Tired and emotional r us.

I've just come back from no 4's leaver's assembly. Finally, after nine years of having children attending the infant's school, my servitude is over. What is more, I'm only going to have two schools to deal with next year, yay!

When no 1 started there, no 4 wasn't even thought of, so it does feel quite emotional saying goodbye. My early years at the school are a blur of fraughtness, double buggies, assemblies with babies on laps and toddlers on the floor and a generally bad tempered mindset. No 1 had a pretty disastrous start as her teacher went off on permanent sick leave halfway through the year (was it something she said?) and they had a host of supply teachers. At the time I wasn't much impressed with the way the school dealt with the situation and the lack of communication which was then forthcoming. For a long time, I wasn't all that impressed with the school fullstop but since no4 got there, it's been steadily on the up, and she has had a great run of it. Particularly this year, when she's had a really enthusiastic teacher, who together with the other Year 2 teacher has organised a great night walk on the common, a fabulous school trip which included pond dipping (luckily the lively boys in my group didn't get dipped), two brilliant school shows, and last Friday a Punch & Judy show (which I had to mainly miss as no 1 had her piano exam at the same time).

Hilariously, though no 4 is the noisiest of my children, the school keep telling me she is quiet, well behaved and looks after everyone else. So for those reasons, today, she was awarded a certificate for the girl in the class who had made the most impact, an honour never before given to one of my children. I had been prepared to blub at hearing One More Step Along the World I Go (I have NO idea how teachers can manage ever to get through that song in one piece), but I utterly disgraced myself for no 4's moment of glory instead.

The thing is, I am an inconsistent old cow. When nos 1&2 were in infants, especially, the daily grind was so bloody hard, I couldn't wait for it all to be over. And yet, now I'm finally here, of course I don't want it to end. Greedily, I want to keep hold of those fleeting moments of their childhood, as they run through my hands like so many particles of sand. Where, oh where have my babies gone? And why didn't I enjoy them more, while I had the time?

Like I said. Completely inconsistent.

If that's not bad enough, tomorrow I have to go through it all again for no 2. Who, having been totally sanguine about going on to secondary school, has spent the last year having a succession of "Year 6" moments, and is highly likely to lose the plot tomorrow, just as her big sister did two years ago. And to make it worse for her mother, I met two of her contemporaries in utero, in ante natal classes eleven years ago. No more babies, indeed...

Best take a big pack of hankies, I think...

Misdummer Madness

Mad Dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun apparently. Well Mad English Families also get stuck unexpectedly in thunderstorms in high exposed places...

Last night we went here to see them:

(The Saturdays, in case you didn't know). Alesha Dixon was also on after them.

Our plan was to be sneaky as only locals can be, and find a spot on the downs where we could hear the concert for free. (We did have a great evening three years ago watching Texas from the grandstand but at £22/a ticket it's a bit pricey for 6).

There have been other bands we could have seen: Status Quo on 4 July (Status, Who? said the offspring), and Bjorn Again last week. But we've been busy, and tired, and the kids only really wanted to see the Saturdays, so off we went at 8.30 last night, hoping for a Fun Family Outing...

Weather looks a bit ominous, I said as we piled into the car. Hmm... Five minutes later the heavens opened, and we arrived on the downs to a full scale thunderstorm, complete with forked lightning and everything. Of course, like eejits we were totally unprepared (in our defence it had been so hot earlier), and only had one umbrella between us. Do you think this is sensible? Spouse asked worriedly as the lightning seemed to be getting closer. Possibly not, was the response, though I did point out that the Grandstand is much higher then we were, so chances of getting struck perhaps lessened...

After five minutes trudging through the rain, we found ourselves in the tunnel which is the only crossing point of the racecourse when a race is on. This, it turned out was a very very bad move as hordes of hysterical teens were crowding the entrance, it was pitch black, and we got stuck trying to get out the other side. All sorts of horrible images were going through my mind, but luckily we emerged unscathed on the other side. Memo to self, never do that again in a rainstorm...

We then walked round to the finish line of the racecourse. By now we were all soaked through and freezing cold. Spouse was all for going home, but the two big ones wouldn't hear of it. So we geed up the little ones, and managed to keep them entertained long enough to witness the end of the last race of the evening. Despite having no clue as to who was running, or who won, it was till dead exciting to see the finish. We've watched the start of the Derby before now, but never watched the end of a race, and it was fab.

By now no3 had had enough and definitely wanted to go home, but we managed to persuade her to stay on long enough to watch the first song. I had thought maybe once the concert started the little ones would find it fun enough to forget their woes, but as soon as Spouse suggested going back to the car, they accepted with alacricity. So that left me, the two big ones, and an umbrella with a metal spike on it, which despite the height of the grandstand, was rather alarming as the lightning storm seemed to get ever nearer. The whole sky was lighting up at points, and before too long the rain was coming down in sheets again.

Having twisted my arm to listen to two more songs (which mainly consisted of covers, bo-o-oring), even the kids decided it was time to go. Luckily we were able to cross the racecourse without heading for the tunnel, but blimey. I didn't know it was possible to get wet in such a short time. Or how scary a five minute walk can be. Apart from the threat of lightning strikes, we also had poor visibility, cars coming at as from all directions and huge potential for skidding. In fact, when we got back in the car, and headed for home, Spouse nearly had sideon collision with an idiot who tried to cut across him as we came around a roundabout.

Luckily we got home in one piece, soaking wet, but perfectly fine. As (according to Spouse) the Officially Most Risk Averse Person in the World, I can do a fine line in worrying about the most risk free activities. But even I never imagined, how dangerous a trip to the downs could be...

A Room of Her Own

My lovely twin sister who often comments here as Mad Twin, has just started a blog of her own:
here. She's very kindly plugged me in one of her first posts, but you know all about me. So scroll own down to read Midwinter, a sample of her terrific writing. Also a brilliant evocation of our joint childhood. She neglected to mention, though, that after the party with the lion posters one of us was sick on the other one's head. Neither of us can remember which. We have a collective twinly memory where sometimes memories are held jointly between us and neither of us can lay claim to them. Yes. I know that's weird.

What's interesting though, is that though we certainly share stylistic tics with our writing, we also write about different things/in different genres/and respond differently to the same genetic memory. So we aren't, as our oldest brother always used to tell us, one person really. Very much two. Just came out of the same egg. Coincidentally, today.

So happy birthday Twin, and happy blogging too.

Torchwood: Children of Earth

You

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When Torchwood started, Spouse and I (and a zillion and one other Dr Who fans I suspect) were really excited. I was, it's true totally miffed when I discovered it was for grown ups, because the kids had all been so entranced by series 2 of Dr Who and knew all about Torchwood, and loved Captain Jack, and then I had to say, no, no kiddies, you can't watch it. I then blogged badtemperedly here, because I felt that Russell T Davies and co were being unfair to their young audience (I have to add the caveat that all my years in children's publishing pre Harry Potter has left me with a big chip on my shoulder about children's audiences being underestimated/ignored).

More importantly though, once we started watching, despite the presence of Captain Jack (who somehow isn't nearly as sexy in Torchwood as he is in Dr Who), a great theme tune and a wonderful concept, Torchwood never lived up to expectations. I found the obsessive shagging just tedious beyond belief (particularly the episode where Gwen bonked Owen - I know it's a given in rom com that characters who hate each other really love one another, but as at that point Gwen and Owen had shown no signs of sexual tension whatsoever, their bonk just didn't make proper narrative sense.), and the storylines in the main seemed silly. The characters were two dimensional, and I just simply didn't care enough about any of them. There were a few redeeming moments - I enjoyed the episode when Suzie came back from the dead and turned nasty, and I also quite liked the one when the people got trapped from the 30s and we got a glimpse that Owen was a bit more then just a shag monster. However, the grim warnings about the Dark coming for Jack never really amounted to much, and I had pretty much lost interest by the end of it all.

Series 2, I have to fess up to enjoying a bit more. I think we only started watching it because we just kept hoping it would be be better and in the main it was. I loved the episode with the spooky fairground which had elements of Ray Bradbury's Something Wicked this Way Comes about it, and Jack bringing Owen back from the dead was really interesting (though there was far too much knockabout comedy in his ability to have body parts knocked off. Just as well they killed him otherwise he'd have ended up like one of Terry Pratchett's Igors.)

