tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52190086819956351732023-12-13T23:18:49.894+00:00Hayley Long's Blog Type ThingUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger106125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-55641762258964341192019-08-12T17:04:00.000+01:002019-08-12T17:47:40.793+01:00Butterfly Kiss<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRUDEGxRBn1ZzxSKnRrm2wq91mA8JUoAyKBT5x0oeGviEicvBuAqk-T7xofZo6MJjumJilLkucoTyxan54A5xLaPp8UyWgP4dV2Je93TAv08GjcdjbtBi_iwDphExcM4b-g7OjhacwEyTD/s1600/butterfly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="512" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRUDEGxRBn1ZzxSKnRrm2wq91mA8JUoAyKBT5x0oeGviEicvBuAqk-T7xofZo6MJjumJilLkucoTyxan54A5xLaPp8UyWgP4dV2Je93TAv08GjcdjbtBi_iwDphExcM4b-g7OjhacwEyTD/s320/butterfly.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Something very weird happened to me yesterday. At least, it
seemed weird to me but maybe I’m not in the best position to judge. For ten
days now, I’ve been wiped out by some joyless virus that has stolen my brain and
replaced it with snot. After ten days of doing nothing other than sleeping and coughing,
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everything</i> has started to feel a little
weird.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyway, in all this time, the only person who has been
getting me out of the house is Benny. Strictly speaking, Benny isn’t a person
because he’s a rabbit - but that’s just fussing over the details. Benny lives
in an enormous rabbit mansion which dominates my front room. Even so, he likes
to be let out of his mansion every morning so that he can drop bits of hay all
over my house and trample down anything that’s trying to grow in my garden.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Yesterday morning, I dragged myself downstairs, let Benny out
for a spin in the back garden and made myself useful filling the bird feeders with
sunflower hearts and replacing the water in the bird bath. When this was done,
I turned my attention to a small bowl of water that I keep filled for the thieving
thirsty squirrels. As I bent down to pick it up, I saw a butterfly floating
motionless inside.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was a Red Admiral. Brown with orange stripy bits. It was perfectly
symmetrical and arranged on display just like an exhibit. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">‘Shit,’ I muttered, and I tipped the water and the dead
butterfly on to a nearby parched plant.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">To my surprise, the butterfly moved. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I leaned in closer and had another look but nothing more
happened. The butterfly looked beautiful and sad and very dead. Maybe I was
imagining things? Carefully, I touched its wing with my finger – and there it
was again! A tiny, tiny flicker of movement. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I frowned. Then, very carefully, I picked the butterfly up
and carried it in my cupped hands, down the garden and closer to my house.
Then I placed it inside the plant pot of a rhododendron near my back door.
Here, the butterfly had half a chance of survival. Here, it was less likely to
get pecked to pieces by a blue tit or trampled to death by Benny.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I went off and did some other stuff and then I returned to check
on the butterfly to see how it was doing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It hadn’t moved. In fact, it looked deader than ever. Dismayed,
I gave it another poke with my finger. And once again, there was that tiny
flicker of movement.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I stood up and scratched my head. I had to do <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">something</i>. It seemed a real crying shame
just to let a living thing die. Maybe this butterfly would benefit from an
energy drink?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I went back to my kitchen, mixed a little icing sugar into
some warm water and put a few drops of this sugary mix on to a piece of kitchen
towel. Then I took it outside to the butterfly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Like magic, the butterfly quickly started to come to life. I
could see its antennae probing the soaked kitchen towel. I waited and watched as
the butterfly grew livelier and livelier. It began to flap its wings and make
tiny jumps into the air – but each jump ended with a clumsy crash landing. This
butterfly was flightless.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As I watched, the problem became clear. One of the butterfly’s
wings was torn almost in half. No matter how hard the butterfly flapped its
wings, it wasn’t going anywhere.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">‘Shit,’ I muttered again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Maybe I was over-reacting because I was ill, high on Sudafed
and lacking human contact, but this to me seemed like an absolute catastrophe.
