Category Archives: Uncategorized

A Massive night out

I mentioned a couple of posts back that concerts were like buses. None for months then WHAM- a musical deluge.

Last week it was Boy Child’s turn to chaperone his lovely mother aka ME! By coincidence we were heading back to the same venue as I’d visited with Girl Child two weeks ago. And, like the last time, this was the first gig I’d gone to when it was just me and one of my little darlings. Mother and Son night out.

This time we were off to see Massive, a fabulous up and coming Australian rock band. I had the pleasure of reviewing their debut album, Full Throttle, a few weeks back  for Phoenix Music Online (http://phoenixmusiconline.org) and it’s been a long time since a band has blown me away like Massive have. Having played the album constantly for weeks, I was more than a little excited to see them play live. They were the first of two support bands for the headliners, UK band The Treatment, who, I don’t mind admitting, I knew nothing about.

Having taken the train to Glasgow, hiked up Renfield St and Sauchiehall St to the O2 ABC, trying to keep pace with Boy Child and those long legs of his, we hid out in a nearby coffee shop until the venue’s doors opened. (OK we hid in the coffee chop to thaw out Boy Child who had, in his teenage wisdom, decided he would be warm enough in a t-shirt without a jacket. It’s Glasgow in October, Boy!! He was wrong. He was frozen!)

Shortly before seven we headed across the street and into the sanctuary of the O2 ABC 2. This intimate venue is starting to grow on me.

Bang on schedule Massive took to the stage in front of a small but growing appreciative audience. All bar one rock fan hung back a bit off the barrier, a little wary of this new act. Unusual for a Glasgow crowd. After Massive had stormed their way through their set opener, the band’s charismatic front man, Brad Marr, invited us to come closer. We did!

Ensconced on the barrier Boy Child and I  and everyone else, who was lucky enough to be there, were treated to an amazing performance of RnFnR! The highlight of Massive’s half hour set for me was a song called Ghost. I love love love that song!( Check it out on You Tube -http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DenOPmovpq4 – You won’t regret it.)

When the band bade us a fond farewell and left the stage, I asked the roadie to pass me the set list that had been on stage in front of us. He handed it over with a smile and a couple of Massive guitar picks. Thank you, sir!

“Operation Autograph” was immediately launched! It wasn’t too hard a task as these musicians just love being among their fans and the added attraction of the beer at the bar helped. First to adorn the set list was front man, Brad Marr. It was a pleasure to chat all too briefly with him. While Boy Child and I were talking to him, drummer, Jarrod Medwin, came over and obligingly signed the slightly damp (beer stains from the band’s beer) set list. He admired Boy Child’s Alter Bridge t-shirt then we left them in peace to chat to other fans over a beer.

As the next band, Buffalo Summer, took to the stage I kept my eyes peeled for Massive’s bass player and guitarist. Eventually I spotted bass player, Aidan McGarrigle, near the rear of the room and went over to ask if he would sign the set list. As accommodating as his fellow band members, he set down his pint and penned his signature – very neatly, I may add! Having thanked him, I returned to my spot on the barrier beside Boy Child. The bass player remained behind us looking a little weary and a little lost. I nearly went back to invite him over to join us.

Three down – one to go.

It took me almost another hour but finally we saw the elusive guitarist coming back into the room. Quickly I followed him over to the merchandising stand, put my hand on his shoulder and commented that he was a hard man to find. With a shy smile and a slightly startled look in his eyes, he too signed the now less soggy set list. Thank you, Ben Laguda, and apologies if I startled you.

Mission accomplished.

A simple souvenir that is now framed and renting space on Girl Child’s wall.

Who knows in years to come when Massive really make it big, because it’s going to happen, I’ll look back at this beer stained souvenir and smile, remembering that I was right there at the front when they played their first ever gig in Scotland. Hurry back, boys!

 Massive collage

As for the headline act, The Treatment, they were great too. Perhaps because I had no expectations, I thoroughly enjoyed their hour long set. It’s been a while since this rock mum has been stood on the barrier head banging without a care in the world as to who was watching. (Not so good the next day when I had a pounding headache)

the treatment collage

The stars of the night though were most definitely the wizards from Oz- Massive! \M/

One Tiny Little Word That I Find Almost Impossible To Articulate……

It’s no secret that I love words- books, poems, song lyrics and all quirky sayings including  feel good mottos.

