Button pressed

After many months of work, possibly a year . . . I forget, we pressed the Findaway Voices, publish button, and the Londonia audiobook whizzed off into the net, and to somewhere in the USA where someone - I think a real being - will check it all meets their requirements and on the 3rd of February Londonia should emerge as an ear-engaging tale.

Of course, optimists like Mark and myself always assume doing such a project will be fairly straightforward, take a couple of months, bit of learning on the way . . . yeah, jobs a good'n. In fact the whole project has been a vast learning curve - a good one, but vast, for sure. Narrating, sound production, hours and hours of editing, composing and playing the compositions, and learning new software, working with our PR man, and much more. But it's been a brilliant journey, and one we shall embark on again very soon.

Press release by Will Gethin of Conscious Frontiers.

Londonia: Dystopian Drama Hits Close to Home

Dickens meets Mad Max in this stunning audiobook adaptation of Kate A. Hardy’s post-apocalyptic masterpiece

Mirroring the crises of today’s post-Covid world, the author’s vision for future London feels eerily prescient …

LONDONIA AUDIOBOOK RELEASE: MONDAY 03 February, 2025  

Londonia Podcast Launch: Monday 20 January, 2025  

“This is a beauty! I was captivated by the protagonist’s situation in a heartbeat. Kate A Hardy is a highly compelling storyteller.”  Sir Robin Millar, record producer and social commentator 

 

Monday 03 February 2025 heralds the launch of the spellbinding new Londonia audobook, adapted from Kate A. Hardy’s gripping dystopian novel, which envisions a post-apocalyptic London set in 2072 and imagines how people might survive in that future time. The audiobook will be available on Findaway Voices by Spotify, Audible and all major audiobook platforms.

Narrated by Kate A. Hardy, and with musician/composer Mark Lockett designing the immersive soundscape and musical score, the new audiobook brings the momentous satirical tale and visceral fantasy world of Londonia - with its time-altered language and outlandish cast of characters - vividly to life. 

Originally published by Tartarus Press in 2020, Londonia, recounts the adventures of sassy 30-something protagonist, Hoxton, who having lost her memory, takes up residence in a disused church in Shoreditch with her horse Kafka, and sets out to uncover her past, embarking on a precarious new work path as a ‘Finder’ (sourcer/trader of rare goods). As Hoxton weaves between the lawless sprawl of Londonia (the city’s outlying area) and the hyper-central power state, the Cincture, the story unfolds to the backdrop of an apocalyptic event of 2038, referred to as the “Final Curtain”.  Popularly held to have been caused by a global internet crash, the Final Curtain has plunged the world into a technological descent, which combined with the devastating effects of climate change has transmuted the formerly high-tech cityscapes of London into a visceral urban jungle, reminiscent of Mad Max meets Oliver Twist.

Kate A. Hardy, whose previous books include childrens’ story Alfi Beasti, don’t eat that! (published by Puffin) and the Going out in the Midday Sun trilogy, says: “The Londonia audiobook offers a deeper dive into the world I created. With Mark Lockett's bespoke sonic environment amplifying the tale’s mood and atmosphere, we’ve brought Londonia to life in a way I could only have dreamt of when writing the book.” 

This new audiobook adaptation invites listeners to fully immerse themselves in Hoxton's world, with the evocative narration and captivating soundscape capturing the essence of life in Londonia – a feral hinterland whose gun-toting inhabitants variously sleep in disused rail carriages, trade teeth fixing for sex, wash in bath houses, toast bread over fires, correspond via messenger pigeons and risk death from violence and poxes. Meanwhile, behind the towering metal walls of the Cincture, the wealthy elite continue their lavish, speed-fashion lifestyles in denial of the impoverished Dickensian quarter that surrounds them. 

As in real life, we face economic crisis and impending climate breakdown, the Final Curtain and the disordered post-internet world described in Londonia may be nearer than we like to think. Yet the book brings a message of hope, as Kate elucidates: “My aim has been to present Londonia as a dyst-hopian tale. There may be strife, hunger and plague but this harshness is placated by times of convivial community spirit, humanity and humour.”  

A raucous satire on our consumer society, the gap between haves and have-nots and the vacuous, fickle nature of fashion, Londonia is a rollicking romp of a ride, which also offers timely signposts for how we can live more lightly on our beleaguered planet - recycling and reusing, growing food and foraging, less immersed in screens and more connected to ourselves, to each other and to nature. “I hope the audiobook accentuates the book’s mission to explore what can emerge in the future while also satirising where we are now,” Kate concludes.