The characterisation was better too. Gwen and Rhys' relationship was explored in more depth, and you began to see them as more rounded people, we got an explanation of why Owen is so hard hearted, and how Tosh came to be at Torchwood. We learnt more about Jack's background, and the storyline with his brother turned out to be very moving. Ianto was still the character I couldn't get along with though (although I did find the explanation of how he and Jack first got together very funny), and I didn't feel I knew very much about him.

All in all then, series 2 was a big improvement, and I thought the shocking ending with Tosh and Owen both dying was the first time that Torchwood lived up to its DrWhoForGrownUp credentials. Although, the flaw with it still in my view was that I just didn't care enough for Owen and Tosh dying - compared for example to how I felt at the end of series 4 of Dr Who and what happened to Donna.


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I have to confess therefore, that at the start of last week I wasn't holding out much hope for series 3 being any better then series 2. The general consensus among the folk I chat to about this kind of tv online is that Being Human was what Torchwood should have been, and no way could Torchwood match that.

Which just shows how wrong you can be. It's true that Torchwood in my view wasn't as good as BH (which is the best thing I've seen on TV for ever), but blimey. It ran it a very close second.
I really should have trusted Rusty more...

Episode one started with all the children in the world stopping at a specified time, and chanting We are coming. That in itself was a brilliant idea. So spooky and Midwich Cuckooish. Team Torchwood initially baffled by events, then discover an adult trapped in a mental asylum who is chanting same thing. Gwen despatched to empathise and pull suitable I feel your pain type faces (though, really Torchwood has such crap security. It was so easy for the bad guys to follow her), meanwhile it's clear that some kind of government cover up going on to do with an incident involving 12 kids in 1965, and pretty quickly Jack's name has come up on a list of people to be despatched. Quite who the shadowy government agency who were sent to do the job were (I was confused - I don't think they were UNIT), and how Torchwood doesn't know about them is typical of a lot of the sloppiness that characterises the series. However, that aside, the tension was being ramped up so splendidly, that for once I didn't have time to spot the holes in the plot, so gripped was I by what was happening. This in itself was a revelation. I have never ever felt that way about an episode of Torchwood, but I was on the edge of my seat, and thoroughly unprepared for the discovery that a) the doctor who had been apparently helping and I'd assumed was shaping up as Owen's replacement turned out to be spying on them for the baddies and b) Johnson the kick ass female head of the baddies planting a bomb in Jack's stomach.

What was great about this and subsequent episodes was that you were never ever sure if any of the characters were going to make it out alive. Jack being blown up? How the fuck does he get out of that? (Actually thought the solution that he regrew his body parts and then had an agonising reforming was rather neat myself). I also liked the fact that Jack and Ianto both had to face up to their ruthlessness when, needing children to find out what was happening they were both prepared to use children who were close to them (Ianto with his nephew and niece, Jack with his - totally unexpected - grandson). This, did we but know it hinted at the appalling decision Jack had to make in the final episode, but we were way off being prepared for that...

Unfortunately Tues/Wed last week saw me rather busy so I was frustratedly trying to ignore Twitter and the blogosphere so as not to get spoilered. And boy was I glad I managed it. On Thursday we sat down to watch the episodes we'd missed, and ended up seeing three back to back we were so gripped (not such a good idea to go to bed at 1am though...)

Episode two was just glorious. Suddenly suddenly I got the point of Ianto. I know, I know, diehard Torchwood fans will say he was always this good, but to me he just became a stonking great hero in this episode, in a way that he wasn't before. In fact he and Gwen were both revelations. I loved Gwen's bad ass shooting spree, and going on the run with Rhys. Fantastic. But best of all was the scene when Ianto turned up in a pick up truck to rescue Jack from his concrete block. I was practically cheering.

Meantime the message from the aliens who were taking over the children was that they were not only coming, but they were coming tomorrow. By episode 3 we were shocked to the core to discover that not only had their previous visit been covered up by the British government (Peter Capaldi's fine performance as the civil servant charged with sorting out the mess, and the sinister Mr Dekker played by Ian Gelder portrayed this beautifully), but oh my god. Another revelation of Jack's apparent ruthlessness. He was the person who gave the twelve children away, in order for the world to receive a flu vaccine which would save 25 million people. In the meantime, a pregnant Gwen has made contact with Lois, a temp working in Frobisher's office, which allows Torchwood visual access to the first meeting with the 456 (the alien is named after the radio frequency it communicates through). Leaving aside the relative ease with which a temp is able to access such sensitive information, Lois is shaping up to be a definite contender for Torchwood employee of the month should there be another series. And I loved the hideous cynicism of the government as they debated giving 10% of the nation's children to the 456. Eek. Horrible and you could imagine the justifcations of that so easily.

The fourth episode was possibly the best of the lot. With the government increasingly being painted into a corner, Jack and co resort to blackmail to try and ensure that they don't get away with it. Johnson has Jack's daughter and grandson, but Gwen and Rhys have the video evidence provided for them by Lois, which allows Jack and Ianto access to the 456 (who it turns out use the children as a drug, quite quite horrible). They make a stand agains the 456 in a swaggering macho gun toting display, only for it all to go horribly wrong as the 456 releases a deadly virus which kills everyone, except Jack. This was a truly shocking moment. Just as I'd fallen in love with Ianto he had to go and die on me. I felt sure till the very last minute he'd come round, or Jack would save him, but no. There he was at the start of episode 5 dead, dead, dead. (Please don't bring him back though Rusty. Heartbroken as I am it was such brilliant tv, you can't reverse that decision.)

Inevitably episode 5 felt a little flat. Apart from the fact Rusty isn't so good at tying the ends up, there was a little bit of a hiatus with Jack and Gwen both being so stunned by events they just gave up, and the first twenty minutes felt a little bit nothingy. Having said that, though, this is the first time I've seen a Rusty ending which really did keep me on my toes. From the moment when Frobisher realised that the evil bastard PM Green, who was trying to keep his own reputation squeaky clean, was going to insist that Frobisher's children were sacrificed to the 456, it became apparent that the gloves were off and anything could happen. As indeed it did...

Peter Capaldi's depiction of Frobisher was heartbreaking. All the way through he had become more and more morally compromised, and then having done all the dirty work, he had to pay a terrible price. The scene when he let his PA know that he wanted a gun was brilliantly understated, and the shooting of his wife and family off camera was just desperate. It wasn't the first tear jerking moment of the episode either. Gwen telling Rhys she'd abort the baby the world was so cruel was also terrible.

But the humdinger of course was the finale. With Gwen and Rhy fleeing the soldiers sent to capture the children they'd rescued, I had a moment where I thought, fuck, even they might die. It was brilliantly cut against Jack's horrific realisation that the only way to defeat the 456 was to use his grandson to send the 456 frequency back at them, even though in doing so Steven would die. It's the sort of dilemma, that in Doctor Who ends up with a now get out of that sleight of hand, which can often lead to an unsatisfying ending. But here, in the bravest bit of TV drama I've seen in a very very long time, Jack did what he had to, and lost his grandson in the process. It was appalling. Dreadful. But darkly brilliant too. The makers and writers of Torchwood are to be commended on that ending, because dark times would call for dark solutions and boy, that was one.

So now, having not cared much about Torchwood I am in the odd position of being desperate to see a series 4, although with Jack disappearing into space, and Gwen off to have a baby this may be a natural way to end. But if they do come back, I predict Rhys will be a house husband, so Gwen can work, Jack will return from a time travelling healing jaunt, and Lois will start as their secretary. They could probably use Johnson as kick ass sidekick too. She was very cool. Maybe Jack's daughter can find some healing in working there too. And they have to get Mickey in on the act, surely?

Whatever happens though, I hope this isn't the last we see of Torchwood, because in series 3 it feels for the first time as if this was how it was meant to be...

PS Anyone else think as I did that everytime the 456 thumped the glass it was lobbing children at the wall????

A Song for Friday

Just heard this on the radio, and realised this is one of my favourite falling in love songs, so I should probably use it, if not in this book, but one day. In the meantime, here's a song for Friday. I defy it not to cheer you up. Which is a bit
of an odd concept I know, with the Cure (I still think one of the funniest things on the Mary Whitehouse Experience was their pisstake of miserable Cure songs), but this really is fab.

Ok Can't resist.

Here are all the songs I mentioned. Enjoy...

Starting with Billy and White Wedding. Couldn't find the original, but the guitar on this is fab.





And here's a very old version of the Damned. A bit crackly but how I love that gothic camp!