However I often wonder why we find some words harder to say than other. I’m not just meaning the pronunciation of some but to actually allow them to pass your lips.

Yes, it’s funny to see folk struggle with some words. As a child I could never get my tongue around “linoleum” or “abominable” (even now I take a deep breath before tackling them.) Girl Child tied herself in knots for long enough trying to say “ambulance” and more recently “superfluous”.

Then there’s the Big Green Gummi Bear’s pronunciation of “dinosore” rather than “dinosaur” that winds the rest of us into a frenzy.

Boy Child mutters and mumbles incoherently most of the time so the jury is still out on him……sorry son 😉

None of us are perfect and I’m pretty sure there are a few “tricky” words echoing round in your own minds right now.

The word that gives me the biggest difficulty is a small word. One that toddlers learn with ease and often use to stubborn excess but one that for me is always a challenge.

Too many times I’ve come out of meetings with a pile of actions to take forward all because I can’t articulate this one word.

On countless occasions through work, friends and family, I’ve been roped into organising things all because of my lifelong struggle with this word.

The kids have honed in on this failing, using it to their advantage and the advantage of their friends especially when it involves lift home  late at night that take me miles out of my way.

A while back I read a book, and subsequently watched the film, that may hold the key to the solution of this problem. One of the central characters is mute and has two words tattooed onto the palms of his hands. One of these could solve my problem! I may have to resort to ink here that is more permanent than a Sharpie marker.

My struggle with using this word has on numerous occasions left me stretched to breaking point, exhausted, over committed, inconvenienced, out of pocket and generally worn out.

Do I honestly regret being this inarticulate in respect of this small word?

Seldom. (I’d be lying if I said never)

The simple fact is that it’s not in my nature to use this word in most situations. I’m too obliging for my own good.

And the word in question? Have you guessed?

The word is “no”.

A Surreal Music Filled Friday Night

It’s been a while but the “rock mum” came out to play this past weekend.

I’ve come to the conclusion that concert tickets are like buses – none for months then BANG the diary is full and the credit card is smoldering. I’ve got tickets to seven gigs for between now and mid-December with another two for 2015 booked (OK – Girl Child is going to one of them with her Auntie Fi instead)

The first gig on the list was a little bit different and, as it transpires, a big bit special.

For those of you who don’t know, as well as writing this blog and working on my bigger “creative baby”, I also write music reviews for a friend’s website –http://phoenixmusiconline.org

Friday night’s gig was the first one I’d attend where I’d written a review of the band’s debut EP and was also to be the first gig review I would write for the webpage. Add to the already mounting nerves, I was also to catch up with the band after their set.

The band in question here are an amazing up and coming hard rock band called Crobot from Pottsville, Pennsylvania USA. This was their first UK trip and they were playing the support slot for a UK based band.

Girl Child drew the short straw and agreed to chaperone me for the evening.

Having taken the train to Glasgow, met up with the Big Green Gummi Bear for a quick hello and a coffee at his office before he headed home to Boy Child, we set off up the hill to the O2 ABC in the city’s Sauchiehall Street. We arrived at the venue ten minutes before the doors were due to open to be greeted by a suspiciously short queue – ok two suspiciously short queues and yes, we did join the wrong one! Eventually, after a circular tour of the former cinema, we found ourselves in the right room. It’s safe to say that Glasgow’s O2 ABC 2 is an “intimate” venue! (At a guess, I’d say it would hold 250-300 max, perhaps a few more)

When we entered there were perhaps thirty folk there. Gulp!

Girl Child drew me a withering look and retreated to stand near the back of the room, leaning against the low wall that bordered the raised lounge seated area. Sensing that she was best left alone, I wandered over to stand in front of the stage. The “barrier” was already lined with music fans- all 12 of them- and a handful of people were gathered behind. I joined them.

Bang on time Crobot walked out onto the smallest stage I’ve ever seen and, appearing totally unfazed by the distinct lack of audience, launched into a storming six song set. Right from the off, they performed as though they were playing to a sell-out crowd. Kudos to them!

A quick glance round told me that Girl Child had retreated even further back and was now curled up on a velour covered seat in the raised area. She was messing with her mobile phone. Definitely best left alone!

Standing among such a small audience made me feel surprisingly self-conscious. I almost felt as though I was intruding in a bizarre kind of way.

As Crobot started their final number audience numbers had swelled and they left the stage to an audible round of applause. Considering the situation, those guys did an awesome job out there.