Providing a free taster for the audiobook, a Londonia podcast series will launch on Monday 20 January in advance of the audiobook’s release (03 February), sharing the first six chapters of the audiobook over a six-week period.

For more information about the new Londonia audiobook and podcast, visit: https://kateahardy.com

To listen to an introduction to Londonia, complete with visuals and a glossary of Londonia-speak, visit: https://youtu.be/NEiBJzKmMTk

Press preview copies of the full audiobook are available on request  

Press Images are available in this DROPBOX

Kate A. Hardy and Mark Lockett are available for interview

Biographies are attached  

For Media Enquiries contact Will Gethin at Conscious Frontiers: 07795 204 833 • will@consciousfrontiers.com

Notes to Editors:

• Narrated by Kate A. Hardy, with music and soundscapes by Mark Lockett, the Londonia audiobook will be released on Findaway Voices by Spotofy (and all major platforms) on Monday 03 February 
• To preview the first few chapters of the audiobook, visit: https://www.youtube.com/@londonia-e5b
• To watch the showreel for the audiobook, visit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DP14XkBEBaI&t=53s
• The Londonia podcast, launching on Monday 20 January, will be available on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, YouTube and all major podcasting platforms
• Smithi, Kate A. Hardy’s hotly anticipated sequel to Londonia, is coming soon – watch this space!

Critical praise for Londonia (the novel):

"A deeply engaging and always-entertaining novel, the author’s superb use and invention of future language is brilliant." Paula Guran, Locus magazine

"Enchanting . . . Hardy’s almost hopeful view of the world’s inevitably chaotic future lifts this entertaining and well-told tale.”  Publishers Weekly 

"Fantastical yet believable, it also shares hopeful messages for the future about how we can live more simply.”         Psychologies magazine

"This is a superbly written book retaining dialogue, place and characterisation to a masterful level. You believe in Hardy’s world and it should hardly be long before a producer is clamouring to make her highly visual future London into a film or series… it strikes at the heart of what we consider to be important in life – something all of us are thinking about at this strange time." Kindred Spirit

Paris wanderings

As is the case in most areas of France seemingly, we can't find a dentist . . . anywhere. I tried 25 in the bigger towns last time we had a semi-emergency - nothing. So, Paris it was. And how efficient the result was and is. We get the train to Montparnasse, cross over the windswept and rather desolate Montparnasse sq (which is apparently due for a 're-looking') and enter the centre de soins dentaire. This time was no exception in the efficiency line of things; carte vital noted, time for a pee and into the chair of terror - I am completely dentist phobic . . . Luckily for me, all was good, not so great for Mark who will have to return next week - bad, as in, work to be done, eek! but good as in he gets another day looking at art and architecture, and eating wonderful Indian food in the Gare du Nord sector.

It is an expense, the travel there and back, but as a cultural, and cheapish experience - if you go easy on the eateries - scarily expensive on the whole apart from our afore-mentioned favourite curry establishments, and the 'Bouillons' scattered around the city (once soup kitchens, and still very reasonable) - it's a trip we would so rarely make otherwise, and, as a pair of artists, it is vitally enriching. Mud, garden, wood fires, dog walks and own work is all great but broken up with city vistas, art and music, well, it's inspiration that nurtures ideas and furthers our various art forms.

                                                              Daftest eatery sign of the trip

We had the incredible luck this time of staying in an apartment a few meters from the Arc du Triomph rather than a scraggy Air B and B somewhere many metro stops out. A delightful couple who stayed in our own B and B during the summer extended hands of super generosity and invited us to stay for a weekend or a week! if we liked. We do like! But time away from the rambling house/garden/animals is complicated, so a weekend it was. 

our view . . .

I couldn't recall how many decades it was since I went in the Louvre so Mark bought online tickets and we duly queued after the dentist RDV. Some interesting conversations to be filed away such as from a large American family behind us:

Kid of about ten: "Mom . . . how long d'we have to be here? Can we get back to the hotel soon?"

Mom: "Look we're just gonna do the Mona Lisa, OK? then straight back!"