Simple Minds doing a live version of Don't You Forget About Me





Pet Shop Boys also live doing Always on my Mind




Wire to Wire. You can have it again. I'm generous like that.




You Know I'm no Good. Amy Winehouse. Writes perfect how to fuck your life up songs.




One I forgot - also for Caz, Oh Daddy By Fleetwood Mac. God I love this song.




Go Your Own Way. Ultimate break up song. Enough said.



Gold Dirt Woman. Rumours was the best album ever. Discuss.



Songbird. See what I mean. And I haven't even included The Chain.



Man with the Child in his Eyes. Never sure about nutty old Kate Bush. But I do love this, and I don't know why.



Pure. Pure and simple all the time. Cos it just is.



And finally Hurt because it is so goddamned brilliant.

Music and Lyrics Part 3: Soundtracking the story

I have just accidentally deleted a very long post I was writing about this, which is deeply frustrating as I have spent ages explaining the way my odd mind works. Never mind. Let me start again...

I previously wrote two posts about how music inspires my writing here and here, but thanks to general busyness, haven't got round to writing about how I actually use it to create my stories.

The way I choose and use songs is a bit of an organic process, a little bit rambly and probably makes no sense to anyone but me, but here goes.

The first thing I'm looking for I suppose, is songs with emotional heart, the sort of songs that make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. This is obviously a very personal thing, and some of the songs that have that effect on me, may be different from your favourites, but as its the emotion I'm after, hopefully that shouldn't matter.

The current book I'm working on is about weddings. Given that I have now been married for nearly 20 years, it's a bit of a challenge to remember exactly how I felt when I was newly in love(though I can remember EXACTLY how I felt on my wedding day), so I've gone back to some songs from the soundtrack to my own courtship to help me reconnect with the emotions I think my characters should be feeling. The first song inevitably, I suppose is Billy Idol's White Wedding, I first heard it at a time when marriage was the farthest thing from my mind, but I was contemplating a long and lonely summer away from Spouse, so for me its always had a bitter sweet feel. And for two of my characters, unsure of the choices they've made, it's a perfect fit. I think it sums up particularly well that feeling of being on a rollercoaster ride which you can't get off, which I'm sure most brides experience in the run up to the wedding.

Hey little sister what have you done
Hey little sister who's the only one
Hey little sister who's your superman
Hey little sister who's the one you want
Hey little sister shot gun!

It's a nice day to start again
It's a nice day for a white wedding
It's a nice day to start again.

The next song is from this album by the Damned (ok, I just wanted an excuse to put up this very fine cover which I love).

I first heard Shadow of Love at the same period as the Billy Idol song. And without sounding too corny about it, I realised with a jolt that where I had been larking about and having fun before (I was ridiculously young when I met Spouse), I had actually fallen under the shadow of love, which made that parting even harder. I'm still not sure I'm going to use this song in this book, because it maybe too gothic, but I do love it. And for a punk band it is rather poetic.

The hour is late and you know that time waits for no-one
See the glow of the soul in her face
Then you know that you're caught in the shadow of love

A brief embrace and fear and restraint have all gone
Innocence burns, -yes a fire that burned all along
See the doors about to swing both ways
See the answer mirrored in her gaze
Then you know that you're caught in the shadow of love

As I'm sure is common for most people, the course of true love didn't run exactly smooth for us, so after that summer apart, Spouse and I split up, I thought at the time, forever (ha, little did I know!). When we finally got back together, we danced to Simple Minds Don't You Forget About Me, and I still cannot hear it without feeling a churning of emotions: excitement, fear, joy, anxiety all rolled into one, all of which I hope to use for all my characters at some point.

Don't You Forget About Me
Don't Don't Don't Don't
Don't You Forget About Me

Will you stand above me?
Look my way, never love me
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling
Down, down, down

A similar tale is attached to Always on my Mind by the Pet Shop Boys. When I finished uni, Spouse still had a year to go, and I headed off to the bright lights and big city genuinely unsure that we would make it through the year. That we did, in part, was a result of this song. We're all guilty of taking our loved ones for granted, and sometimes that's a difficult thing to admit. So this song is perfect for one of my characters who has a good marriage, but is keeping secrets from her husband.

Maybe I didnt treat you quite as good as I should
Maybe I didnt love you quite as often as I could
Little things I shouldve said and done, I never took the time
You were always on my mind
You were always on my mind

This book represents a bit of a first for me, in that it is very character led, and the plot is forming as I write, rather, then as is usual for me, plotting it out first. It is both a liberating and scary way to write, so I feel the need to know my characters more then I usually do. I've started with Caz, the most difficult and unlikeable character I've yet written, who I hope will be going on a redemptive journey. I had my eye on two Razorlight songs for Caz - Before I Fall to Pieces and In the Morning, which I still may yet use. But when I stumbled on Wire to Wire, which I burbled on about yesterday, I knew I'd found the key to Caz's character.

What is love but the strangest of feelings?
A sin you swallow for the rest of your life?
You`ve been looking for someone to believe in
To love you, until your eyes run dry

She lives on disillusion road
We go where the wild blood flows
On our bodies we share the same scar
Love me, wherever you are

As Caz also has a strong self destruct button she's also getting Amy Winehouse's You Know I'm No Good

I cheated myself
Like I knew I would
I told ya, I was trouble
You know that I'm no good

I'm still working out the rest of the songs, but thanks to a complete nostalgia blitz yesterday on Twitter yesterday(thanks fellow twitterers) about Fleetwood Mac Rumours (now there's an album built for stories about the broken hearted), I'm currently looking at: Go Your Own Way/Gold Dust Woman for Sarah whose marriage is in trouble and Songbird for Doris, the optmistic joyful heart of the story. Doris is also getting Pure by the Lightning Seeds

Nighttime slows, raindrops splash rainbows
Perhaps someone you know could sparkle and shine
As daydreams slide to colour from shadow
Picture the moonglow that dazzles my eyes
And I love you

Just lying, smiling in the dark
Shooting stars around your heart
Dreams come bouncing in your head
Pure and simple every time
Now, you're crying in your sleep
I wish you'd never learnt to weep
Don't sell the dreams you should be keeping
Pure and simple every time

I love that song. Such a simple but brilliant evocation of what it is to be in love.

Beth, my fourth character is the most tricky at the moment, as she is still a little in the shadows, but I'm currently thinking of Kate Bush's Man with the Child in his Eyes for her, though at this particular moment, I can't quite tell you why. That's another thing about this process. I don't always have all the answers. I just feel in my gut it's right.

And of course, I've mentioned before, Johnny Cash's Hurt is at the heart of the book, and though mainly Doris's song, it will be appropriate to all of them I feel.

Once I've worked out all the songs - and actually I can still throw in last minute ones, which I did in Last Christmas - I have them on my playlist on the computer. I often listen to the whole set while I'm fiddling about on twitter or on my blog, so that they are somewhere there embedded in my psyche, or in the case of Hurt, which in my head is very much like a soundtrack from a movie, I'll actually listen to it as I write the scene. This can be distracting sometimes, but in the case of such a powerful song I find it helps me really reach for the emotions I'm trying to portray. Whether or not I succeed in describing them is another matter of course, and that can be a frustrating part of the process for me, but hey, alot of writing is frustrating, so I can't waste too much time getting hung up about it.

When I've finished the book, other songs often occur to me as being more suitable, or just right for a particular scene or character (this happened with the character of Rob in Strictly Love who ended up with Robbie Williams Feel as his theme tune.) But what I usually find with the songs I've already chosen, is that I listen to them again as I rewrite the book, and this often helps me find an extra edge or depth to what I'm writing - at least I hope it does.

Like I say, it's an organic process, and it's one at the moment I'm just starting out on. And the best thing about it is, having really stalled badly with my writing of late, I've just discovered from my marathon Fleetwood Mac listening (and sharing with Twitter followers, particularly Marie) yesterday that music really does reenergise me and motivate me. So even if no one else notices the emotion, the fact that I've listened probably means I will finish the damned thing. Eventually...

Current song obsession...

... is this. It's Wire to Wire by Razorlight, and I love it. It perfectly describes one of my characters and the destructive nature of her relationships. Am struggling a bit with the writing at the moment as I am doing something very new and keep changing my mind about exactly which way I want to go. Then I listen to this and think what the hell? So long as I can capture this emotion it will be all right on the night... (of course if I can't, then I'm in trouble.)

The show must go on...

