Authors Electric

When I was a grotty teenager, we moved from our council house to a dilapidated cottage in a couple of acres of its own grounds, on the edge of Ashdown Forest. It was in a hollow, down a quarter-of-a-mile of unmade road across a golf course (on Common Land, but whoever managed to swing it to put a golf course on it is lost in the mists of time). It had typical Sussex tile hanging on the outside, and oak panelling in the downstairs rooms, which we thought incredibly grand, although it was just thin ply. It had no electricity or gas, an outside lav and only two bedrooms, so until Dad built an extension, Mum and I had one room and Dad and my brothers the other – christened the Hennery and the Mennery. Much later, I set a series of stories for children in an imagined version of the place, weaving Sussex legends and folklore into them. They were called The Hob and Miss Minkin, the Hob being a household spirit who lived under the hearthstone and was invisible to the family. Such spirits wer...

Guido Reni - Adoration of the Magi. (Public domain) Various things (such as Man-flu) have been eating up my time so, with profuse apologies, I'm recycling a seasonal post from my own blog back in 2008. It doesn't ask the usual questions, such as ' What is Myrrh, and who the hell brings it as a present?' or 'Where were Health and Safety when that innkeeper got his licence?' No, it’s the actuality of the experience of those concerned that preoccupies me. For a start, there’s no agreement between the two registrars who recorded the birth. You’ve got Matthew’s quick note saying: ‘Now the birth of Jesus Christ was on this wise; When, as his mother Mary was espoused to Joseph, before they came together, she was found with child of the Holy Ghost. Then Joseph, her husband, being a just man, and not willing to make her a publick example, was minded to put her away privily.’ Fair enough, a reasonable sort of reaction from the bloke. If there’s a bun i...

It’s (almost) that time of year again, when the entire Western world embarks upon a huge sweaty orgy of buying and selling, and we all demand to have our stockings well and truly stuffed. When having fun is mandatory, and rapidly-sobering revellers are admitted to A&E Departments after attempting injudiciously ambitious dance moves at office parties. It’s... No, wait! There’s no way I can say it as well as this gentleman: Let the Festive foolishness begin! I try to hate Christmas, I really do. I fulminate against the crass commercialism of it all, at the way a jolly Midwinter festival has been hijacked by the crazed forces of global hyper-Capitalism. But the moment I see a twinkly Christmas tree or hear the strains of Jingle Bell Rock , all is in vain. Sooner or later, my inner Scrooge always gets socked in the mouth by my inner six-year-old. He's not going down without a fight, though... Someone – it might have been my inner six-year-old, come to t...

          All of us Electric Authors here at Authors Dreaming Central wish our readers a very happy Christmas.           It's Christmas Day, so I don't suppose many people are going to read this - apart from the odd one taking a breather from the festivities.  But for those who do, here's a short and rather sweet Christmas story, inspired by my own family's Christmas memories.... THE CHRISTMAS TREES           'Oh look! Look! The chimney sweep! Oh, I used to love him!' Jennifer held up a small glass globe which tapered, at the top and bottom, into delicate glass spikes. It was a perfect, pale lavender in colour, neither too red nor too blue. The translucent glass sphere attracted light and held it, like a bubble.             Painted round it was a dark-blue silhou...