It must have cost them about 60 bucks for the experience of seeing a small enigmatic-looking woman gazing back at them from behind glass and through a forest of iPhones. Still . . . if you are doing the checklist I suppose that's one of the highlights along with the big, pointy metal construction and the church-on-hill experience. 

                                                          Best 16th century dog portrait

We spent a couple of hours staring at much sumptuous paintwork, mostly Northern European of the C16 and then I was ready to move on. Mark has the capacity to wander like an elegant grey and black attired crane through as many rooms as time will allow, stooping to inspect, or gazing at the bigger works. An hour, and I've had it. I usually fixate on one or two paintings and study them in detail - especially if there are dogs in them - marvelling at the techniques, and just appreciating the mere fact that these extraordinary works have survived for so long, and are hung in a gallery for us to marvel at. It's just too big and busy - the Louvre, for me. I prefer smaller galleries, even really small ones if there is an intriguing exhibition happening. And I like wandering around probably more than any other city experience - see many previous posts on the subject.

                                                                           Worst art

This trip's wanderings were mostly to the North East of Paris - a voyage to Nanterre - which our hosts, quite understandably, didn't understand when there is the whole of the glorious capital to explore. The reason for the derive was to visit the Tours Aillaud, or cloud towers. Constructed in the 70s by architect, Emille Aillaud, or rather, conceived by him, they are well worth visiting. Extraordinary, towering curved forms, eighteen of them, with landscaped areas and a giant mosaic serpent. The site I looked at before we went said - 'be very wary, it's a dangerous area', or similar fear-inducing words. Possibly at two in the morning if you turn up in a Maserati and slope about dripping in Dior, but it was quiet, peaceful and several locals asked if we were lost as we must have been looking suitably stunned, turning slowly around and staring upwards.

biggest mosaic serpent of the trip

We then walked towards the city centre via La Defence, soulless, yes, but some interesting buildings, fountains and views; then onto the gallery, fondation Louis Vuitton, situated on the edge of magnificent park/woodlands. This is a building to just spend a lot of time gawping at - the sheer madness and brilliance of such a structure; the amount of iron, steel, wood and glass, and the numbers of people who must have been involved in its construction. The pop art expo was good but my joints were suggesting a nice lie down might be a good idea, so we hiked back to our our flat and did just that, followed by an apéro dinatoire (drinks with biggish snacks) with our lovely hosts and a testing of the local Indian restaurant - excellent!

I got a fair bit of sketching done: Seven in the drizzly morning, standing in a bus shelter as the traffic thrummed around the arc du Triomphe, various metros - line 6 is especially great as it passes many landmarks, and the return to home journey as the Pais suburbs zipped passed my TGV window.

dampest sketch of the trip

  

Yuletide rant Number, probably about 20.

So, the tide of red, gold and green twaddle is upon us again. It's been a very busy year here, but even so it only seems a few weeks ago that I was stripping the old baubles from last years tree - now brown, needle denuded and waiting to become kindling. The air of festive desperation appears more marked than ever this year, and, with added Black Friday mania, the whole lead up to that one day of infant-worship feels terrifying and sickening - to me anyway. 

Do not get me inaccurate, I love Christmas, or at least certain aspects of it: making mince pies, hauling out the ancient and much loved decorations, adding green stuff to the home; carols from Liverpool Cathedral, and the opening of presents, et al. It's the shopping mania I hate; the encouragement of supermarkets to buy absolute crap, truckloads of chocolate, force-fed duck products, cheeky Santa underwear, special yuletide bedlinen and china; meaningless, soulless, worthless, junk.

On entering our biggest supermarket a couple of days ago, I observed the towering cathedral of chocolate boxes, BlackFriday/Xmas promoted Barbi's/Harry Potter/Starwars merch and felt overwhelmingly anxious about the state of the planet, especially our wealthy sections of it. After buying a couple of unavailable-elsewhere essential items I slipped out again and went off to Emmaus to buy a few old canvasses to paint on. Afore-mentioned shop has a great department of second hand red, gold and green festive accessories, complete with nativity sets, hand crafted pallet wood Christmas trees and boxes of baubles - fill a bag for 20 cents. My Scroogeness calmed down, and a small warm feeling of Christmas prep stated to roam about in my stubborn mind. We shall be buying second hand from Vinted, making a festive table from charity shop accessories, and spending time making celebratory food near and on the day. 