I mentioned here, that as usual in this manically busy time of year (it's worse then Christmas I tell you), that between the kids we have had to attend six shows, and they also have four music exams. My fault for allowing them to do extracurricular stuff I know, but they do love it (-:

No 1 spent the first half of last week singing in the chorus of the school production of The Boyfriend. Every other year the school put on a big show at the local theatre, so I spent a large part of last week dropping her off and picking her up from there. As this is also the same place where all of them do drama, I ended up there every day last week apart from Thursday, and on Saturday I think we managed about four trips back and forth.

On top of that no 4 ends her year in drama class with a little presentation, which took place on Wednesday evening, finishing at 5.45pm. No 1 had to be at the theatre for 6.30pm to get ready for the show at 7.30pm. This made a bit of a problem with regards to feeding offspring. So after some discussion, Spouse and I agreed on Tuesday that I'd grab a takeaway from McDonalds nearest the theatre which closes at 6, leave no 1 behind and come home. However, never let it be said that the course of a maniac mother's life should run smooth. Spouse texted me (this is still so novel, he's only just learnt how to use a mobile phone properly) to say he was in Wilkinson's. After no 4's performance, a slightly baffling story about the seaside, I rang him to say we were heading over to McDonald's. I should add here, that we have two McDonald's, the other being in the High Street. At some point in our discussions of the previous night, I had mooted (and discounted) the possibilty of us all eating there prior to the show. However, thanks to the overbusyness of life, and a classic piece of Marital Misunderstanding, where I had understood I would be buying takeaways from the nearer Macs, Spouse had understood the opposite. Which is how we came to be in two different places and had a Moment of Major Marital Dysfunciton causing no 1 to disown us entirely...

Having eventually hooked up, we left no 1 to the fun of backstage, dashed home, fed children, watered plants, put on washing and then came back. Domestic life is such bliss sometimes.

Due to information overload at some point (can't on earth think why), I had inadvertently ordered the wrong tickets to start with. This was not helped by the fact that no 1 managed to lose cheque and order form at school, so I had a very confusing conversation with the woman running the box office as to a) what I wanted (I had completely forgotten) and b) whether or not my cheque had been cashed. The upshot was that we got seats right at the back, which was quite possibly the hottest place in the theatre.

I have seen The Boyfriend once before, when my own school put it on, and couldn't remember anything about it. The plot is pretty lame (but I have been reliably informed it's a parody), about a rich girl searching for a boyfriend, but wanting him to love her for herself not her money, but the songs are quite jolly, and I recognised most of them. For a school production the quality of the performance was very high, especially as girls were playing male roles. Over the years I have sat through any number of dire dire school shows, so this was a lot more fun. But what impressed most, I think was the enthusiasm and energy of the kids. They were fantastic, and it was almost worth seeing for that alone. I wish I could have some of their energy again. (Oh, I can't, I'm all worn out, making sure my children get to their rehearsals on time (-:)

Boyfriend over, and no 1 pulled down from the huge high she's been on for days, it was time to think about the next show, which was one she was doing with her drama group. Friday found me back at the theatre again, dropping off nos 2&3 for rehearsal for their presentation on Saturday morning, collecting them and dropping off no 1, then going back at 10pm (yes I did say 10pm, I can feel the end of my social life for the next ten years fast approaching) to get no 1, after which I certainly did pour myself a very large drink.

Saturday morning I made the mistake of thinking we could still fit swimming in. My first mistake. We got into the car at 9.50, leaving us ten minutes to nip home to pick up the gear they needed for drama. I am quite prepared to think I had been told before Friday night, when the letter came home, that they needed to be wearing black leggings, tee-shirts, and jazz shoes/plimsolls, but quite frankly the way things have been round here lately, I'm lucky if I can remember what I had for breakfast five minutes ago, so I had completely forgotten to check out the situation viz a viz shoes. My second mistake. No 2 does have a pair of jazz shoes, but no 3 doesn't. She announced five minutes before swimming that she had left her plimsolls at home. Grr. We then got back from the pool to discover that no 2 couldn't find her jazz shoes. This may also have been my fault. In my manic cleaning for the Great Party, I have clearly put her jazz shoes somewhere so incredibly safe, I can no longer find them. That memory lapse thing falling usefully into play just at a point when my brain could do with a reboot. After ten minutes fruitless searching and another moment of Major Marital Dysfunction, we dropped them to the theatre twenty minutes late. Whoops.

Then it was back home AGAIN, with just enough time for a cup of tea, before whizzing back to the theatre (I am beginning to loathe the sight of it), where I left Spouse and no 4 to watch drama, while I took no 1 to her singing exam.

No 1 loves singing, and her singing teacher seems to think she's quite good at it. I do to, the little I've heard of her, because bafflingly, I don't EVER hear her sing. She's constantly on the piano, and not enough on the guitar, but while she clearly DOES practise her singing, as the singing teacher usually seems impressed, I have no idea when. Maybe she gets up in the middle of the night when we're all asleep. Anyway, practise or no, suddenly she was a gibbering wreck, so I had to sit her down in the sunshine and say, Look what's the worst that can happen? I couldsingmajorinsteadofminorforgetmywordsbeoutoftunemissthebeat she babbled incoherently. Right. And on a scale of 1 to 10 this is how likely? No 1 seems to need me less and less, so it was nice for once to think she wanted advice from her mother...

I have no idea how it went, other then that she thought she'd done two songs better then anticipated, but at least it's now over and we don't have to worry about singing again till the autumn. Fortuitously we were able to hook up with Spouse and the others who'd finished at more or less the same time, and after a bit of necessary food shopping, we hopped home for lunch, before I was out again to take no 1 to her rehearsal and no 4 to a football party. Yes. I know she's a girl, but all her mates bar about two are boys, and sometimes she thinks she is too.

At that point I did collapse on the sofa and paid the appropriate tribute to the snoozefest that was Williams v Williams by falling asleep.

But no rest for the wicked. At 5.15 I had to rouse myself to go and pick up no4 from her party, and then after much debate (and keenly trying to avoid another Major Marital Dysfunctional Moment) we agreed to meet Lovely Sister and Niece who were coming to the show at the station and eat in a restaurant near the theatre. This was by far the least stressful option (I having no energy left to even contemplate feeding people), but we still managed to get to the show with only about a minute to spare.

The show itself was... well... baffling. Mainly. The drama group were celebrating fifteen years since their formation, so the show was a medley of all the 41 (yes I did say 41) shows they've ever done. The bits that worked were very funny, like Bugsy Malone done in Shakespearian verse, and West Side Story told in five minutes, but there were several confusing commercial breaks which no one understood, not even the performers, and the whole was a bit of a mishmash. Having said that, the quality of the singing and dancing was very high again, and there are some very very talented kids who were really impressive. No 1 had a few lines for the first time, and managed to not only put on a northern accent, but actually carry it off. Given that this time last year she sulked all the way through a performance she was in on a holiday drama scheme, it was great so see how much fun she was having and how relaxed she was. Because the best thing as far as I'm concerned about the drama group as that it has really given her confidence and boosted her self esteem, which was at a low ebb for a long time as she came to terms with switching schools.

And again, the most fun thing about the show was the energy and enthusiasm of the kids. They gave it their all, and even where it was incomprehensible, it sort of didn't matter somehow, because you could see how much fun they were having.

Yesterday, funnily enough, we didn't rise incredibly early, but we couldn't just sit around all day in our pjs, as we'd been invited to a summer party by a school mum chum. This being the only thing all weekend that I really really wanted to do, naturally I couldn't spend as long there as I'd have liked, as no 1 had booked a ticket to see Twelfth Night with the school. Being completely unable to bar my children from important cultural experiences, I had no option but to let her go. Which meant driving her and two of her friends on an hour round trip. Words failed me when we got there and she announced she'd left her ticket at home...

Still, she did enjoy the performance, and I'm glad she's beginning to get the importance of Shakespeare, so I can't really complain.

But I am gladder still that I won't be spending this week parked outside the theatre, have no plays to watch this week, and the end of term is fast approaching. Any more of this and I'll suffer from complete systems overload...

Elegy for a Young Woman Assassinated in Iran

Although I write fiction, I have a love of poetry instilled in me first by my father, and fostered by the brilliant English teachers at school. One of my best discoveries since joining Twitter has been coming across a wonderful poet who blogs here. Alot of poetry can be pretentious or difficult. Semaphore writes of things that matter, so beautifully and simply, he can reduce you to tears. He's very kindly allowed me to post this moving poem about the young woman killed in Iran. Read it and weep. And if you like it, check out his other stuff, it's amazing.