I’d revived this Red Admiral with a fizzy drink just to condemn it to an even worse
death. It would have been better if I’d stayed in bed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But then I had an idea. It was a stupid idea – as many of
mine are - but it was also better than doing nothing. When I was younger, I used to mend my mangled cassette tapes with
tiny slivers of carefully placed Sellotape. Maybe this same trick would work on
the delicate wing of a butterfly? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I went back into my kitchen and cut a tiny fragment of Sellotape
and stuck it to my fingertip. Then I went back outside to the butterfly. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was still flapping its wings together and jumping around
the rhododendron in sad little somersaults.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Carefully, I took hold of the torn wing and patted the
sliver of Sellotape over the rip and then I let go.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The butterfly flapped its wings again and rose upwards in a
dizzy, disorientated motion. Then it flew straight towards my face and landed
right on the end of my nose.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I don’t like creepie-crawlies, insects or flappy things. My
shoulders instantly hunched up around my ears and I stumbled backwards.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The butterfly didn’t move. It stayed where it was, right there
on my nose. I could see it. How could I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i>
see it? It was ****ing ENORMOUS and it was tickling me. I was being tickled by
a ginormous angry butterfly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As gently as my terror would let me, I swatted it away. It flapped
around in front of me for a moment and then flew straight back into my face and
up towards my hair. Closing my eyes, I stumbled all the way back to my house in
a blind panic. Clearly this butterfly didn’t like the fact that I’d stuck
sticky tape on to its wing and now it was going to eat my brains. With my
shoulders up to my eyebrows, I fled into my house and peered into a mirror,
terrified of what I was about to see. But to my relief, the butterfly was gone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Breathing more calmly, I went back to my kitchen door. Straight
away something caught my eye. Just on the other side of the door, the Red Admiral
was flying around and around in circles and spiraling higher and higher.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I started to laugh. Then, as I watched, it broke out of its
spiral and fluttered away over my neighbour’s fence.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I hope my repair job lasts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">[PS I'm no wildlife expert and I'm certainly not advocating sticking things to animals and insects but sometimes you have to try emergency methods.]</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Hayley Longhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12932152248871509263noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-75635564988434393852019-07-05T12:12:00.000+01:002019-07-05T12:43:17.193+01:00Felixstowe Docs Part 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg86-bFF5ZUrDujukSAgsCrEZcMpv0vre2J530pillJyg5qiaovpL0LMjJJF_WzP0EQs1mKGASlywBmtKlLH_Wxd8NYfjJmWCQ7j3YQnMF2QL1m6yd5BKE7TRkqsHRcJY6nh5DqCMvFpnGn/s1600/P1000490.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg86-bFF5ZUrDujukSAgsCrEZcMpv0vre2J530pillJyg5qiaovpL0LMjJJF_WzP0EQs1mKGASlywBmtKlLH_Wxd8NYfjJmWCQ7j3YQnMF2QL1m6yd5BKE7TRkqsHRcJY6nh5DqCMvFpnGn/s400/P1000490.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">What an absolute marvel Felixstowe Book Festival is and what UTTER STARS are all those young writers from Felixstowe Academy who came along to Felixstowe Library last Friday evening in order to read their poems to an audience of 80+ people. I knew we'd definitely have a committed few who would turn up and do their school proud - but in the end, we had 22!!! And here they all are! (I snuck on to the Twittery thing and borrowed this lovely picture from @FXA_English - the account of Felixstowe Academy's English Department).</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkoNGuGheC6k-Lf6CXSVYURhId0K-jlklCQA6HTnbpc0ANYvVyJdMaCBvNAFKbfm2h9MTZmZ_SpsRV4hoD0W-KohjPp4p54fOLQE1msD3fSK3uxxrs3l8wQGJLQLIRhQxvFMrAxBnXsj0y/s1600/felix+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkoNGuGheC6k-Lf6CXSVYURhId0K-jlklCQA6HTnbpc0ANYvVyJdMaCBvNAFKbfm2h9MTZmZ_SpsRV4hoD0W-KohjPp4p54fOLQE1msD3fSK3uxxrs3l8wQGJLQLIRhQxvFMrAxBnXsj0y/s320/felix+2.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">It was a really emotional evening. I am a woman of flinty steel but even I had a misty-eyed moment when Oliver (Year 7) stood up, took a firm grip of the microphone and boomed, 'WHEN I THINK OF HOME, I THINK OF CHICKEN CHAR GRILLS...'</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">💗</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Who couldn't be moved by a sentiment as pure and relatable as that?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">And then there was Alyssia with her brilliant 'Mosquito Bitten Knees' and Matthew with his film called 'Saturday Bike Hike' which had an excellent Jamiroquai soundtrack and all sorts of camera trickery going on - and Sunnie with her bitter-sweet 'Good Times Beach Huts' and Connor with his 'Enjoyable Times at the Skate Park' and... and... honestly, it was all so good! And the future of Felixstowe is in safe hands.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">If you want to see the beautiful little book that we all made together, pop into Felixstowe Library and check it out. But here's a flavour of how lovely it is...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu5LuFSPGcMSL24701j7XF9O_Z0EubDMxEsD-ORWLtDMfKYVjioL4U_jTejh_nB5KsxM50yl-UOHPebbDukgI0dNAcfAjHO7AA5KQaGSx95O-q79bqInY7rWqEttSWT18aBJuQFNwp2l71/s1600/felix+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu5LuFSPGcMSL24701j7XF9O_Z0EubDMxEsD-ORWLtDMfKYVjioL4U_jTejh_nB5KsxM50yl-UOHPebbDukgI0dNAcfAjHO7AA5KQaGSx95O-q79bqInY7rWqEttSWT18aBJuQFNwp2l71/s200/felix+3.jpg" width="150" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I go to schools, I'm often asked which of my books I like the best. This isn't <i>my </i>book - but I'm proud to have had a hand in it and...you know what?... I think this is my favourite anyway. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">All 46 contributors got a complimentary copy - as every writer should. They also got one of these beautiful T-shirts from BLOC (Building Libraries on Creativity - the Suffolk Libraries' Youth Arts Programme.) On Saturday - following our Friday triumph - I spent a lovely day with some of these young writers. You can see us here modelling our T-shirts. I am told this is called a Boomerang. If you look closely, you will see that the only old person in this film is also the only one who is not able to jump and make a clean landing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">And here is the special message on the back of our t-shirts.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvaPfhGSn__dGge0BtU-EMl1mCIgFNIeZnohNcHbA-YiJd49ER_2WLVrFLzTxhXoITqG3VDyD4v9h2kiFP5kyT7Y59Y6WNpwKVaKuyNcZlxuMRd7EaNhySQueLi2Tuj06xENzj-sFrUk4G/s1600/felix+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvaPfhGSn__dGge0BtU-EMl1mCIgFNIeZnohNcHbA-YiJd49ER_2WLVrFLzTxhXoITqG3VDyD4v9h2kiFP5kyT7Y59Y6WNpwKVaKuyNcZlxuMRd7EaNhySQueLi2Tuj06xENzj-sFrUk4G/s320/felix+1.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Love Your Library. Love your town. Love our teenagers. They are all sources of inspiration.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thank you to everyone involved xxx</span></div>
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Hayley Longhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12932152248871509263noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-85212573717304747472019-05-31T12:30:00.002+01:002019-05-31T14:00:55.135+01:00Felixstowe Docs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A lot of people have heard of Felixstowe docks but - drop the K - have you heard about <b>Felixstowe.docs? </b>This is the name of a project I've been working on for several months with BLOC (Suffolk Libraries' youth arts programme), Felixstowe library, Felixstowe Book Festival and, crucially,a group of students from Felixstowe Academy.<br />
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It all began back in the winter of last year with an unexpected proposition in my inbox. </div>
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<i>Hello Hayley</i></div>
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<i>We would love you to come and work on a writing project with young people in Felixstowe.... </i></div>
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<i>...... blah blah details.... blah blah... more details... please ask us any questions you like....</i></div>
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<i>Look forward to hearing from you.</i></div>
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Felixstowe? It's the town I grew up in. It's where I went to school. These young people I was being offered the chance to work with were living a 21st century version of my teenage life. I read the email through a few more times and then I sent back a reply.</div>
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<i>Hello</i></div>
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<i>Thank you for your email which I read with interest.... blah... blah... If we could meet or have a chat on the phone sometime soon that would be great.</i></div>
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<i>Look forward to hearing back from you.</i></div>
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I did hear back and we did meet. One morning, just before Christmas, three of us sat down in a Norwich cafe<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span>and chatted about our plans for the young writers of Felixstowe. We all got quite excited. 'We'll call it Felixstowe.docs,' I said. 'Because the words that these kids write will be modern and fresh and will show that Felixstowe is much more than just a massive port - and we'll publish their writing in some sort of booklet-' </div>
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'No, it will be an actual book,' said one of my new Felixstowe.docs friends. 'Hardback. Nicely done.'</div>
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I nodded and started running ahead with a new idea. 'And maybe these young writers could also turn their words into arty little films?'</div>
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'Yes,' said my other new friend. 'And we can show their films at Felixstowe Book Festival. And perhaps they can do poetry performances at the festival too?' </div>
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We left that meeting buzzing with ideas. This was going to be amazing.</div>
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But I'm no poet. And I'm certainly no film-maker. You know what? Sometimes I'm not even sure if I'm a writer. A lot of the time I just sit and agonize about what I should write next and whether anyone is ever going to read it anyway! How on earth was I going to inspire anyone else to get creative? </div>
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I needn't have worried. </div>
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In Felixstowe Academy, there are some wonderfully talented and positive young people. Where do I start? I could tell you about Molly who made a film called 'Ocean Commotion' and wowed us all. I could tell you about Matthew who wrote a poem about what he sees in Felixstowe whenever he's out on his bike. I could tell you about Millie who is one of life's superstars simply because she <i>never stops smiling</i>. <span style="font-family: "apple color emoji" , "segoe ui emoji" , "noto color emoji" , "android emoji" , "emojisymbols" , "emojione mozilla" , "twemoji mozilla" , "segoe ui symbol"; font-size: 16px;">😊 And </span>I could tell you about the smashing little gang of teenagers who gave up part of their half-term to stand on a chilly breakwater and shout their poems at the sea. We had so much fun! And for the record, it wasn't me inspiring them - it was absolutely <i>them</i> inspiring me! The Felixstowe.docs project is one of the best things I've ever had a hand in and I feel uplifted! Thank you book people of Felixstowe for asking me!</div>