With my ears ringing, I went in search of Girl Child who reluctantly admitted they had been ok.

A few minutes later I went up to the bar and spotted two of the band members standing chatting to some folk near the merchandising stall. With slightly shaking hands, I went back to where Girl Child was sitting and declared it was time to take the final leap of faith and introduce myself to Crobot.

Any of you who know me well will fully understand just how far out of my comfort zone this was taking me! “Rock Mum” persona was firmly painted on as we approached the band’s front man.

I needn’t have worried.

The band’s singer turned to face me, his face lit up as the sight of a familiar FB face and he embraced me like a long lost friend, declaring warmly, “You made it.” My nerves vanished. He then turned to Girl Child and hugged her too. The look on her face was priceless!

A few moments later the bass player joined us with a high five and a friendly if mischievous grin.

Two nicer more friendly guys you couldn’t hope to meet.

With the ice broken we chatted for a few minutes, struggling to hear each other over the headline act on stage, and posed for the obligatory photo (Yes Girl Child messed up the first one!)

The venue was now about two thirds full but the star act of the night had been and gone and done it. All those latecomers will never know the talent they missed.

Quietly Girl Child and I slipped out into the night in search of some dinner, leaving the headliners doing their thing. (I’ve never left a gig early before!)

A slightly surreal but wonderful experience!

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Oh and what do you talk to two heavy rock stars of the future about? Why – their trip to the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and the fact that you have actually been in and around their home town back in Pennsylvania. Small world!

Tonsurephobia confessions

After a week of working away, the Big Green Gummi Bear came home late on Saturday afternoon and, after greeting me with a quick hug, practically his first words to me were “You’re going grey.”

Some of you may think he was dicing with death by risking such a bold comment. Those of you who know me won’t be surprised to learn that my response was “And you think I’m bothered about that?” or words to that effect.

I truly don’t care if my hair goes snow white. The colour of it has never mattered to me in the slightest….just don’t ask me to get it cut!

Yes, I am terrified of visiting the hairdressers. I suffer from tonsurephobia – a fear of getting your hair cut.

While other friends, both male and female, enjoy a trip to the hairdressers/barbers. The very thought of it brings me out in a cold sweat and fills me with fear. Without a word of a lie, it has in the past taken me six months to pluck up the courage to step over the threshold of a hairdressers.

And the reason for this fear?

Well, it’s rooted back in August 1978 when I was taken for the “back to school” haircut. At that point in time my hair sat neatly in a long pageboy cut that touched my shoulders. (Regulation 1970’s girl child haircut) Back in 1978 “The Avengers” was a popular tv show and the female star, Joanna Lumley, was sporting a shorter than usual style – The Purdy.

Yes, you’ve guessed it – that’s the style I emerged from the local hairdressers with.

I hated it! Coupled with the blue National health specs, I looked ridiculous!

I declared then that I was never having short hair ever again.

Thirty six years later and it is still waist length (it refuses to grow any longer despite a life-long desire to sit on it)

Over the years I have watched friends cut, colour and perm their hair and only once been tempted to try “highlighting” mine. Never again! Torturous experience a few months after the birth of Boy Child that was meant to perk me up. After more than two hours in the torture chamber – sorry a popular local hair salon of the day- I emerged traumatised but with a head of subtle golden blonde highlights. The first time I washed it, I emerged from the shower with a head of hair like a Brillo pad and tangled beyond belief. Cue floods of tears and more than two years of using toddler de-tangle spray daily before normality was restored. Never again!

Two years ago I realised that I had perhaps be a little more mature about things and deal with the straggly dead ends that had been made worse by the hot summer holiday sun. Taking a deep breath I ventured into the hairdressers and asked them to trim off about four inches- a major sacrifice in my book! The girl showed me the amount she proposed to trim off and, quivering inside, I agreed to the four inch loss. Over the next few minutes she cut off not four inches but eight! I was beyond heart broken. My hair hadn’t been that short since about 1981 and I sobbed all weekend, over dramatically mourning the loss of the length.

That was the last time I let anyone near it with a pair of scissors. When my fringe needs trimmed I do it myself; when the ends need trimmed, I do it myself. If it doesn’t sit quite straight – c’est la vie!