Elegy for a Young Woman Assassinated in Iran

Yours the first death, the messenger, the voice,
Crying out of Persia,
By a single shot from this life untimely ripped.
Louder now than that gunshot grows the noise,
Neda, rohat shad,
Anguished lamentation, by sorrow swept.

Where now your heart, bullet sequestered
Like a stricken love
In your severed auricle?
Sister, you fell
Burning, but with that fall you shattered
Our glass lives, removed
From our unseeing eyes the folded veil.

For now we cannot mourn you at Haft-e Tir
Or Behesht-e Zahra,
Instead commemorate you from our homes.
With prayer we recall you fallen, martyred
As if in Karbala,
Solitary voices raised, no longer alone.

Thus we offer up our invocation
To your final breath.
Beyond the seventh and the fortieth day,
Let resound life’s majestic insurrection
Against this first death –
Be not afraid, be not afraid, be not afraid.

All. Partied. Out...

We have just reached the end of our party season (actually not quite, mine is still to come, but I don't count mine!). We inconveniently chose to have three of our children in a six week period, so from May to the end of June every weekend it seems has been spent corralling groups of little girls to bowling alleys and cinemas. On top of which this year we have also had the excitement of mil's 85th birthday party.

Mil's birthday was at the start of June, but we couldn't fit in a party till the 21st. Given that at Christmas we were slightly concerned she wouldn't make it past January, the event took on a much bigger significance then it might have done. Spouse nearly drove me demented in the weeks leading up to the big day, so anxious was he for everything to turn out perfectly. I ended up using it as an excuse to clean the house, which retains its sparkly shine over a week later (result), and Spouse, bil and sil went on an epic trip to Macro to buy in provisions. Normally sil and I would have provided puddings but we took an executive decision that as we were catering for 60+ we'd save ourselves the time and effort.

Mil invited pretty much everyone in her address book, so the guest list was for 80, but given their average age was also 80, there were quite a few no shows. However, to our absolute delight, thanks to much help from children and grandchildren, two of mil's cousins and two of her friends were able to make it. So the day before the party saw Spouse and I at Heathrow at 9am to pick up one friend, a sprightly lady of 83, who managed the trip alone and could pass easily for 15 years younger; bil and sil at Gatwick at 3pm to pick up the cousins, plus granddaughter; and mil's school friend was brought to us by her son and his girlfriend. We found them all space in the local Premier Inn, and Saturday evening found us feeding everyone, plus some English cousins from the other side of the family. Sil kindly provided a stew so I didn't have to cook (I quite like providing my house for entertainment and not having to do the catering (-:), and we had a German table in the kitchen and an English table next door in the conservatory (not because we can't mention the war, but because those who only speak their own language end up nodding at the foreigners and it all gets a bit complicated trying to translate). As there were rather a lot of people, Spouse and I found ourselves unable to get round the table so ended up dashing in and out of the back doors to pass plates and food around. Still a good time was had by all, and by the end of the evening all the German I had forgotten was slowly coming back.

The party itself was a great success, barring a collapsing swing seat (which had three elderly people on it at the time, it could only happen to us) and a collapsing guest (rather more alarming. I am going to issue health warnings for our next party). I don't think mil stopped talking all day long, and as ever when she is in the presence of her country folk she gets very confused which language she is speaking and ends up speaking English to Germans and German to the English. We sat in the sunshine all day, and the gazebo that Spouse and bil had erected (with much hilarity from me and sil - every time they put a pole in one place another pinged out from somewhere else) didn't collapse, no small children fell in the pond, and mil was treated to Happy Birthday in English and German. Have to say Germans did it rather better, as we all started at different places.

Party over, Germans stayed on for a bit. So last Monday saw me ferrying them back and forth from hotel to our house, via a quick tour of the area. Spouse had the day off, so I thankfully sent him to no 4's Sport's Day (after nine years you really can have too much of a good thing) and then we all had dinner in the hotel.

On Tuesday after school pick up, I picked all the Germans up and left most of them with mil at our house, while I took my sprightly friend to Heathrow. I managed half an hour sitting in the garden before the school run, then provided Kaffee und Kuchen ( a very German experience if you've ever been there) before bil pitched up to take the cousins back to Gatwick. Mil's schoolfriend then stayed with us for a couple of days while her son toured the UK. I left them together at mil's all day on Wednesday, and told them to come back to ours at 6. When I got in, there was no sign of them. So I rang them up and got no answer. Thinking they might be in mil's garden, I went round to fetch them. Got there, to discover garden and flat empty, and zimmer frames missing. Two 85 year olds had decided to do a bunk. I can't blame them really. It must get very tiresome having your offspring and outlaws fussing over your every move.

Went across to the park, and couldn't see them, which was a little bit worrying. I was just working out how to say to the son, by the way I appear to have lost your mother in German, when I spotted mil at the far end of the park, which is nearer our house, but nowhere near a crossing. Deciding it was going to simply take too long for them with their zimmers to take the safe route and having several hungry children at home, I ended up turning into a traffic cop and standing in the middle of the road halting traffic so they could cross.

Mil's friend eventually went home on Thursday, both of them having talked themselves hoarse. I'd just about got to grips with German by the time she left, but there always seems some point in a conversation where I have no idea what's going on.

Mil had a fantastic time, which was the whole point of the exercise, and we were able to return some of the hospitality we have had on our German visits.

The week ended with no 3's birthday, which was so overshadowed by the big party I hadn't got her presents until Thursday. However, having eventually succumbed to the pressure of a Nintendo DS, I don't think she was too bothered, particularly as we had a cinema trip to Nigh at the Museum 2 followed by a splash in the pool back at ours on Saturday.

Yesterday was Race for Life, and a barbie at friends, where it was very nice not having to do the entertaining.

Am just about partied out. Think I might lie down in a dark room while I recover, so I can have enough energy to survive the onslaught of this week's excitements, which include: no 1 taking part in a school production for the next three nights, a possible trip to the downs on Thursday to watch Status Quo, Nos 2&3 doing a show on Saturday morning at the same time as no 1's grade 2 singing exam, and no 1 doing another show on Saturday night.

The end of term can't come quickly enough...

Where were you when...

the news came through? Have a feeling people will be talking about it for years to come. Prosaically we were watching tv and a newsflash came up. As a kid I wasn't a huge Jacko fan, but my early teens were punctuated with the sounds of Rock With You and Don't Stop Till You Get Enough, both of which remind me of boring Mondays spent at the local youth club playing pool (or rather watching boys I didn't fancy playing pool).

I have to say though, iconic as Jacko is (and much as I've grown to appreciate the music more - I hated it at the time), I'm actually sadder about the death of Farrah Fawcett. When she and hte other Angels burst onto our screens in 1976, I think it was probably the first time I'd ever seen a programme where girls kicked ass. I know, I know. It was incredibly sexist and they all had to run around in little bikinis (unlike my other heroines of the time, Purdey and Jaime who kicked ass but didn't have to demean themselves quite so much to do it), but.... here were these really pretty feminine women going around beating up villains and solving crime, which was a bit of a revelation frankly. Plus I wanted Farrah's hair. I have to fess up to liking Kate more, because she was the nerdy dark haired one and I know my place, but... really Farrah was just so cool and we all wanted to be her.

So, while I think it sad that Jacko has died so suddenly, and I think his whole life was quite a tragic one in a way, I feel sorrier that Farrah has died. She was inspirational for a generation of little girls, and I was certainly one of them.

Where's their vote?

I have recently joined Twitter. Normally a place for wasting time/pr opportunities. However this week has been very different. If you're not on Twitter, you're still probably aware that it and other social networking sites are being used very effectively to get information/pictures out of Iran which otherwise we wouldn't be seeing. It has been very odd reading about things happening in real time, and then watching the news catch up on events.

Alot of people on Twitter are retweeting information as it comes in, and I have been a bit too, though somewhat warily. By all accounts, the brave people microblogging in this way risk arrest or worse, and it's important a) not to give away identities and locations and b) to be sure that you are retweeting actual information about rallies etc, and not disinformation spread by the Iranian government. The great strength of the internet which allows people in a situation like this the freedom to express what is happening, is also it's greatest weakness: with such a plethora of information available to us, it is often extremely difficult to find out what is going on.

Twitter appear to be doing their best by posting a list of potential dodgy twitterers here, but it's still difficult, so I am trying to be selective about what I send on.

