Pubs

In Oxford, where Tolkien and CS Lewis drank. And yes, the sign shows a giant eagle carrying a ... child.

I revisited Nottingham recently. This is one of England's oldest pubs, at the foot of the castle. Nottingham is where I first joined a writers group, and where I first (briefly) performed.

Me in Liverpool. Liverpool has some grand pubs. The pub nearest to where I lived wasn't grand. It claimed to have banned John Lennon. I recall seeing Carol Ann Duffy at the bar of the Everyman. My clearest drinking memories are of the Casa "nightclub" - its curries and soggy carpets.

Bury St Edmunds, not so far from Cambridge. In the city centre is one of England's smallest pubs - 15ft by 7ft. I did a tour of the nearby Greene King brewery.

I've never understood the Lennon fad. This is Prague in 2017.

A scene from a museum in Stoke. This is how I recall what some pubs were like. Saloon/Public bars have gone too.

A comedy club in London where a son was one of the newcomers. When all 3 lights above the stage come on, the performer has to go off. Suppose poetry reading were the same?

An advantage of having a son doing a degree in Edinburgh is that the festival accomodation isn't a problem. Here's the staircase of a pub on the Fringe

This is in Kiruna, the most Northern town in Sweden - 67°N. I didn't go there, but a son passed by.

Submissions

Spurred by having 4 acceptances so far this year I've sent another batch off. In the post I have 10 stories (4 in competitions), 8 Flash pieces and 11 poems. A few of these pieces are so old that their style is back in fashion. My lifetime success rates are about 30% for poems and 15% for stories, but of course some pieces need to sent out several times so I'm not expecting many of these to be accepted. 3 would be about par.

I think 2 of the poems (they're newish ones) are amongst my better work. I think several of the stories should have been published by now. Few are new, but I like them. I've read many story collections recently, and I think my best pieces are better than the collections' worst. I don't do simul submissions, nor have I saturated the US market. I'll try those options if all this batch fail.

Why do I put myself through this ordeal? Because I'd like to have a pamphlet of poems and a book of stories/Flash published, and I think I need more acknowledgements. I have too few good Flashes for a book, so I'm tempted by the idea of mixing Flash and short stories in a single collection. I'm seeing this mix more often nowadays - readers seem ready for it.

Stockholm

When I arrived it was snowing, but I continued my plan to explore the city on foot. Over the 3 days I saw the Old Town (with lots of small shops that weren't all touristy - an SF shop for example), the Vasa Museum (better than I expected), Stockholm public library, Swedish History Museum, Museum of Medieval Stockholm, Millesgarden Museum. Moderna Museet (Modern Art), National museum, City Hall (but not inside), and the City Museum. I had a meal at the traditional Pelican Restaurant, saw a deer in full daylight cross the road where I was staying to graze in a front garden, and I saw a big, gloomy computer gaming hall. I went to Södertälje and Nynäshamn. It was a cashless and almost litterless holiday. Note -

• The pronunciation takes some getting use to. For example I was staying in Älvsjö which is pronounced something like Elefey
• You won't be able to exit a big supermarket unless you use the QRcode on the receipt.

At the Swedish History Museum I wrote "love" in runes.

I found only a couple of second-hand shops. This one on Södermalm island has a branch near Cambridge.

Millesgarden was a house and sculpture park (like Henry Moore's in England). The couple who owned the place were both artists. The view from their terraces has changed since their time.

Because of the language I couldn't deduce much about the literature scene - a shame because I once appeared in The Stockholm Review of Literature. But I did notice this author - Fredrika Bremer - depicted on a Norway plane.

States of Independence, 2022

I went to Leicester today to attend the first "post-covid" States of Independence. A few people were missing that I hoped to see, but I bought a few books (from Green Bottle Press, Indigo Dreams, and Scratch Books) and went to a worthwhile talk about small presses. It was interesting to hear about how they operated.

• The Republic of Consciousness Prize for Small Presses rewards the best fiction published by publishers with fewer than 5 full-time employees - it's helped with promoting books.
• Epoque Press's long-listed author had previously been rejected 176 times. When choosing what to publish, the author's social media footprint isn't a factor!
• Fitzcarraldo Editions, one of the more successful small presses, will publish an author's 2nd book if the 1st sells more than 500 copies. With big publishers, at least 5,000 copies are needed. The average figure for literary fiction sales is more like 200.

Rabat revisited

I went there in the early 1980s, Interrailing. I was at a loose end. I recall little about the visit except that on the journey there I met students going home from Paris. One of them hosted me. I helped briefly at his family's stall, speaking French all the time.

I went again in 2017 by chance, during a tour by minibus with a group - our silver wedding anniversary treat. I popped to the railway station (now very smart) while the group were resting, and looked at the rail tracks that had led me back home after my exotic adventure all those years before.

One meaning of the term storification is the imposing of a story structure onto raw historical facts - being selective and even changing the order of events. One story would be that the older self meets the young self. Perhaps the young self wouldn't recognise the older one who'd tell him not to worry, it'll all be wonderful in the end, like a dream. Or perhaps the older one merely recalls the freedom of his earlier life, the not-knowing what will happen next. Maybe he'll re-introduce some of those features into his life now that retirement's looming. Perhaps when he returns to the group he's known for a week or so he'll surprise them, breaking out of the role he's too easily slipped into.

And I remember another thing about that train trip in the 80s - the Moroccans sang the Cat Stevens song "Father and Son", the one that goes "It's not time to make a change". I was puzzled at the time how they knew his music. I didn't know that Stevens had converted.

The road not taken

I once thought I might combine being a freelance computer (games) programmer with writing. My partner then was a self-employed artist. It seemed a good combination to me. Here she is, sat outside our kitchen before she left to live in London.

She once sat under a tree and drew this while I read. I'm sure she could have supported herself somehow. I couldn't have - my lifetime writing income is about £1,200, and my computer games career fizzled out after being self-sufficient for a year or so. But it would have been fun trying.

Jigsaw puzzles

Life is a puzzle. From left to right - Varenna, where I was married; Wareham, where my father was born.
Then some we designed ourselves - my son's wedding; a Morocco holiday; my grand-daughter; my Zoom/Teams backdrop.
Making a puzzle of something and reconstructing it is one way of getting to know it better. Sometimes the details matter, details that get lost in the whole.