And I shall visit one or more churches to perhaps light a candle and think about what all this consumerism madness month is really about, whatever I believe or don't. 

 

The life of inanimate objects, number . . . not sure

Perhaps everyone sees landmasses on pavements and within ceiling cracks, notes the jauntiness or sadness of a building according to its windows and doors placement, and imagines the internal thoughts of overlooked, once useful items. Or not. I do seem to spend quite a lot of time wondering if abandoned chairs feel depressed, or if our car would mentally benefit from a deep clean - or any sort of clean . . . Sentimental/deranged, possibly, or just someone who wonders about everything and suspects none of us know very much about anything - one only has to look at recent events in America, and the amount of mech rattling going on in Russia . . . 

From the left: "Oh . . . what's the point of. . . anything? You stand here screwed to a filthy grey wall from forty years, spouting out copper sulphate whenever it's required. Do they thank me? Do they? And they still haven't given me enough insulation . . . and my tube has a hole in it - mice chewed through it last winter - bloody painful I can tell you.

Come on . . . cheer up! It's not that bad. Look at the sky, and clouds - the birds. D'you know a little wren sat on my spout yesterday - drank some water and sang. Wonderful it was. Made you glad to be alive.

Oh, shut up! You're not alive, are you. Just superior coz you're taller than us two. At least your pipes only have H20 going through them - me? stinky old tractor oil - gets everywhere - look at the state of this wall. And you hold the rag, Favouritism. That's what it is.

Just

Such a hopeful and sometimes overoptimistic word . . . I'll just knock that wall down there and then we're going to put a pool in where the terrace is . . . the sort of thing our friend Alvin would say - and he'd somehow do it, successfully.

With my new website, we were just going to slide the new site over to the domain name, twiddle a few settings and it would all work. Nope. Two weeks of emails, phone calls and enlisting of much help from kind people - thank you Glynn . . . it finally has taken up residence on or in the net. Yes, I am a non spring chicken semi-luddite, and that's OK.

A few images from the site made, by Nick Lockett and myself, and a link below.

My extraordinary polymath musician husband, Mark Lockett, built the site.

https://kateahardy.com/

Phone separation and useful consequences

While trying to ensure that I didn't wake Mark at some crazy-early hour this morning, I insomniac-ly snuck out of bed, felt about for my phone on the bookshelf and  . . . no phone. Rather than putting on a light and thus really waking him, I went downstairs . . . without . . . the phone. As someone who likes a good rant about everyone being stuck to their screens it was a sobering moment to realise that I am fairly, or greatly- possibly, addicted too. I made tea and ignored the urge to go back upstairs and hunt about for it, instead, sat down with mug and a book I had scanned through off and on but had always been distracted by, not just the phone, but jobs and life generally. 

Book in question is a marvellous compendium of David Sedaris's diaries. Marvellous in that it's his work, but also the putting together of it with intriguing diary pages inserted into the main book. Three-quarters of an hour of inspiring reading and observation which has already had an influence, no -hate that word - a resonance in/within/around me and my ensuing work; rather than said amount of time used in staring at weird phishing emails, and gawping at someone working out with a chicken/singing dog/ferret in barbi outfit, etc on procrastination-o-gram. Thank you Nick for buying me the book and lugging it all the way from the UK - big tome!

10,500

 . . .  roughly the times we have used this ergonomic and ancient wooden spoon before it sadly gave up yesterday - a calculation based on certainly a dish created a day, probably two, over several decades.

We do get rather over sentimental about our objects, especially ones that have been with us through all the house moves, and this case, with Mark before I met him, and it came from a junk shop then so the calculation could be way off. Thousands of stir-fries, stews, soups, curries and who knows what before Mark purchased it.

Thank you spoon. I was getting very daft and thinking about putting on the kitchen wall but finally it became a piece of highly efficient kindling due to the quantities of olive oil it had absorbed over the years.

Absorbing the past

My current series of paintings are all based on sketches done from train windows on London train journeys. I've been using the timed sketch idea for some years but decided to restrict the journeys to London as it's my main inspiration place for current and future writing ideas. As well as journeys the sketches can be from a static place - café windows a favourite, or a brief standing/crouching sketch if I have been captivated on a walk by a particular cluster of buildings, trees, etc.