Having said that, what I find incredibly heartening about this situation, is both the mass of support across the internet for the people of Iran, and the staggering courage of those sending out information. We don't know yet how this will pan out. I am sceptical about it being another Velvet Revolution, because sadly the Basij militia have already shown what they are capable of, and I fear this may still be a Prague Spring. However, thanks to the courage of the bloggers, we will know what happens for good or bad, and whatever the Supreme Leader says, the world will know at least some of the truth.

Twitterers are posting green avatars in support of Iran. Opinion is divided as to whether this is a futile gesture or not. It may well be. But I think at a time when Ahmadinejad would have us believe the Holocaust didn't happen, America the Great Satan is bent on its destruction (and let's face it America hasn't actually held the olive branch out till Obama took over), I think it's important that we in the West reach out a hand across the internet to the brave people of Iran and show them as Stephen Fry put it so simply: Iranian govt should at least know we're watching & we care. We're not imperialists, we just care.

Race for Life

It's that time of year again...

I will be doing Race for Life again with the girls on 28 June. I am hoping that my back (now improving rapidly that I am seeing a chiropracter) will not cause me gip, and that I can actually remember how to run. Last year, no 2 struggled and so no 1 was able to take off and beat us both, but am hoping we might all be able to run all the way...

There are two people I think of particularly when I do Race for Life, and I shall be thinking of them again.

If you feel so motivated, you can sponsor us here Any donations gratefully received!

PS Just been for run on downs and relieved to discover despite lack of running for some months due to dodgy back, I can still run 3.5 miles. Phew.

I'm everywhere, Bolly. I was needed and I was there.

Ok so, now a certain Ms Philips has been unspoilered, please allow me to let a great enormous SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! not only for this luvv-erly pic of the Gene Genie, complete with appropriate cowboy boots (if ever there was a modern cowboy, it's Gene Hunt), but also for the most brilliant series end since .... Being Human. Watching the last episode on Monday night I felt just as excited as I did watching the Dr Who episode when Derek Jacobi was revealed as the Master, and the throughout the whole of Being Human. And TV doesn't get much better then that.

If you haven't yet seen it and don't want to be unspoilered, look away now.

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I had intended to review each episode, but then ran out of time, and now I haven't really got time to do a proper overview of the series. However, if you haven't been watching and are one of those people who gave up on Gene Hunt after Life on Mars, on the basis that the spin off weakened it and you hated Keeley Hawes (and I believe there were a number of people who inexplicably thought this), I shall attempt to bring you up to speed.

Series 1 of A2A had Alex Drake a police psychologist who'd been dealing with Sam Tyler's case, shot in the head by a man who claimed to know the truth of why her parents had died. She wakes up in 1981 to find Gene Hunt, Ray and Chris, characters she knows from Sam's notes turning up at the Met. She is convinced they are all figments of her imagination and spends rather alot of time referrring to them as "imaginary constructs" which I found really funny myself, but other people didn't seem to like it.

The story arc of the series involves her trying to find out who had killed her parents when she was a child, as she feels sure that is what will bring her home to her 12 year old daughter. She does uncover the truth, but it turns out that her father having discovered her mother's affair with Alex's godfather has killed them both, and intended to kill young Alex, who just manages to escape. Discovering the truth doesn't get her home, but it does lead her to greater respect for Gene, who tells her: "I'm everywhere, Bolly. I was needed and I was there.", which is a brilliant line for summing up his character I think.

Series 2 started with time having moved on and Alex being more accepting of her situation. She has begun to trust Gene implicitly, but the story arc this time around leads to both her trust in him and his in her being stretched to the limit. Rather fortuitously (given the current crop of headlines about political sleaze) the series has dealt with police corruption and couldn't have felt more timely.

In the first episode which I reviewed here, Gene and Alex uncover a whiff of police corruption, which Alex suspects goes right to the top, but Gene won't hear a word against his superior officer, known as SuperMac. Alex is suspicious when she follows Gene to a Mason's meeting and hears him take the oath, which leads her considering the offer of dinner from the mysterious smoking man who drugged her in episode 1, leaves her roses and promises he is the only one who can get her home. However, on discovering that Gene, too, is suspicious of Mac, and has only joined the Masons to find out more, Alex decides to stick to what she knows, and rejects the advances of the smoking man (a nice nod to the X Files).

What I loved about this series was the constant seesawing between Alex and Gene, and the occasional unexpected turn of events, as in episode 4 when SuperMac is uncovered as the corrupt officer, and shot just when he's being arrested. His dying words are Operation Rose, and Alex therefore links the smoking man to police corruption, and decides he is not to be trusted.

The smoking man, aka Martin Summers tells her that she cannot get home without his help, and reveals that he is also from the future, and is in the next bed to hers, but she says she'll do it without him. And in the meantime, she is hearing voices from her world telling her first that she's been found, and then that she's being operated on. Alex is sure she is close to getting home, and yet every time she thinks she must be there, she finds herself still trapped in 1982.

I can see why others might not have liked her performance in the last series, it's true she was a bit shrieky (I liked her for that. I think I'd be shrieky too), but this time around I think Keeley Hawes brought out the pain of Alex's situation more, and there was a quiet dogged persistence about her determination to get home to her daughter that I really liked. Also she got to wear alot of great 80s clothes, had a hair style similar to the one I was sporting in 1985, and she had red and white mugs on a mug tree which I also owned c 1985. Plus, of course, wonderful and all as the Sam Tyler/Gene Hunt relationship was, it lacks sexual tension, which the Gene/Alex relationship has in spades. (For the record though, I don't want them to ever get together cos that would ruin it totally. They have to end up thwarted lovers, locked in different dimensions a la Doctor/Rose pre Handy Doctor).

I have to say, that although this whole series has been much deeper, darker, and probably if I'm honest, better then series one, which I did love, the last two episodes really took off with a vengeance. It was really edge of the seat stuff, with twists and turns aplenty and a growing feeling that both Alex and Gene were on the rack.

In the penultimate episode, Alex encounters the young Martin Summers who accuses the owner of a building site where a body has turned up of being involved in corruption. Alex is so convinced that he is as corrupt as his future self, she ignores what he says, to Gene's disgust. Her conviction that Summers is corrupt, leads her to meet him at the building site where the older Summers turns up, and in another omg-I-didn't-see-that-coming moment, shoots the young Summers, and puts the gun into the shocked Alex's hands. Not knowing what else to do, she buries the body in concrete. Now get out of that one, Houdini. (I do love those kind of how the fuck do you get your characters ouf of this kind of moments).

In the meantime, Gene has discovered there is a traitor in his team, and sets a trap to uncover the culprit. I wasn't as clever as Marie, and missed this, so it was a genuine shock to see it turn out to be Chris, who had taken a bung because he'd got into debt to finance his wedding to Shaz. I was gutted. It couldn't be Chris, lovely Chris, who's in love with sweet little Shaz (who has a great 80s beret and crimps her hair and everything), and is the only trying-to-be-reconstructed male about the place.

Marshall Lancaster put in a fine and moving performance of someone who had betrayed everything dear to him, and lost all in the process. I thought he must be for the chop, but we got a typical Gene Hunt (have I mentioned how much I love Gene Hunt?) moment of magnaminity, when he tells the rest of the team, Chris made a mistake but as far as you are concerned, I am judge, jury and executioner (which was nearly, but not quite, as good as he's I've drawn a line in the sand moment after SuperMac dies - told you he's a cowboy.)

The final episode starts with a brilliant brilliant Jackanory moment with Gene as a pretty scary storyteller, if truth be told, reading the story of Alex's life. In the meantime she hears her surgeon saying she's going to be injected with 50ml of super antibiotics to get rid of the fever, but it's up to her to fight it off. Interpreting the fever as the corruption of Operation Rose, she wants to go after that angle, leading her into conflict with Gene who's trying to find out what's happened to a missing snout. However, thanks to a lead from Chris, who's been contacted by the people he was informing, Alex uncovers evidence that the major blag they've been expecting is a bullion robbery, and not only that it's one she's studied at Hendon, so she knows and can prevent the outcome.

In the meantime, Gene is getting a little too friendly with the snout's sister, who drops large hints about not trusting Alex. Now it's Alex who has to win back Gene's trust - a task made more difficult by Martin Summers planting one of the tapes she's been making about her situation in his office. Gene is not best pleased to hear Alex talking about her need to fight him.

