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Archive for the ‘Mad fun’ Category


Launching my book at events last week was an excellent excuse for a couple of mad musical parties. I met friends I have never seen before [online writers], family from far away, and friends I last saw when our kids were at primary school – now they’re grown up with children of their own.

I was exhilarated and surprised by the enthusiasm these essentially decent and nice people showed for my dark, depraved, at times, evil, work of fiction. As surprised as they were, I expect, to hear the extracts I read coming out of the mouth of a demure grandmotherly type person. A mad vicar saying ‘fuck’ is a small sample.

I calculate that everyone I know now has a copy. I’ve asked them, if they like it, to tell ten other people it’s worth reading, and to get their local libraries to order it.

Word of mouth is the best way of raising the profile. And with 2,000 books coming out every week, it sure needs raising!

So, if you happen to read and enjoy DOLLYWAGGLERS, please do the above.

Thanks.

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I’ve been digging into my memory lately to think of ‘dips’ – ways we used to choose someone to be ‘it’ in chasing games. London school playgrounds were unselfconsciously rich in culture – I used to know about twenty different dips. And if I was being chased and I needed some time out of the game, the cry of ‘Fainlights’ with simultaneous holding up both hands with crossed first and second fingers was universally respected.

Here are the words of a song from Scottish children, immortalised on film in the Scottish Screen Archive’s site.

Well I sent her for eggs, oh then, oh then
I sent her for eggs, oh then
Yes I sent her for eggs, and she fell and broke her legs
Oh the world must be coming tae an end, ach aye

Well I sent her for butter, oh then, oh then
I sent her for butter, oh then
Yes I sent her for butter, and she fell down in the gutter
Oh the world must be coming tae an end, ach aye

Well I sent her for bread, oh then, oh then
I sent her for bread, oh then
Yes I sent her for bread, and she dropit down dead
Oh the world must be coming tae an end, ach aye.

You can watch the film if you go to their website. http://ssa.nls.uk/film.cfm?fid=0799

But coming forward to the present, Bess, aged six, says the recognised shout for time out of a game of tag is ‘pause game’….

How about you? Did you play games with dips and fains? How about your kids now?

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That’s it. Football, played with two balls.

From the same team that brought you the MOOBRA  [see earlier posts] –  this kind of evolutionary development could well spice up what might, for some, be considered a somewhat tired old spectator sport. One ball football – what’s missing?

If football was played with two balls in play simultaneously, wouldn’t that strike happy biological chords of atavistic recognition somewhere vital?

Imagine the new skills footballers would have to develop, the exciting new strategies, and the biological sense of it all… Choosing players who can handle two balls at once, etc etc.

Once again, I seek no patent for this. Take the idea and run with it – to the nearest Freudian goalpost, – and may good fortune go with you.

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Oh dear oh dear oh dear. I have just done a search on WordPress using ‘franceskaywriter’ and was told there was NO RESULT. This suggests to me that I am leaving far too long between blogposts. Sorry about this.

What have I done since my last one?

Been to the fabulous DINGLE FILM FESTIVAL ,  saw many fine films, two of which I urge you to catch next time they are showing:

THE PERVERT’S GUIDE TO IDEOLOGY [must see for any media studies students]

LORE [wonderfully photographed with stunning performances by three children on a journey through a dystopian German landscape at the end of WW2]

And I declare an interest in the exciting premiere of a film directed by Maurice Galway, music by Nico Brown: PAULINE BEWICK: YELLOW MAN, GREY MAN is a frank and revelatory look at this extraordinary artist and her work….

Here is the full programme for you to gnash your teeth over if you missed it:

http://www.dinglefilmfestival.com/programme/sunday-17th/pauline-bewick-yellow-man-grey-man/

Next blog on my strange journey through the landscape and into the trousers of Thomas Hardy will follow soon!

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..who wants to give copies of her new novel to various people – maybe even you. The problem is, it’s an ebook, and the publisher has no gift voucher system. My scatty literary sister is thinking of sending her friends folding money and asking them to buy it on Amazon. Anyone got a better idea?

http://www.crimsonromance.com/upcoming-releases-romance-ebook/act-of-love/

And you might have noticed, I don’t know how to create proper hyper links in this blog. Can anyone tell me how to do it? Yes, I know, I know – I am as dippy as she is. Please don’t tell her, she will only gloat.

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Okay, I am reading FIFTY SHADES OF GREY.

The reason is that I am also a romantic novelist [though  my new offering is about to arrive on the scene under an assumed name] and of course, one must keep up with the competition.

Thanks to a kind friend who found once was enough, I have been lent her [slightly moist, but she claims that's because they were left in the camper van], copies of the first two tomes.

While I wait for the third one to arrive hot from her frenzied hands, I can’t help wondering how all the knots will eventually be untied. I don’t mean the sex stuff, I mean the plot knots, which will need some unravelling in Vol 3.

You have to believe I have not read the final volume or this won’t be any fun.

I predict that in FIFTY SHADES FREED:

Christian will admit that his real age is 50 and he has only kept those sexy just-fucked looks by extensive hair transplants and cosmetic surgery [that's why he hates being touched and has all those scars, see?]

He survived as a malnourished child by eating bits of his dead Mom – hence his obsession with eating and feeding his current Mom lookalike.

He will be eaten in his turn buy Ana  – that’s how she gets to be free finally. I only hope she roasts him to a crispy brown first.

And  as she is taken off in handcuffs she will realise she quite likes being cuffed…. by anyone.

Pip pip!

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I was thirteen when, shaking with nervous excitement, I went through the impressive doors of Bush House. The commissionaire – even more impressive – nodded me towards the lifts and  we [me and my mother, who was required to be my chaperone], ascended to Radio.

I was a contestant in the Children’s Hour programme ‘Regional Round’ – a not very demanding quiz game hosted by Geoffrey Dearmer, a kindly man with a gong, who responded to a wrong answer with a ‘gentle gong, Geoffrey’.

Luckily I did not earn a gong, but a BBC book token. I still have the stub, even though I can’t remember the book I bought with  it.

I dreamed of returning, perhaps as a child actor in one of the Children’s Hour serials. But fame eluded me, until I made it into Television Centre [another BBC giant that is now no more] as a regular on ‘You and Me’.

Bush House went dark at midday today. An era in broadcasting is over.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-18801251

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