There is one mildly humorous hairdressing anecdote from my wedding day. Not surprisingly the trip to the hairdressers- a necessary evil on this occasion- was my biggest fear about the whole wedding day experience. This time the hairdresser was fully aware of my fears and was gentle with me as she washed, dried, curled and “fancied up” my hair. In the background the radio was playing hits from the 1970/80’s and, for only the second time ever, I heard the full length version of a lesser known Rod Stewart song . I started to giggle at the irony of the song title. It was probably the first and last time I’ll ever laugh out loud in the hairdressers. And the song? – “The Killing of George parts 1&2”.

If I’d known at that point where my intended was I could’ve been tempted….but that’s a story for another day.

 blog photo 1

A Moments Peace and Quiet Required

Ever have one of those days/weeks where everyone wants a piece of you? When the “to do” list gets longer instead of shorter the more you do? When the only peace and quiet you get is in the loo and even then there’s either a child or a cat wanting in? One of those times when you just want to run away?

There’s been a few of those around here recently.

Not helped by myself, I have to add. I’ve joked with friends and colleagues for a while that I need to get the word “no” tattooed on the palm of my hand and adopt a “talk to the hand” approach……it’ll never happen. Not in my nature. Never will be.

Every now and then though, it is blissful to steal those few minutes/hours of “me time”.

It’s taken me years to realise that it doesn’t make you a bad/weak wife/partner/mother/friend to need time alone. It doesn’t make you selfish. In fact, in the long run, it probably makes you a better wife/partner/mother/friend.

One of my most blissful, perfect, totally alone moments happened about six years ago on a beach in Delaware, USA. It was a misty humid day at the shore and I’d gone for a walk along the sand, leaving the kids with my aunt and uncle. The mist was patchy; the ocean remarkably calm. Gentle waves were lapping in at my feet instead of the usual crashing breakers. I stopped and sat down on the damp hard packed sand, just out of reach of the waves, in a small clear bubble in the midst of the mist and watched the seabirds play in the waves.

For those few short minutes I was completely and utterly alone. Not another human in sight. Just me, alone with those little birds and the waves. Heavenly. Good for the soul.

The moment has lived with me and inspired the poem below. Enjoy!

 

Private Bubble

 

As the mist rolls in from the ocean

Casting spirals round in the air

I watch the sea birds at play.

They rush out after the wave.

They run Hell for leather

As the wave rushes in at their feet.

They chatter and flutter.

The waves crash and glide.

The mist swirls and drifts.

Sand between my toes.

Damp misty warmth on my skin.

Not another human in sight.

Contentment.

 

10/9/08

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As my sanity finally slips out of my grasp….

Any of you who either know me in person or who follow my blog ramblings will by now be aware that my grasp on what’s left of my sanity can be tenuous at times.

Lunchtime strolls along the waterfront walkway in front of the “salt mine” are the perfect place to clear your head and, depending on the direction of the wind, to blow away the cobwebs. Many of the photos I take and subsequently post to Facebook are taken during these sojourns. A lunchtime walk needs two vital pieces of technology- my phone and my iPod. (If I forget my iPod, my phone can double up as both at a push.)

One day last week I took a photo of a one legged seagull perched on the railings. I had seen this bird around a few times. At first I had thought it had curled its other leg up as they are prone to doing but, no, this poor wee soul only has one leg. (Maybe I’ve taken this walk too often when I’m recognising the local seabirds on sight.) Anyway, the stark white of its plumage against the grey river scape set a good scene for my photographic efforts for the day.

Happy with the end result, I duly posted it to Facebook.

It generated a few “likes” and comments, one of which sparked my curiosity. A friend commented, “Did you know those can live up to age 30!”

Cynic and doubter than I am at times, I turned to Google and Wiki for confirmation. He was quite correct, with the oldest gull, a Herring gull, having a confirmed aged of 49.

Satisfied that I had learned something, I put all thoughts of the photo and the average age of seabirds to the back of my mind.

Until that was the next day. It had been a long stressful morning for a multitude of reasons that I won’t bore you with. Suffice to say, by midday my mind was fried, my caffeine levels were off the scale and I was on the verge of tears.  Phone and iPod in hand, I set off along my usual route, slowly unwinding as I listened to the not-so gentle strains of my music. Step by step; song by song I began to pull myself to together. By the time I turned into the path leading back towards the front door of the “salt mine”, I was as calm and collected as I was likely to get.

And then it happened!                                                                           

A large seagull was walking along the path beside me. I stopped walking. We stared at each other intently for a few moments then my grasp on my sanity slipped out of reach as I found myself thinking, “I wonder how old you are?”