In a brilliantly tense scene, Gene confronts Alex and asks if he can trust her, and then she tells him the truth. For a moment, I was sure he was going to buy it, however mad it sounded, because I couldn't bear the thought of Gene not trusting Alex (I know, I know they're imaginary, but they are real to me, so there), but of course to him what she's saying sounds bollocks. So he suspends her, takes her badge away, and tells her if she goes near the bullion robbery he'll kill her (which significantly I feel for series 3, everyone hears).

Alex of course ignores him and turns up at the robbery, which turns out just the way she predicted. Gene and co have been misled so are nowhere near the scene of the crime, which allowed for some very fine and absolutely necessary thrashing of the Quattro (who cares if it's not the exact model for the time, it's one very very cool car, and I don't even like cars.), before turning up in the nick of time to arrest all the bent coppers in the universe apparently (it's a wonder there are any left in Gene world, so many have turned out to be corrupt.)

Meanwhile Chris having encountered Martin Summers, who is masterminding the robbery, who tells him the guilt about what he's doing will eat him alive, follows a suspect who turns on him at the top of a stairwell. I was sure that Chris' story would have to end with him being shot, but it was better than that, just as bad cop pulls the trigger, Shaz appears out of nowhere, complete with wedding dress and beret (she's been having a fitting, but it's such an 80s look), and saves the day. Yay for Shaz. I felt like doing a little jig.

Then...because this episode was really twisty and turny and you never quite knew when it was going to stop, Alex follows Summers, who pulls a gun on her and reveals he's come back to 1982 to stop the robbery, because at the time, as a young cop, he turned a blind eye, and has never been able to live with his conscience since. When he discovers how incorruptible Alex is, he sets up Operation Rose to expose the corruption in the Met...

At which point, in rides Cowboy Gene, armed of course with a gun, to save the day, and Alex. Hurrah. He hasn't given up on her. We knew he wouldn't.

I will shoot, says Gene. I know, says Martin, which is of course what he wants Gene to do. So Gene shoots, Martin falls to the ground, cue very touching deathbed scene (I'd like to have Gene at my deathbed, he says the most comforting things) when Gene reminds Martin of being a young idealistic copper again. It's all over, Alex can go home, she sure thinks she can, and then....

... Snout's sister turns up waving a gun, demanding money, and grabs Alex. Alex, escapes, sister drops gun, Gene shoots, and ... whoops, he's shot Alex.

Everything in Gene world goes all white, and distant and heavenly like, and hey, here she is, Alex is back in the real world. Her surgeon's sitting by the bed, telling her she fought off the infection, and look, here's Molly, she's back, Alex is alive and holding her daughter. How very touching.

Spouse made the fatal mistake of leaving the room at this moment. Unlike me, he doesn't pay much attention to gossip about future tv series, so he probably didn't even know there's a series 3 in the offing. However, as a horror film fanboy, he should have KNOWN that everything was far too clean, and white and sparkly to be right - it reminded me far too much of the end of Nightmare on Elm Street to be a happy ending.

And of course, dear reader, it wasn't.

Just as Alex is left to her own devices watching children's tv, the tv screen changes and there is Gene in all his glory saying, Bolly wake up. They think I shot you. Well I did, but... Would it help if I slapped you? Turns out in 1982, she's been shot, and they think Gene did it.

Cue Alex getting out of bed, running frantically through a hospital full of screens with Gene's face on it shouting, Bolly! and that's it. That's all we're getting for a year. I felt properly wrung out I can tell you.

Is she in a coma in 1982 and 2008? Is Gene's world the real world? Can she ever get home to Molly? Does Molly even exist? Does it matter? Do I care? Cos with TV this much fun, the answers are irrelevant. Although I do want to know if the Quattro's number plate JLY IV 1975 is significant. I feel sure it must be...

I have had three days to calm down, but really that was one of the best series finales I've ever seen. And I shall be squeeing about it for a very very long time. Roll on series 3....

To boldly go...

Now that Ashes to Ashes has finished I really really want to squee very very loudly about it. However I am deeply conscious that a certain Ms Phillips is waaaayyyy behind and I do not wish to spoiler her in any way shape or form. So I am restraining myself and not reviewing A2A yet. But I promise I will in time, because it has just been brilliant. Last night was edge of the seat stuff, and I felt just like I did when a) watching the Master being revealed on Dr Who and b) during the series finale of Being Human. And you can't get better then that.

In the absence of any Gene genie reviewing, I'll switch instead to my recent trip to see Star Trek, which I'm overdue reviewing anyway.

Split infinitives aside, if you grew up as I did in the seventies and liked sf, there were two must watch tv programmes. The first of course, was Dr Who, and the second was Star Trek. Without ever claiming to be a Trekkie I do love Star Trek. I love the daftness, the stupid uniforms, Spock raising an eyebrow and saying This is not logical, Dr McCoy, saying It's life Jim, but not as we know it, Scotty saying, I cannae hold her captain, she's going to blow, and Kirk for managing to remain (just) on the right side of the ridiculous fat bloke/hero tightrope he walks.

I also love all the films - particularly The Search for Spock and First Contact, and most of the spin offs. I love Star Trek Generations, missed out on Deep Space Nine, and have a fondness for Voyager which whiled away many a winter Sunday when the children were small.

So naturally I have been very keen to see the new Star Trek film, especially as all the trailers I've seen have made it look so much fun. I finally got to see it the other week, and all I can say is I wasn't disappointed.

If you haven't seen it, avert your eyes...

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Star Trek the film has basically reinvented the story, and therefore revived the franchise for a new audience, in the same way that NuWho has done for Dr Who. Hurrah for that. Good franchises should be able to keep going for a new generation (tho' we realised our children are a little Star Trek lite when they were getting muddled up with it and Star Wars), and this certainly is a Star Trek for the 21st century.

The story starts with the birth of Kirk, just as his father dies saving his crew from a Romulan mining ship which has unexpectedly attacked them. Hang on a minute, I hear you say, I didn't think James T lost his dad? No me neither. I have to say thanks to details like this, the first half an hour of this was quite confusing, but in a good, what the hell is going on kind of way? And who is that Romulan guy, and why does he seem so angry?

It is quite some time before the answer are revealed to us, so in the meantime we get to watch Kirk growing up as a bit of a rebel, while Spock grows up trying to prove his Vulcan credentials to his classmates who tease him for being half human. In order to survive Spock represses his human instincts and emotions, though he rather sweetly expresses regret about this to his human mother (played by Winona Ryder). When he graduates from the Vulcan Academy, however, being told he has overcome his disadvantage of being half human, he turns down their offer of a place with them to go to work at Starfleet Academy, where he excels.

Kirk in the meantime is excelling at getting drunk and into fights. Encountering a pretty young cadet from Starfleet called Uhura in a bar, leads him into a fight with some of her classmates. The fight is broken up by Captain Christopher Pike, an old friend of his father's. Pike sets Kirk a challenge to see if he can graduate from Starfleet, which Kirk eventually takes.

On his way to Starfleet, Kirk meets and befriends McCoy, a medical cadet (played by Karl Urban, who of all the new cast brilliantly captures the essence of the character best - you could really imagine this was how a young DeForest Kelley would look), and we then switch forward three years to see him graduate by taking a computer test devised by Spock.

We've become used over the years to seeing Kirk and Spock as the best of friends, even if at moments that friendship can become strained, so I loved the twist in this that Kirk and Spock hit it off on the wrong foot from the start. Spock sees Kirk as arrogant and reckless, and accuses him of cheating when he manages to outwit the computer test Spock has programmed. In the middle of the subsequent hearing, a distress call comes through from Vulcan where a lightning storm has been detected and Starfleet is despatched to help out. Kirk is not among the cadets chosen to go, so McCoy smuggles him aboard the ship . (The scene where McCoy is jabbing Kirk with a needle to reverse the effects of the drug he's given him, rates as one of the funniest in the film.)

Kirk in the meantime is the only one who can see similarities between the incident they are attending and the one that resulted in his father's death. He is sure that they are walking into a trap, and is proved right when they get to Vulcan to see the Starfleet destroyed. Nero, (an unrecognisable Eric Bana) the captain of the Romulan ship, orders Captain Pike to surrender, and he does so, leaving Spock (not Kirk!) in charge of the Enterprise.