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You know, I really could go on about this for ages but I'm not going to because - if you can - I want you to come and see Molly, Millie, Matthew and all the rest of them at the Felixstowe Book festival. We are in Felixstowe Library at 6pm on Friday 28th. Tickets are free but you need to book them and they ARE GOING FAST. Click this <a href="https://felixstowebookfestival.co.uk/events/19-23">link</a> for more information. We'll also be having a bit of a 'Poetry Slam' on Saturday 29th in Felixstowe Library at 11am and then we'll be wandering down to the prom to entertain the people passing by... or maybe, just to shout at the sea. </div>
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Come and join us!</div>
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All shouting at the sea in accordance with legal rules. All pictures with permission.<br />
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Hayley Longhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12932152248871509263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-19574595099283840922019-05-07T12:27:00.001+01:002019-05-07T12:40:07.936+01:00Quick Reads in Wales - the launch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last week, I hopped on the train at Norwich and five hours later, I hopped off again in Cardiff - my lovely old stomping ground - in order to attend the launch of the four new titles in the Quick Reads series in Wales.<br />
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They are:-<br />
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Reset Your Goals - inspiring stories from Olympic hurdler Colin Jackson, Leicester City footballer Matthew Jones and footballer Laura McAllister among others.<br />
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Music to Make Friends By - that's the one I wrote and it's all about pop music AND HOW MUCH I LOVE IT<br />
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... and in Welsh / Cymraeg<br />
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Y Goliau a'r Dagrau - by Tash Harding<br />
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and<br />
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Wil ac Aeron by Heulwyn Ann Davies<br />
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AND THEY ARE AVAILABLE NOW IN PAPERBACK AND TO DOWNLOAD FOR £1.<br />
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A QUID.<br />
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That is loose change for 100 or so pages!<br />
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If you haven't read my book yet, I want to know why!<br />
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Anyway, it was well worth the long train journey to Cardiff. Apart from beautiful weather, beautiful views across Cardiff Bay and a beautiful venue (the Norwegian Church), we also ate cupcakes with our books on! And I got to have my photo taken with a load of super fit Welsh sporting stars and I think some of their athleticism must have rubbed off on me because I've been feeling really chipper and athletic ever since 🌝<br />
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But best of all, I got to sit in the sunshine with my old DJ partner Kirsty. Back in the noughties, we were the girl DJs of Cardiff's bar and club scene. We even got to play in the legendary Clwb Ifor Bach! That's us below - then and now.<br />
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Hayley Longhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12932152248871509263noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-14991808772436275282018-10-19T16:21:00.000+01:002018-10-19T17:10:50.230+01:00A Little Drive to Wales<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Anyone who knows me will know that I love Wales. North, south, mid, west - I don't care so long as I'm in Wales.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Which is sort of a shame because I live in Norwich which is quite a drive away.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So I was delighted to do a mini tour of Wales for the Welsh Books Council and Hot Key Books to celebrate 'The Nearest Faraway Place' winning a 2018 Tir na n-Og award.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I packed a lot into a few days. Here's a quick summary:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I drove across Britain, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">said hi to Newtown Library at the start of Libraries Week,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">met the smashing kids of Llanidloes, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">marveled at the boys who plotted an entire thriller </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">IN JUST FIVE MEASLY MINUTES,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">literally looked at 'witch things' with Helen from </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">went in the oldest WH Smith's IN THE WORLD, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">had a quick trip to Llangollen,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">drank a pint of beer that was too strong for me in Wrexham,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">met Boo the Staffie,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">met loads of very cool kids from Rhosnesni High,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ate a scone the size of my head,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">visited Wrexham Football Club and talked about 1970s football with Shoned,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">played 'Hunt the Radio Station' in Glyndwr University,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">found it, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">recorded a radio interview,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">danced on the beach all by myself in Rhyl,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">had a very big chat with the bright young people of Rhyl,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">drank a pumpkin spice latte with Kat Ellis - writer and Rhyl girl,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> walked almost to Prestatyn,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">watched 'The Apprentice',</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">drove back to Norwich.