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An Innocent Cup of Coffee?- there’s no such thing…..

As a self-confessed caffeine addict I am frequently found in my local coffee shop enjoying a “fix”.

Apart from the attraction of the caffeine, the scones, the carrot cake…I could go on and on… the other attraction is people watching.

Perhaps it is the writer or the romantic in me but I like to weave their story as I enjoy my coffee.

The two old white haired ladies sitting with cappuccinos and a scone – are they reminiscing about their youth? Saturday nights spent at “the dancing”?

The four men in shirts and ties – is this a business meeting? The start of a new corporate venture? The key moment in financial success or ruin?

Two young mothers wrestling with squirming toddlers – are they trying desperately to hold onto their sanity over their lattes as well as their children?

A young couple holding hands across the table- first date? Or is he trying to pluck up the courage to propose?

Another couple, perhaps in their thirties or forties, barely looking at each other over the espresso – is divorce on the cards? Is it empty nest syndrome?

Or the large table of teenage girls in the corner, silent because they are all texting on their phones – is this the representation of 21st Century coffee conversation?

Me sitting quietly at a small table with notebook and pen – what am I up to? What am I writing?

What if someone famous walked in and sat at the last empty table? Would you approach them for an autograph? Would you leave them in peace to enjoy their coffee and cake?

 

I’ve sat a few times writing in the coffee shop, medium Americano immediately to hand. Some poems, short stories and blog posts have sprung to life in this anonymous environment.

Was anyone watching? Who knows but next time you see me sitting there enjoying a “fix” remember I may be watching you!

 

Soaked, Shivering But Still Smiling…..what could I possibly be referring to?

 

If you’d told me a couple of weeks ago that I would voluntarily stand out in my back garden and pour three buckets of icy cold water over my head in the name of charity I’d have told you where to go. Fact!

However on Saturday I did just that and don’t regret a second – or a drop – of it.

Unless you’ve been hiding under a bucket you can’t have failed to notice the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge that is sweeping –or should that be flooding? – the world at present.

If you have missed the story, the idea is that you dowse yourself in icy cold water (usually standing in one bucket, pouring two over your head then stepping out and dumping the third over for good measure) and you nominate friends and family to rise to the challenge within 24/48 hours. If your nominees rise to the challenge they donate £3; if they decline then the forfeit is a £10 donation. ( if you’re in the UK that is- amounts vary per country) Simple.

But how did it all start? We’ve all been doing it or watching others drown and shiver but what was the trigger?

This all began in Florida in mid-July when a Mr Kennedy was nominated by a friend on the golf course to rise to the challenge. At that point it wasn’t connected to a specific charity but Mr Kennedy chose to donate to ALS because a family member suffers from the disease. He then nominated his cousin’s wife to take the challenge and the rest is history.

ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis) is a form of Motor Neurone Disease. These incurable illnesses attack the nerves in the body called motor neurones. These are the nerves that control our muscles. It doesn’t affect every sufferer the same way but ultimately there is no cure at present and invariably sufferers pass away from respiratory failure.

Facebook and Twitter have been flooded with short videos of politicians, sports stars, rock stars and celebrities and a whole cast of regular caring humans all willing to suffer a soaking in the name of a good cause and to heighten awareness of ALS/MND. Some of these videos are hilarious, I’ll not deny it, but they also highlight the power of peer pressure beautifully. The vast majority of us who have been nominated or “called out” have succumbed. Age is no barrier here either- everyone from toddlers to pensioners the world over are being drenched of their own free will. Are you really going to the one who was nominated and didn’t partake?

I wasn’t.

And to the family and friends that I nominated shortly before my own icy buckets rained down on me, thank you from the bottom of my heart and proving you’re all good sports by rising to the challenge.

Here’s my #icebucketchallenge. Dammit, it was cold!

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10152246683809071&l=4337190505765487327

 

Oh Decisions, Decisions……

It’s rapidly approaching that time again when I am faced with an all important decision. This happens roughly every two years and creates a dilemma that rages on for weeks. If I make the wrong choice I have to live with it for the consequences….oh decisions, decisions!

So what is this great dilemma?

It’s time to upgrade my mobile phone.

Yes, I know I don’t have to choose a new model and could quite easily live with the one I have…or could I?

