Authors Electric

Nobody told me there was a new series of  The Apprentice  on television. You know – the BBC sitcom/drama (well it feels like one most of the time …) which we only really watch to see how inept the candidates are and how rude Lord Sugar can be to them. Granted, some of the past performers have gone on to bigger things – and I hesitate to say  better  – such as the lovely Katie Hopkins who’s made an entire  career  out of being a bitch. I came home from work this evening. It’s dark outside, Andy is away overnight and I have tomorrow off work. Tea cooked and eaten, jammies on and before I sit down and write this very last-minute blog, I think I’ll just have a look at the latest episode on catch-up. Because I’ve seen a few things online about how this year’s crop of budding entrepreneurs has hit an all-time new low of ineptitude… And it’s true. Does anybody in the UK over the age of about 15 actually not know when WW2 started? Really? We’re coming up o...

Considerably to my surprise, I’ve just reached my ¾ century. How did I get here, I ask myself, and so fast? What about all that stuff that happened in between my arrival in Melksham towards the end of WW2 and now? Looking back at the in-between is like coming across a patchwork of bits and pieces, with holes in. A ragbag. Here are some verses from the early bits of it: First: I am learning to knit on my Great-gran’s knee In the cushions of her lap. Needles click, wool spools, ‘In, round, through, jump him off!’ she croons. With a twitch of her hand, a twitch of her knee, The stitch and I take flight. The stitch drops into the knitted wool, I fall into her downy warmth. And then:  Hop-picking time; we all turned out Bar those that were ailing and the working men. Smallest of all, I had a special bin; I picked the papery flowers into Great-grandad’s hat. Long years had shaped it to his head; it was brimful of him, Seasoned by weather, time and...

Me at a school Talking to classrooms full of schoolkids is part and parcel of being a children's writer these days. I've no idea how this came about - in my day, the very concept of an author coming into school would have seemed bizarre. Anyway, a lot of children's writers visit a lot of classrooms. For me, it's a joy. Truly. I should think 90% or more of visits to schools absolutely make my day, gladden my heart and restore my faith in humanity. School visits make it worthwhile putting up with all the practical, emotional and financial rigours that the jobbing writer endures. As the end of the school year rapidly approaches, here are my personal thoughts on the subject, as distilled from loads and loads of schlepping around the country and trying to hold 10-year-olds spellbound for 45 minutes... It does get easier . When I started going to schools, I wasn't terribly good at the whole keeping-'em-spellbound stuff. Er, OK, to be brutally honest, I bomb...