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was good! And I met so many great people and I feel like a have a whole load of new friends.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was also a bit knackering. Next week I'm going to Aberystwyth...</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_WYRyD1Vhdk5e5tk3IBpFZ9RyCTvXQHR0_ZemPrcpN9cgOwAUhTnMsQmzZww8WLyzyY_phTzDPlvC4QCQE9-PmlwOoqLPD_-nYr-SG67KE0VDGtK5EoQMYruGvFJO_rHbVQpUjdEfuByd/s1600/tour+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_WYRyD1Vhdk5e5tk3IBpFZ9RyCTvXQHR0_ZemPrcpN9cgOwAUhTnMsQmzZww8WLyzyY_phTzDPlvC4QCQE9-PmlwOoqLPD_-nYr-SG67KE0VDGtK5EoQMYruGvFJO_rHbVQpUjdEfuByd/s320/tour+10.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Newtown WH Smiths. Proper old skool.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shoned from the Welsh Books' Council. lyfli 💓 (I don't know if that's how you say lovely in Welsh but it looks right.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheuCVYlsF-r4xpPZ1QYdmMBateOecgPHrJXukfd7K1U0f04dlSOCwAy8diOexB4enlnX8uAP3UU7f3DmwBnMXbo_6nUbbs_yeB_O7qJYpMWWUm2rg1sb_5pwoKFoAlCfB_qMAI7a1O_4n0/s1600/Screenshot+%252815%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="459" data-original-width="815" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheuCVYlsF-r4xpPZ1QYdmMBateOecgPHrJXukfd7K1U0f04dlSOCwAy8diOexB4enlnX8uAP3UU7f3DmwBnMXbo_6nUbbs_yeB_O7qJYpMWWUm2rg1sb_5pwoKFoAlCfB_qMAI7a1O_4n0/s320/Screenshot+%252815%2529.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rhyl girl and horror writer Kat Ellis. Not actually horrific at all.</td></tr>
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Hayley Longhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12932152248871509263noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-21859010224138945622018-08-17T16:36:00.000+01:002018-08-17T17:22:45.539+01:00In Which I say a Little Something for Aretha Franklin<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The whole world
and her husband are writing about Aretha Franklin right now, and I’m going to say
a quick something about her too because yesterday’s announcement that she's
no longer with us brought me about as close as I am ever likely to get to a religious
experience.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">On hearing the news, my emotions
went into a spin-cycle.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">One moment, I
was letting out a sad little sigh and a second later I was just nodding
my head in awe.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Because what a life she
had!</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And what a remarkable human being
she was!</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Twice a mum by the age of 16
and a young black woman in a white man’s world, the teenage Aretha could surely
never have guessed the impact that she was going to make on millions of people
all over the globe – including, me, in my bedroom in Felixstowe in the 1980s. With my clock-radio tuned to Laser 558, an offshore
pirate radio station, I came to know and love all her famous Atlantic Records hits of the late 60s</span><span style="font-size: 16px;">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Back then, I
remember thinking that those records - </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">'</span><span style="font-size: 16px;">Respect', 'I say a Little Prayer', 'Chain of Fools', 'Rock Steady' - </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">sounded amazing. So what if</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> they were already approaching twenty years old?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">And the
magic is that they always <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">will</i> sound
amazing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s nothing at all on them
to date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just timelessly brilliant
musicians, perfect backing singers and Aretha’s strong, heart-tugging and
unmistakable voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Years later,
my friend Kirsty and I had fun on the Cardiff club and bar scene as a couple of
‘Girl DJs’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We called ourselves Barabajagal
and we described our night as ‘Beat Soul Funk of the late 60s and early 70s.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To begin with, we didn’t have many records – and
I am, of course, talking about your actual physical LP RECORDS which played on the
WHEELS OF STEEL, not some abstract digital download - so we mostly just
alternated between Aretha Franklin and Stevie Wonder and hoped no one would
notice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if they did, nobody seemed
to care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because, honestly, if you start
off with ‘Rock Steady’ and then crossfade into ‘Superstition’, and then switch back
again to Aretha and ‘You’ve Got the Sweetest Smile and the Funkiest Style,’ you’re
already off to an absolute flyer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who
but a fool could possibly feel short-changed?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Some time
later still, I started writing books for teenagers and I squeezed music – and Aretha – into the plots whenever I could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She’s there in the background of <i>Lottie Biggs is Not Desperate</i> and she’s
a crucial part of Griff and Dylan’s healing process in <i>The Nearest Faraway
Place</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wouldn’t ordinarily quote
myself but in this instance, I’m going to give myself a special pass because I
can’t sum up the power of Aretha Franklin’s voice any better than I did as
Dylan, the narrator of that book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">'I stood
completely still and listened in breathless wonder as Aretha sang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d never heard anyone like her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had a voice that was strong enough and
dramatic enough and warm enough to wake the dead.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I must have
written those words about three years ago and they were never fiction - only ever a
candid expression of what I heard through my clock-radio as a teenager and have