It is at this point we finally learn what the Romulans are up to. Nero is drilling a hole into the surface of Vulcan and planning to fill it with red matter which will destroy the planet. Kirk, Sulu and the ship's engineer, who isn't Scotty and is wearing red, so is therefore dispensable, dive down to stop the drill. After the dispensable engineer cops it, Kirk and Sulu manage to destroy it (after a thrillingly exciting sky dive, which had me on the edge of my seat), but not before Nero launches the red matter. An excitable Chekov manages to beam Kirk and Sulu on board in time to save them from destruction, but when he tries to save the Vulcan High Command Spock's mother falls and Chekov is unable to save her. As with the death of Kirk's father at the beginning, it was a genuinely moving moment, not least because of the restraint Spock shows, and the tenderness Uhura demonstrates towards him.

Kirk and Spock then row about their next course of action - Kirk insisting they must go back to save Captain Pike (who is being tortured by Nero for the command codes to earth's defences), while Spock sets a course for Earth. Spock then accuses Kirk of mutiny and dumps him on a frozen planet called Delta Vega, where he encounters... an older version of Spock. And here everything that was deeply confusing about this film suddenly becomes clear as mud. The older version of Spock comes from an alternate reality . In his world (ie the Star Trek world we all know and love) , he was dispatched with red matter to destroy a supernova threatening to destroy the universe. Spock's mission is to turn the supernova into a black hole, which he succeeds in doing. However, not before Nero witnesses his home planet of Romulus being destroyed, for which he blames Spock. Nero travels through the black hole to the new alternate reality it has created (one where James T gets to lose his dad early, Spock loses his mum, and they hate each other), and Spock follows him through some 25 years later. I'm a little bit baffled as to how or why Nero decides to blow up Kirk senior's ship, but that's a quibble really. I think JJ Abrams has pulled off a neat trick to breathe new life into Star Trek while playfully reminding faithful Trekkies what was so good about the original.

Needless to say, Kirk manages to get back on board the Enterprise, thanks to Spock telling Scotty, whom they meet en route, how warp factor works. Scotty as played by Simon Pegg is wonderful. I love Simon Pegg anyway, but you can just TELL that he has probably spent his whole life practising for this part. He was made to be Scotty, and a damned good job of it he does too.

Once on board, at the suggestion of Spock the elder, Kirk gets Spock the younger to admit he is emotionally compromised and give over command of the ship to Kirk. Hurrah. We've got there. Finally, James T is back where he belongs at the helm of the Enterprise. Cue typical Kirk behaviour - he and Spock beam aboard the Romulan ship, Kirk frees Captain Pike, Spock rescues Spock the elder's space ship, destroys the Romulan drill and sets it on course for the Romulan ship. Spock, Kirk and Pike are beamed on board the Enterprise just before the explosion, and Kirk offers the Romulans a chance to escape, which naturally they don't take.

Pike gets made an admiral, Kirk gets the Enterprise, and at the suggestion of Spock the elder Spock the younger joins him as second in command. Course set for more Trekkie adventures for years to come. Job done.

I absolutely LOVED this film, despite the slightly confusing plot. The cast all did a really good job of recreating the characters from the original, even where they didn't look at all alike. Chris Pine looks nothing like William Shatner (far too good looking for starters), but captures the arrogance, risk taking and wit of James T fabulously well, so I believed completely it was the same person. Karl Urban as McCoy, convinced the most, but Zachary Quinto's Spock was also really good.
John Cho as Sulu and Anton Yelchin as Chekov deserve honourable mentions, and Spouse voted Zoe Saldana's Uhuru as much better then the original (I think that may have had something to do with her looks though (-:) I liked Zoe Saldana too, but this being 21st century Star Trek, she gets to be a bit more then just a pretty face with nice legs, so she has an advantage over Nichelle Nichols.

All in all a treat for Star Trek fans, but a great way to introduce kids to the franchise. A rollicking ride from start to finish, and great fun.

Will be very much looking forward to seeing where the Starship Enterprise goes next...

65th anniversary of DDay

Sixty five years ago my father was a gunner aboard HMS Scourge, pictured above. As a child I can remember seeing pictures of him aged 20, tall, dark, handsome, usually with a fag in hand, photographed on deck with his pals. They were always smiling and laughing, and my dad's tales of the navy tended to dwell on the lighter side: meeting a tarantula when he lifted the toilet seat in Sri Lanka, stopping somewhere in Russia and exchanging food and fags with the local peasants, sailing through snow in the Arctic.

His most memorable tale involved DDay itself. Before the bombardment started, there was a blackout. As they waited in the dark, they heard the sound of a German bomber overhead. As the bomber dropped its load, my father counted them off. One, two, three, four... phew a gap, five, six etc. The ship was in a state of electrified tension as the sound of the plane flew off into the distance. When it had gone, from the bowels of the ship, came the voice of one of the crewmen, renowned for his foul mouth. Cor, I fuckin' prayed, he said. At which point the boat dissolved into laughter. My father who was immensely devout always joked that had he gone to meet his Maker that day, he'd have been counting to ten. Like I say, in common with nearly everyone I know of his generation, he made light of it.

As a teenager though, I can remember him frequently dozing in the afternoons (on board ship he only ever got four hours sleep at a time, so he and his mates resolved that the rest of their lives whenever they got an opportunity to sleep, they'd always take it), and having quite clearly terrible dreams. It gave me an inkling that his wartime experiences weren't so very sunny after all, and thinking about it was probably some kind of post traumatic stress syndrome. When HMS Sheffield went down in the Falklands, I can remember him commenting, that terrible as it was that twenty people died, at least they were able to save the majority of the crew. It was the first indication he gave of the horrors of watching boats sinking and being unable to rescue the men on board, either through lack of time, or not having enough room to take survivors.

In some ways, I think he was lucky. Fil, who was in the army saw some terrible sights, particularly during the Italian Campaign, which to this day doesn't get the recognition it deserves (the soldiers used to sing a song about being DDay Dodgers, so resentful did they feel at the lack of acknowledgement about what they'd done). I can remember him telling us how after one battle, the casualties were so great, and so many men and horses were mortally wounded it fell on himself and another officer to go through the battlefield and put them out of their suffering. They drew lots as to who got the animals and who the men. To his great relief, Fil got the horses, which he found bad enough, but he never asked his companion what he had had to do.

My father by contrast, told us when we went to the 50th celebrations of DDay with him, that as a gunner, he spent a month pounding the beaches, and had no idea if he'd even hit anything. He was a merciful remove from the damage he'd done. However, it was clear as he got older the memories of the sights he'd seen haunted him deeply. The Christmas before he died, he suddenly stood up after dinner one night and made us drink a toast to the men of the Scharnhorst.

The Scharnhorst was the leading battleship of her class in the German Navy and in 1943 was attempting to attack the Atlantic Convoys (which my father was part of) which were vital to ensure the movement of food and supplies between the Allies. The Allies decoded the Scharnhorst's plans and HMS Belfast, Norfolk were despatched to destroy it. You can read more about it here. HMS Scourge was one of the 13 allied ships which encircled the Scharnhorst, but I don't know if it was involved in the sinking of it. However, my father was certainly there to witness it sink. Only 36 men survived, and I think from the little my father said about it, it was the worst thing he witnessed in the war. Like all seamen, he knew it could so easily have been the other way round.

In 1994, the year before he died, my dad travelled to Normandy to meet up with his old mates, and take part in the celebrations. Spouse and I had been visiting mil's family in Germany and were able to come across to see him getting his medal at Caen Cathedral. (We unfortunatelyhad to miss the ceremonies on the beaches thanks to work commitments).

The ceremony itself was fairly short, but very moving, and I was immensely proud to have been there, and met some of those incredible men who did so very much for us. The thing that struck me most was how young they all were - we met one old boy who mused, I was here 50 years ago, when I was 20. I'm much happier to be here now. That generation have such a gift for understatement.

I don't have many regrets about my relationship with my father, which in the main was a good and happy one. But I do regret that I didn't ask him more, when I still could. I know roughly were he went and thanks to the internet, I've even found this account of the Scourge's actions here, but it's not the same as asking him. Although, even at the end of his life, I'm not quite sure he'd ever have been ready to tell.

What I do know, though is this. My dad was not a military man. He wasn't by his own account, a very good seaman. He joined up for one reason only, to stop Hitler. And that's what they did. All of them. That magnificent generation. We owe them such a lot. And for that reason we should never ever forget.

And today, you can also Plant a virtual flag as I did in honour not only of my father, but all the brave men on HMS Scourge and all who took part in Operation Overlord. We wouldn't be here without them.