Monthly Archives: June 2018

Granny Garbage

I’m not usually big on poetry at all, and scary poetry is not a thing I’ve really come across. But there is always a first time for nearly everything.

One of my guests on Wednesday, Joan Lennon, not only writes really great novels, but she’s into poetry too. Scary poetry. Instead of flowers/chocolate/wine Joan gave me a thin leaflet, which is her most recent literary offering (I missed the launch). Granny Garbage.

Joan Lennon, Granny Garbage

She reassured me that it wasn’t going to be so horrible that I’d not be able to sleep. But this poem lasting no longer than sixteen pages is not without fear. Especially when you get to the end, even if there is some menace on every page.

Look out for Granny Garbage.

(I mean that any way you might think I mean it.)

From lunch to launch – Mary, Queen of Scots style

A hug from a man wearing a Mary, Queen of Scots t-shirt is exactly what a witch requires on entering Waterstones Argyle Street in Glasgow, having cut her travelling uncharacteristically close. The man was, of course, Mr B who always supports his wife’s latest book launch with a new personalised item of clothing. Last night we were there for Theresa Breslin’s new picture book, Mary, Queen of Scots, Escape From Lochleven Castle.

Theresa Breslin

I was returning a scarf left behind by Mrs B at Bookwitch Towers the day before, but judging by how many people were there, it won’t have been done on purpose so I would come and launch the book with her.

Mary, Queen of Scots cupcakes

Encountered David MacPhail eyeing up the specially baked little cupcakes. They were for the children! Found a good chair to sit in and then switched to the one that appeared next to it, thereby engineering a more comfortable chair for me, and a free seat next to me for David. Well, he couldn’t eat all those cakes standing up, could he?


Apparently children today don’t have an interest in Mary, Queen of Scots. It’s because they don’t know her. This new book is intended to introduce them to Mary, so that when they next encounter a sign proudly claiming that ‘Mary, Queen of Scots, slept here’ they might get a little excited. It’s a picture book – illustrations by Teresa Martinez – but much of what happened to Mary is not exactly child friendly, so Theresa carefully chose Mary’s escape from Lochleven Castle as a safe topic, with no backs being stabbed, or anything.

An early review from a very young lady pointed out that it would have been good to know why Mary was imprisoned at Lochleven…


Theresa compared Mary’s life to that of Diana, the way she had to live her life being watched by everyone. She mentioned how all Mary’s half-siblings fought for power, and how her half-brother believed that he could seize power by telling her what to do.

Theresa Breslin

After a short reading from the book, her publishers gave Theresa flowers, and then it was time for the book signing. And it was pointed out to us that we should remember to pay for the book before leaving!

Theresa Breslin and David MacPhail

There was quite a bit of evening left, but Theresa needed it in order to sign all those books. The queue was massive. I had plenty of time to chat some more to David, and I was also introduced to Victoria Williamson. Much interesting stuff on writing and publishing was said, and when David went to get his book signed at last, I liberated the last cupcake. (I’m short, so nearly a child.) Seems no one had ‘had their tea’ yet and they were all starving.

Theresa Breslin and Mr B, with the team from Floris

I believe I’m beginning to recognise members of the ‘Breslin’ clan now, and it’s good to see all the grandchildren turning out for every new book.

Theresa Breslin

I decided to leave before they locked us in, only to discover they had locked us in, but a big bunch of keys was produced, and as I walked up Buchanan Street I joined all the other people being chucked out of Glasgow’s shops.

It was a wonderfully sunny evening, and my train ride home was beautiful. Those Ochils… I wonder if Mary saw them like that?

Some more literary ladies who lunch

Where else would Scotland’s children’s authors want to go on a mediocre – weather wise – Wednesday in June, but to Bookwitch Towers? Admittedly, some ended up going to America or to Singapore, even Orkney, but many were kind and headed my way.

They were far too kind and generous in other ways, too. You might have thought it was my birthday. I spent the evening unpacking gifts and admiring my flowers.

Some of my guests have come every year, for which they deserve a medal. One each, obviously. Some were new and ‘had heard so much about my lunches.’ And still they came!

As in other years, it was nice and noisy. They do know how to talk. It could have been the Prosecco, I suppose. The wine cellar of Bookwitch Towers (i.e. the IKEA shelves in the garage) has for some time been well stocked with Prosecco, but this is no longer a pressing problem. If only I’d known this earlier!