always heard ever since.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aretha Franklin
was up there on her own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A force of nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A natural woman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Thank you, Aretha x<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Hayley Longhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12932152248871509263noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-64993483367444126352018-08-06T16:50:00.000+01:002018-08-06T20:30:00.183+01:00A Few Words about Irma<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">If you’re
reading this blog post, you probably don’t need me to tell you that Irma was a
little black Netherland Dwarf rabbit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She lived for nearly eleven years and it was a privilege and a pleasure
to have her with us for so long.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">She liked sweet
things like apples and carrots and little bits of rich tea biscuit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She also loved hay and there was usually a
long piece of it hanging out of her mouth and twirling around in circles,
getting shorter and shorter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few times in her life she was so ill I thought we were about to lose her, and then, when she was recovering, she’d only eat wild dandelions and G and I would go out foraging for
them with a plastic bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
days afterwards, our fridge would be choc-a-block with lunch boxes filled with washed
dandelion leaves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Despite
being a rabbit, Irma wasn’t fussed on greens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried broccoli (she ignored it), then
cabbage (she ignored that too) and then spring greens (she was furious) and then
Kale (OK, she said, I’ll eat this but only if you alternate it with cavolo
nero.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Irma lived
indoors in the room where I write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes,
while I sat at the computer, she’d lay down and sleep just by the side of my
chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Other times</span>, she’d lay right on
top of my feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was one occasion where she quietly
chewed her way through the laces of my Converse without me realising.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Together we wrote a bunch of novels –
everything, in fact, since 'Lottie Biggs is Not Mad'. We also watched a lot of telly and listened to a lot of music together. Irma</span><span style="font-size: 16px;"> was very familiar with Elastica, Kurt Vile, The Breeders, Belly and PJ Harvey.</span><span style="font-size: 16px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16px;">She didn’t like PJ Harvey but I think she liked everything else. She definitely loved Nick Drake because she'd always go calm and still if he was playing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Outside in
the garden, she was boss. She liked chasing pigeons and trashing my flowers. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I wasted my time once planting a load of tulips and she trampled the whole lot to the ground. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Irma also liked killing pansies by eating them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">When she
died, in her sleep of old age, we</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> put her back in the garden with a new little tree we now call The Irma
Tree.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I know she’d approve of the tree
we chose because on the planting instructions it said, ‘Protect this tree from
rabbits.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I never knew
a rabbit could be so interesting and so nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I never even knew that a rabbit had facial expressions until we had furious/cheeky/happy/nosy Irma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then again, that’s the thing
with pets – the more you put in, the more you get back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfZmlAHK0hMn28fcXFvqD9FJ7QH8ai9P0QMKB-33Y3qmu0FpdRYD4GAPt-h52TpUY9Rifsq7fKv7O1kKIwTi1lRCzI5GyYJLER4iochKVmt4dnn4QTw1V95q4Bkq3nu3I4nIhqFZHbd8OL/s1600/IMG_20180611_153910.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfZmlAHK0hMn28fcXFvqD9FJ7QH8ai9P0QMKB-33Y3qmu0FpdRYD4GAPt-h52TpUY9Rifsq7fKv7O1kKIwTi1lRCzI5GyYJLER4iochKVmt4dnn4QTw1V95q4Bkq3nu3I4nIhqFZHbd8OL/s200/IMG_20180611_153910.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDmmSPYf8V5hUl2B_K6fYxEwOP9RnwhKGaide897NbHC9aiB5CVUOidCdihgtLp8asBPO7eRIFziEtucX8Nj3nFioQYjZ9Hx43rpR1HUik8kQcSYmYLC2yq_e9XtUchSx42WiuRbvUIPWG/s1600/IMG_20171231_170349.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDmmSPYf8V5hUl2B_K6fYxEwOP9RnwhKGaide897NbHC9aiB5CVUOidCdihgtLp8asBPO7eRIFziEtucX8Nj3nFioQYjZ9Hx43rpR1HUik8kQcSYmYLC2yq_e9XtUchSx42WiuRbvUIPWG/s200/IMG_20171231_170349.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrwVPMnhKuLQQRRNJAxo4ahUR65cR7u-RRdOAwQ-yl6Cjhed7vjfXU8IRIPd3DpDjlhv4f9s-3iPmu5_lW1AYn13-IP7gNl4kvVwn903mZndjwHF8K9aZ8bfC84ArCJ4HFX6MjUlwmH2L4/s1600/IMG_20180315_140702.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrwVPMnhKuLQQRRNJAxo4ahUR65cR7u-RRdOAwQ-yl6Cjhed7vjfXU8IRIPd3DpDjlhv4f9s-3iPmu5_lW1AYn13-IP7gNl4kvVwn903mZndjwHF8K9aZ8bfC84ArCJ4HFX6MjUlwmH2L4/s200/IMG_20180315_140702.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To be clear, that is not an Irma statue in the background. It's a French bulldog my niece gave me.</td></tr>
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<br />Hayley Longhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12932152248871509263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-54401240007633153572018-06-05T15:33:00.002+01:002018-06-05T15:49:12.173+01:00Empathy Day - June 12th<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtvE_jgZl5y621vzVW1SPIjm8pknHB07fq9qV7WMKsFl_08OMTpzfiFBfyUTBo32thHgB4LouIHKPrEBNjuYhaeQ22Uuug_YBSz44V8ucWeX_yS4IpmuxxuNm7e0Y0VenfsANkTW31o3-E/s1600/Empathy+Roundel18+Final+Outlined.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="219" data-original-width="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtvE_jgZl5y621vzVW1SPIjm8pknHB07fq9qV7WMKsFl_08OMTpzfiFBfyUTBo32thHgB4LouIHKPrEBNjuYhaeQ22Uuug_YBSz44V8ucWeX_yS4IpmuxxuNm7e0Y0VenfsANkTW31o3-E/s1600/Empathy+Roundel18+Final+Outlined.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">June 12<sup>th</sup> is