As I mentioned before on this blog, I stopped painting for some time as I felt disturbed at having to purchase plastic (acrylic) paint in plastic tubes, and buying wood specifically to then cover it in paint. Having now decided to only buy 'second hand' paint from online sites such as gumtree/Vinted et al, and only using found wood or old pictures bought in recycling emporiums, I feel this to be ok, or as near as ok as possible until I perhaps make a sortie into using earth pigments and fallen trees.

The picture below is an extraordinary example of 50s/60s factory paintings (I assume); where someone has been trained to dab and smear, creating a homogenised version of a landscape, in this case one I find extremely eerie. It cost four euro in the many-times-on-this-blog-mentioned Emmaus, so someone rid themselves of something rather worrying, Emmaus made a bit, and I get a large and cheap canvas to work on - with some unready interesting textures which will work well with my next sketch - that of Greenwich and the dome structure, the two minute's limitation making some interesting swoops and lines.

I hope the previous painter - or their ghost won't mind be borrowing the surface; I find it interesting to absorb someone's forgotten brushstrokes into a new image. Would they have had a cooling mug of tea on their work station as I will no doubt have? and similar worries, fantasies, music or blankness running through their mind as they had worked.

Putting it all in one place

My stuff - years of it - manuscripts, drawings, finished books, short stories, back-burner ideas and paintings. My lovely brother had made me a website some years ago but I'd never really got to grips with how to update it so it did rather just sit there gathering internet webs and receiving the odd dubious comment. Thanks to a PR guy who I talked to as the audiobook was nearing completion I realised I had to make a functioning space where all my work could be viewed, and the site updated regularly.

Gripped with I'm sure I could do a site confidence, Mark did - with a lot of frustration and learning on the way. I'm super impressed with what he has created, along with some excellent portraiture and stills done by his cousin, Nick Lockett - ace photographer.

It's been a useful exercise for me too - trawling through boxes of pen and ink sketches, writing texts to accompany each page, and throwing out a lot of previously held-onto-for-no-real-reason stuff, and contacting people about use of audio clips, etc. One highlight of this being that we were given the right to use the recording of Anton Lesser reading my short story, The Hundred and Fifty-Eighth Book, which is just . . . delicious. Click here to listen to the marvellous Mr Lesser, and here for a preview of the site.

It's a grey day . . .

  . . . outside our house in the Loire, and it could be a very, very grey, dark, sombre, frightening, depressing, worrying, daunting, disheartening, alarming, dreadful, awful, horrific, ghastly, hideous, petrifying, bleak, saddening, funeral, dispiriting, joyless, oppressive, dismal, alarming world if the American people (or half of them) vote for an ancient, sun-damaged, racist villain instead of an intelligent, empathetic, educated woman. 

It's not looking hopeful . . . 

 

My first novel

It wasn't Going Out in the Midday Sun - written in 2010; it was actually the small volume (moth-soft exercise book from my junior school days) that I've been looking for whilst Mark has been building my website. as I wished to feature an early work . . . 

I knew it was somewhere but just as I know that my collection of short stories written in place of a thesis for my film and photography degree is/was somewhere it stubbornly remained hidden, until just now . . . it's good to have a purge and or rearrangement of stuff - there it was clamped between Far From the Madding Crowd and a tome on retro London. 

Portraits

I like this one that friend Alessio took - (before he and Mark embarked on an excellent concert of their Sax and Piano repertoire) - me, trying to figure out how my old SLR works after attempting to read the Canon whatever-it-is for Dummies book . . . but actually the films and shots weren't bad - but would be better if I could retain the info - embarrassing after doing a photography/film degree, albeit a long time ago . . .

And, below some of mine of duo LLL  -  Lockett La Luce

Dog ad

Photos below of our much loved Spanish greyhound, Bali. I've blogged many times about these elegant and much abused creatures. Have a glimpse at a 'Galgos' site if you are strong enough . . . bred for speed while chasing hares, thousands are bred every year then destroyed when their short lives are deemed to be finished through not being speedy or strong enough. 

Gala our other galgas (female of galgos) died a couple of years ago and now resides peacefully under a Gala apple tree in the wood. Bali is as strong as ever, always keen for walks, and happy to stretch out on her sofa on entering the house. If you are looking to re-home a trouble-free, quiet, affectionate and beautiful-to-look-at hound, have a think about introducing a Galgos into your life. 

the 51st celebratory event of calf's head tasting

There's many things I love about living in France; one being the amount of local village 'fetes' that highlight a local product or foraged item such the 'cepe' mushroom, pumpkins, truffles, wine - bien sur!) giant croissants (less interesting - and there is a previous post about this somewhere), carrots, oysters, etc, etc, but . . . there are certain fetes I would definitely not wish to attend. 

