jealousy, but the novels are tightly plotted too - nothing is wasted. Those who dismiss her writing as posh froth aren't paying attention.
So I'm struggling on with my 'Top Three' and it may well be that The Pursuit of Love will make the cut. In the meantime, I am enjoying what I consider to be essential research - a few evenings spent in the company of Nancy Mitford and her world.
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