Empathy Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you’re not totally sure
what that entails, this famous quotation from Harper Lee’s wonderful novel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">To Kill a Mockingbird</i> is an interesting
place to start...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">You never really understand a person until you consider things from his
point of view... until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It was Atticus Finch who
said that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I love Atticus and he said
A LOT OF WISE THINGS but in this particular instance, I’ve always
felt that his use of imagery is distracting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Actually, if you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i> overthink
it, it’s downright creepy and disturbing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So rather than taking the advice of Atticus, take
the advice of the good people at <a href="http://www.empathylab.uk/">www.empathylab.uk</a> instead and simply read a thought-provoking
book. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here are my Top Five
recommendations for Empathy Day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Coming
to England </span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; text-indent: -18pt;">by Floella Benjamin<b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></b></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQiGnW3v_TIQveKIdzn6aJpA11OhTWHyKjZGA8le66txMQ1CGBAlZmvkaddLyuSsKnsMD2OX1UqliD7xqIrrp_jvC21MdCPwcGDHG1fdqYkZo73TVihwCyXPCndu4ptYzGU6u1BZfdeang/s1600/floella+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="264" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQiGnW3v_TIQveKIdzn6aJpA11OhTWHyKjZGA8le66txMQ1CGBAlZmvkaddLyuSsKnsMD2OX1UqliD7xqIrrp_jvC21MdCPwcGDHG1fdqYkZo73TVihwCyXPCndu4ptYzGU6u1BZfdeang/s320/floella+2.jpg" width="200" /></a></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">This book is
beautiful. And if you are lucky enough
to get hold of the big colour illustrated edition, it’s even more beautiful. Floella Benjamin tells us about her early
life in Trinidad and about her big noisy family and her inspirational mother
and the Caribbean food she remembers eating and about her long and exciting
voyage to England as one of the Windrush generation. After that, the story darkens somewhat. We hear of the hostility that is waiting to
greet the family in England and about the unfair treatment Floella frequently
encounters at school. Luckily, and with
the support of her brilliant mum, Floella keeps her chin up and finds a way
through it all. This is an inspiring
little book and an important one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgCQ491Ibko-oDAzi2NUhCgjAtzUiLsEe2n-JR6i3iMiiumObW8IfbCCst5OCtg1dgPw1BHBH8tQbdow80h1OeFlmdE7qBuyI-3S0fR0BRAPuR8RoHtQmusZdkWoFhwbpNxlb9W2qRLVGz/s1600/zeph.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="326" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgCQ491Ibko-oDAzi2NUhCgjAtzUiLsEe2n-JR6i3iMiiumObW8IfbCCst5OCtg1dgPw1BHBH8tQbdow80h1OeFlmdE7qBuyI-3S0fR0BRAPuR8RoHtQmusZdkWoFhwbpNxlb9W2qRLVGz/s320/zeph.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>
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<b style="text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Refugee
Boy </span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; text-indent: -18pt;">by
Benjamin Zephaniah</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I’ve written about this novel
before but I’m writing about it again here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Alem is a 14-year-old boy from Ethiopia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His dad is Ethiopian and his mum is Eritrean and that makes life very
complicated because Ethiopia and Eritrea are at war.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day, Alem’s dad takes him on a surprise
trip to London.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then his dad just
vanishes leaving Alem all alone and in the care of UK social services.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not difficult to read this book and
think, <i>What if that were me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or my
son?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or my brother?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or whatever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And it’s not hard to read this story and make sense of the truly
desperate lengths that human beings will go to in order to get themselves or their
children to a place of apparent safety.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Two
Weeks with the Queen </span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; text-indent: -18pt;">by Maurice Gleitzman </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRyKjz_33Il6eTxxPGTEYI1wEadKmoN7Po2D0L_ZkbPnow9D3pjkdp6luw1Yj3odVN3SRmVFna0KYDgDrbGB0-yQPaaPIUYHOVKVB_tky_24NSNbjk8rXcvpiRA9aQiVKNWq26RjuhtHoU/s1600/queen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="474" data-original-width="304" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRyKjz_33Il6eTxxPGTEYI1wEadKmoN7Po2D0L_ZkbPnow9D3pjkdp6luw1Yj3odVN3SRmVFna0KYDgDrbGB0-yQPaaPIUYHOVKVB_tky_24NSNbjk8rXcvpiRA9aQiVKNWq26RjuhtHoU/s320/queen.jpg" width="205" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I stumbled upon this when
I was doing my teaching practice way back in the last millennium. It’s a story about a 12 year-old Australian
boy called Colin who is sent to England to live with relatives while his brother
has treatment for cancer. Colin decides
that the most useful thing he can do while he is in the UK is ask the Queen to
recommend a good doctor. Colin doesn’t get
to meet the queen but he <i>does</i> meet a gay
Welshman called Ted. A lot happens and I
don’t want to spoil anything by giving too much away. But basically, this book is about cancer and
AIDS and homophobia and grief and it’s.... often really, really funny. It really is!