I don't particularly like the idea of eating baby cow, especially having seen certain reportages on how most of them live before being terminated - actually not so much around here - there are plenty of meadows where cows munch lazily while their offspring amble over for a quick milk top-up or laze about in the grass. But baby cow's head . . . nope, not happening. It might be a vestige of a childhood memory where I came from school and found Mum attempting to cook half a calf's head in not-quite-big-enough aluminium casserole; or it might just be that it's rather a vile idea, let alone making a celebration out of it. However there must be many other folk who find the idea wonderful judging by the poster. 50 years of it! The famous fete of baby cow head.

Think I'll stick to the celebration of the humble carrot or tomato.

Don't suppose they will be serving it like this however . . . calf's head 'en tortue' - tortoise shape, I think.

Things to do when you've had your hair done...

Investigating the septic tank . . . not one of them.

I rarely go to hairdressers, partly because of the financial outlay but also I find the whole slightly forced chat thing a bit odd, but after noting that I hadn't been for about three months and the mop was beginning to look more than mangey I thought it was time. And it would be nice - I could go to choir practice not covered in earth or paint as usual, and stun people (mildly) with sleek and dressed hair. 

The hair do done, I returned home and only got a bit covered in paint, stayed well away from the garden, and despite a windy dog walk it was all looking good. Then I remembered the guy was coming to do a revision on our reed bed system so that all would be in shape for when the more scary SPANC (no idea what it stands for) people come to check the system. He said he'd be at the house for 5.00, which became 6.00 pm. I thought he'd just turn up with hoses and check it all himself but I the reality was me finding a hose and helping out. Then I admitted that we had lost a broom head in the post de relevage (big buried blue plastic container, and of course we had to get it out - which was messy - and then we had to dig out a load of soil and stones that had somehow got into the inspection chamber - damned moles, I reckon.

Suffice to say I was by then as usual covered in soil and unmentionable other stuff . . . and the hair do had come rather undone from its grips and things. It was too late to go to choir, but the guy did help me fill in a load of complex forms that had been sent from the aforementioned Small Pink Angry Newts Corporation, so it was all worth it.

Here's the hair arrangement which had only in the end been appreciated by me, the dog and perhaps the bloke from Aquataris. 

Out with the old...

In with the new.

My adorable brother made me a website a few years back which - partly as my computer skills are rather . . . limited - I couldn't really figure out how to update properly, so it languished in a lonely corner of the internet while I concentrated on writing, moving house, painting, building etc... Now, since the audiobook of Londonia is finished everything needs a relaunch, especially the website. Thanks to him it's still out there, in fact it's the first thing to appear when googling me. Mark (other arf)  has applied himself to making a new one, and, having mastered all aspects of audiobook recording, he's finding it relatively easy to put together. 

It's a great opportunity to go through all my stuff, find all the associated artwork, and make up new pictures/synopsis, etc, where required. So, starting with missing artwork, here is a pen and ink of my  ornate sofa whose life spans the decades, starting within the gentile atmosphere of an 18th century French chateau, to crazed parties of a rock and roll star in the 1970s, through into imagined futures set in California, a Norway island and finally a very distant future Hampstead Heath (London). 

Novel: The Couch. 

New website coming end October 24. Londonia, the audiobook, final tweaks and launching soon.

What sort of cake would you like?

I think Mark must have said this well over 200 times during our years together. Somewhere on this blog is an estimation of how many cakes he has actually made - think it was in the early thousands.

My general answer to his : which flavour stodge would thee be appreciative of question was 'Victoria Sponge' to which he would groan a little but not explain really why this was less interesting or fulfilling than say a classic fruit cake, or coffee and walnut et al, so I decided to do one myself. I'm not good at cakes - not having his seemingly inbuilt knowledge of what will work, and without needing to consult any of our jam and flour besmirched cook books - but as teatime was lurking and no other cake was available, I went ahead and experimented. And I used a cookbook.

Result - actually rather wonderful, despite the cake tins being different sizes. Garden blackcurrant jam, whipped cream and a dusting of icing sugar . . . tea pot, best cups and saucers, sunny 4:30 pm under the apple tree; and, the cake rated excellent by our guests. 