And it’s odd. Yesterday morning I told myself I’d never do this again. But as I waved goodbye to my guests I started thinking ahead to next time. Could there be something wrong with me? (No need to answer that, btw.)

Lunch aftermath

Buying books?

I had some time to spare before Monday’s lunch, so called in at Waterstones West End. I don’t often go there. Mostly for events. But as it was just where I got off the bus, I felt it made sense to actually go in and actually look at the books they have.

Anyway, they have armchairs to sit in, so I reckoned I could always rest if it got too much for me.

Conveniently the categories I’m most interested in were all on the same floor. They were Children’s, Crime and Fiction. And Fantasy.

As you know, I never – well, hardly ever – buy books. This time I went in with the revolutionary thought that maybe I would. If they had what I could want, and if it felt right.

There’s a book I’ve requested several times from the publishers. It never arrives. Some books are like that. I try to console myself with the thought that it’s unlikely that it’s because they don’t like me, or because they can’t afford to send me books (considering how much else they send).

So I looked for that book, and found it, along with its successor. That tells you how long I’ve been asking. And no, they didn’t send the second book either.

Also chose an older book by an old favourite, because I wish to work my way through the as yet unread books of his.

Then I paid and got in the lift, where I remembered I had intended to look for some other book, too. Went back and searched and they had that book as well. Good for them.

I obviously can’t keep this up, but I wanted to discover what the sensation of entering a bookshop and spending money would be like. That side of things was fine.

Was a little worried when looking over the tables of children’s books they are recommending (i.e. wanting to thrust at customers first). I’d not read very many. In fact, I’d barely heard of most of them. It got better as I searched the shelves. I could see books I’d read and liked, and the more I walked round the room, I found lots of old favourites. If there had been any needy children there, I’d have pushed the lot at them.

A perfectly ordinary Monday

Or was it?

As the rest of the literary world gathered in London for the announcement of this year’s Carnegie and Kate Greenaway medalists, I made my way to Edinburgh for lunch with a literary lady. It’s always nice to get out and see new places and new people and to pretend to be a proper grown-up. So over 35 years after eating at Brown’s in Oxford, I’ve now tried the more local-to-me branch north of the border.

On the way I passed Charlotte Square. It looks so small when you see it without a book festival on top. Just grass, and trees, with a fence round it. Soon, though.

For anyone who missed it, Geraldine McCaughrean is our latest Carnegie winner – second time round, I believe – for Where the World Ends, and Sydney Smith won the Kate Greenaway medal with the book Town is By the Sea. Thank goodness it was someone as senior as Geraldine who won, because who else would have the nerve to tell publishers off for dumbing down the language in children’s books?

By the time the lunch was over and my literary lady and I made our way to two different shoe shops; one for her, one for me, Son had begun his PhD viva ordeal at the nearby university. I’d have been there if they let people in to watch, but they don’t. I will simply have to assume the boy was brilliantly clever and dazzled everyone in the room, including the not one, not two, but three supervisors. And, erm, the specially flown in expert. From Norway, I believe.

I gather Son is now Dr Son.

On the train home I continued reading one of the books one of his supervisors – Peter Graves – has translated. But more about that some other day.

If all the world were…

A little girl who loves her Grandad. What could be sweeter? Allison Colpoys shows us the world of this little girl, how she walks with her Grandad and how they play together, and the stories he tells her from his childhood in India. The love shines from both of them.

Joseph Coelho’s poetic words tell us more and we are literally there with the two of them. A year passes and then one day Grandad’s comfy armchair is empty.

I defy anyone not to cry at that point, even if the cues had warned that it would happen.

We see the girl helping her parents clear out his room, and finding mementoes of his long life, as well as a late gift from him.

It’s a book that should help children deal with a loss, whether it’s already happened, or when it does.

Joseph Coelho and Allison Colpoys, If all the world were...

Daddy Long Legs

Daddies. They can, and they will.

The little boy in this picture book by Nadine Brun-Cosme, and very French, retro illustrations by Aurélie Guillerey, gets worried after his daddy’s car won’t start one morning.

Nadine Brun-Cosme and Aurélie Guillerey, Daddy Long Legs

Eventually it does, and they get to nursery. But what shall the boy do if this happens again and his daddy can’t come and pick him up? This is a very real kind of worry for small children.

His daddy knows a solution and tells him. ‘But what if…?’ There are countless solutions that the boy can see a problem with.

But his daddy has one final plan. He will always be able to come for his little boy.