I’m convinced that t mobile phone manufacturers and  phone companies are in cahoots. Mysteriously, after functioning perfectly for 23 months, my phone has  begun to play up. Simple things like part of the touch screen no longer responding, the battery life halving almost overnight and other similar annoying little niggles. All minor faults that when grouped together become serious enough to tempt the user to start shopping around for a new “toy”.

For me a mobile phone has to have two things – a first rate camera and an expandable memory. (Two years ago I opted to go for a fixed amount of memory- poor choice!)

Now I also require the device to come with a suitably large data bundle to allow easy access to social media sites, email, the news, the weather, Google ….I could go on and on but I’m sure you get the picture.

The one feature that holds no interest to me is games. As a reformed Candy Crush addict I no longer play games on my phone.

However the feature of least importance is the device’s ability to actually make phone calls.

Why do we even still call these hand held pc’s phones?

At the risk of sounding “old”, it doesn’t seem so long ago that very few people carried mobile phones and even then these large bulky handsets could only call, text and play Snake. It also doesn’t seem too far back when the phone was something that sat on a table in the hall or the living room and the handset was attached to the body with a short curly wire. None of this push button nonsense either – you actually had to “dial” the number by putting your finger in the appropriate hole and spinning the dial round. You also had to know the number you wanted to dial – none of this “contacts/people” stuff.

The first cordless phone in our house was a luxury – but one that came with a new household rule – “The handset must always be replaced on the base unit as soon as you’ve finished your call.”  (I’m sure this was brought into force after my dad left the handset in the greenhouse or some such place!) The end result was that you ended up making your call standing beside the base unit so there was no real “cordless” benefit after all!

Stepping even further back in time for a moment. I remember around 1976/77 we took delivery of a new slimline trendy “Trim” phone with a very distinctive ring. The novelty of this quickly wore off when the family budgie, Freddie, began to impersonate the “ring” causing great confusion and many needless mad dashes into the hall to answer the silent phone. That phone was soon returned to BT.

And phone boxes- when did anyone last use one? I don’t even know that Boy Child or Girl Child would know where to start with a pay phone. Gone are the days of the emergency reverse charge call home when you had lost (or spent) your bus fare.

Ah happy memories of days gone by when phones were actually just used for talking to each other.

So, back to my current dilemma – to upgrade or not upgrade? That is the question.

 

 

A 1970’s Trim phone

(credits to the owner)

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How Do You Choose Only Five!

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The first quote, spotted on FB recently, reminded me of a photograph I took of the second. It is above a doorway in the New York Public Library- a wonderful place to visit!

Both quotes got me thinking- which five books would I choose if pushed to do so?

As I’ve said before in relation to music, your choices will vary depending on mood and personal circumstance at the time. There’s no right or wrong answer.

Perhaps it’s also time for a confession – I am no lover of the “classics”. Yes, I’ll go and wash my mouth out with soap for admitting that! However, in my defence, I’ve read very few of them and enjoyed those even less. I’m not saying anything against these books- they just don’t appeal to me.

Don’t ever “tell” me to read a book because I won’t do it. This harks back to being told to read novels and classics for school English exams. Recommend a book to me and chances are that I’ll get to it in my own good time

I also tend to select books using a  methodology that I use for choosing music and wine – if I like the cover or the title then I’ll probably check it out further.

So, to try to narrow my eclectic tastes in literature down to five volumes…..

1 The Lord of the Rings – JRR Tolkien – the best written book I’ve ever read.

2 Shantaram – Gregory David Roberts –an incredible tale that draws the reader into the heart of the characters.

3 A Prayer for Owen Meany – John Irving – yes, I bought this one because I liked the armadillo on the cover and opened it to find a fabulous tale inside. One of many John Irving books I own and treasure.

4 Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil – John Berendt –for its fabulous cast of characters and the fact it reminds me of  my honeymoon in Mauritius a long time ago. Perhaps something Freudian there….

5 The Pilot’s Wife – Anita Shreve – it has the “house” in it. I love the recurring house that appears in several of her novels. It’s also a fabulous story and makes you think about how well you really know your partner.

Right, I knew I couldn’t limit this to five so I’m going to beg your forgiveness and add on another

6 The Alchemist – Paulo Coelho – initially loaned to me by an old friend with whom I’ve long since lost contact sadly, and one I’ve re-read several times. The first of many Paulo Coelho books in my collection. One that set me on the road to follow my own dreams.

 

So what would be in your top five (or six) and why?

 

 

credits to the owner of the Neil Gaiman quote photograph