So, I can do Victoria sponge, and more recently good scones. But I'll leave the rest to Mark with his natural 'bung this in here, and a bit of that' natural knowledge.

Dear friends

Sometimes in life you happen upon the most wonderful people, just by accident, who then become firm friends. These wonderful people were the first guests in our new bed and breakfast, and then subsequent neighbours (nearby village) when we lived in the south of France. Always engaging, generous, kind, and, supportive of my writing, reading endless manuscripts and finished books with enthusiasm and helpful criticism. 

We saw them often 'down south' then less when we moved further north to the Loire Valley; but they call by when heading Southwards. A few months ago on my yearly UK trip I made the journey up to the Lake District to visit them in their house near Cockermouth. What a region! - I'd forgotten the sheer magnificence of the mountains and lakes, but more importantly, it was wonderful to visit my friends and explore their region with them.

Malcolm and Helen, you are rare folks. Sending love to you Both, Kate. 

Londonia, the audiobook out-takes

Our recording studio (mostly the kitchen) resounded for many months with swearing that would make 'Jarvis' (a principle character) proud. I have read my work to audiences quite often but narrating for recording is quite different . . . a steep and enriching learning curve! Here's a little glimpse into some of the moments of frustration, and hilarity.

Almost there....

After many months of intensive recording, editing, re-editing, and everything else that goes into a 'world-building soundscape audiobook we're at the point of mastering or re-mastering in some chapter's case, the final thing. 

Here's a sneak preview of the preface featuring Jake the Prophet (aka, me) as opening narrator.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BxcEgoGYVzQ

 

Farewell old friend...

As I've no doubt gone on about many times on this blog over the years, I do rather imagine that so called inanimate objects are somewhat more than that. Yes inanimate but perhaps able to soak up snatches of the past and contain them - I suppose that's why our house is full of old, weird things we have acquired along the way and are rather sentimental about - books, china, furniture, and just objects for the sake of objects. 

One of the very first objects I acquired - which had a use - was an 1920s saxophone which my dear mother bought for me in the vain hope I would actually play an instrument, not just fiddle about with one, like I did with the piano which mostly sat neglected apart from me composing odd tunes on it with names such as 'Big Bad Mouse'. 

I did have a few lessons on the saxophone; took it with me to art college where I played it stridently and badly in a art punk group called Agitpop, and then largely forgot it as photography and painting took over. It then became part of each move over the years - various London bedsits and flats, equally dingy Nottingham abodes, onto rather nicer places in the Peak District, a rambling semi detached in Birmingham - where it did receive an overhaul from a German music student who lodged with us - and then a big move on a lorry destined for Southern France where it sat unused again for many years.

Why had I never sold it? That daft sentimental attachement thing - memories of art college, Mum, and vague ideas that I or Ezra our lad might take up playing it. But no . . . another move up to the Loire Valley where the poor thing remained in its case until recently I decided no one chez nous was ever going to play it and it was time to sell it, and probably a whole ton of other stuff . . .

I had it valued, put it on 'leboncoin' and dropped the price after the usual scammer rounds - I am very interested in your instrument; we will send a van, you give the driver a cheque and he will give you a special document which you will then take to a tabac and you will gain twice the demanded amount . . . or similar crappy nonsense. A couple of other people expressed genuine interest, offered ridiculously low amounts, or just disappeared, and so the sax stayed on the site and I almost forgot about it, until a few days ago.

"There's someone interested in the sax," said Mark over breakfast. "Oh yes?" said I, "van . . . cheque, offer of 20 euros, or, you are charming woman I send photo of my big sax and we make beautiful music?"

"No, really. He's going to come over at the weekend." And he did. Lovely young guy who stayed for a fair while, chatted over tea about favourite musicians, and tried out my old sax and his regular modern one for comparison. Great playing, and I must say that my ancient silver instrument had a rich, warm tone when played properly; actually a much more interesting sound that his modern one. So . . . he bought it and we agreed that meaningful objects either have a certain 'presence/soul or that perhaps a piece of oneself is contained in the item in someway. Whatever, I think he will treasure it and be happy that he met the person who had owned it for so many years. I look forward to a promised video of him playing the sax when his band perform. One less item in our overstuffed house . . . and I'm very happy to know where it is.