Go and read it. However old you
are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBbu2cjaESCGuXtj5NrLjwg1xGkRnUAf560wsrvRY2hKFj45_YTBa_onSCfe98-oSmfsQEtUj-lImsCgHdvDX6VJ9DWjrnOMaL3685Dm9P1aXpMgCtQ9szHd7hsR_kNZznb02UbkIdIxcL/s1600/catcher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="493" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBbu2cjaESCGuXtj5NrLjwg1xGkRnUAf560wsrvRY2hKFj45_YTBa_onSCfe98-oSmfsQEtUj-lImsCgHdvDX6VJ9DWjrnOMaL3685Dm9P1aXpMgCtQ9szHd7hsR_kNZznb02UbkIdIxcL/s320/catcher.jpg" width="194" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The
Catcher in the Rye </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">by J.D. Salinger<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">J.D Salinger’s
ground-breaking novel about a 16-year-old boy who goes AWOL for three days in
New York City may seem like a strange addition to this list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holden Caulfield is a boy with a wealthy and
privileged background.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On every page, he
whines and sneers and boasts and lies and contradicts himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In spite of being arguably the most famous
teenager in fiction, Holden isn’t an easy person to get on with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Salinger isn’t asking us to like his protagonist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not even sure that he desperately wants
every reader to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">understand</i> Holden either
because Holden’s bravado is so unrelenting, it’s very easy to chuck the book
aside and miss the clues that make this novel so powerful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But look carefully at Chapter Five where Holden
tells us about Old Allie’s baseball mitt. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then ask yourself if you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">still</i> think Holden Caulfield is just a spoilt whining pain in the arse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -18pt;">The Diary of a Young Girl </b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -18pt;">/ </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -18pt;">The Diary of Anne Frank </b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -18pt;">by Anne Frank </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIDCOuKmUPeknZNlQO8KwPQUDy2nsz6k9DPpbEj74ExYJoglRw6cQ2gAWxajM0BrzmZOz-eSn7a4b0w9B0qLTFk40i5KtLlDMxQTVDUlSEmsP7bnJla_06u09aBf_hDR0IJE7nu8BoWahf/s1600/anne+frank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="321" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIDCOuKmUPeknZNlQO8KwPQUDy2nsz6k9DPpbEj74ExYJoglRw6cQ2gAWxajM0BrzmZOz-eSn7a4b0w9B0qLTFk40i5KtLlDMxQTVDUlSEmsP7bnJla_06u09aBf_hDR0IJE7nu8BoWahf/s320/anne+frank.jpg" width="205" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">This book should need no
introduction. I borrowed it from my
school library when I was a teenager and the thing that struck me most about it
was the ordinariness of it all. Anne
moaned about her mum and her sister, thought her father was the cat’s whiskers,
wrote a reasonably detailed description of her own foof and had a slow burning
thing for Peter van Pels. Except, of
course, that nothing was ordinary. This
is a true story from Nazi-occupied Amsterdam and Anne was a Jewish girl hiding
in an attic for over two years. And then
the diary abruptly ends because the people hiding in the attic are betrayed and
everyone is carted off to concentration camps.
Of the nine people in the attic, only Anne’s father survived the
war. I think everyone should read Anne’s
diary at some point in their lives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Hayley Longhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12932152248871509263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-16055877425761948752018-05-11T11:13:00.000+01:002018-05-12T08:48:21.962+01:00The Tir na n-Og Award 2018 <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihNrqbFsD8LaRZU1rW986tgUDPF7fTxo9FQIxvoB0s2zlA3-FtJNDho7MxeT1Af_xX1D0sz4AanOXI9KZ1df_p5sDHPzKwOzgluqsGMo5L15y7BpUG1TbHypr3uSMND0GZdjz6UNcvuNyC/s1600/tirnanog+me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="678" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihNrqbFsD8LaRZU1rW986tgUDPF7fTxo9FQIxvoB0s2zlA3-FtJNDho7MxeT1Af_xX1D0sz4AanOXI9KZ1df_p5sDHPzKwOzgluqsGMo5L15y7BpUG1TbHypr3uSMND0GZdjz6UNcvuNyC/s320/tirnanog+me.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A few days
ago I drove to beautiful Aberystwyth to attend the presentation of the 2018 Tir
na n-Og children’s literature Award. This is an award which celebrates English-language books with an authentic Welsh background. And guess what? I won it!!! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am so
very, very chuffed. On the night, up in
the National Library of Wales, I was also excited and a bit nervous and then
sort of so overwhelmed that I couldn’t eat any
of the fancy snacks that had been laid on because my stomach was all full
of butterflies. I did manage a glass of
wine though. It would have been rude not to! And I won’t ever forget
that night halfway up the hill in Aberystwyth because I also met some wonderful
people and made some lovely, lovely new friends. So I want to use this blog post to wave hello
to Eloise Williams and Wendy White and Sharon Tregenza and Valeriane Leblond. We were all on the shortlist together. This one:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Santa's Greatest Gift by Tudur Dylan Jones and illustrated by Valeriane Leblond</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">King of the Sky by Nicola Davies</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">St. David's Day is Cancelled by Wendy White</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Jewelled Jaguar by Sharon Tregenza</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Gaslight by Eloise Williams</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Valeriane, Wendy, Sharon, Eloise and I sat together on a stage in front a lot of people
and answered questions and... although that sounded like a scary prospect, it was a real laugh.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’ve looked online and found this picture
which I’ve borrowed from Simon Fisher aka Daddy Bookworm to show you what we
looked like:</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNCnqAlLhFrY_kfCGgTTRg2zW1GMRho0utyUQJfn_iD2wuI05KbBJKOoHCAOMYd7wejprEQfI7DaHelh1Ea07lLycA_lZCfZsU1TFVhGWwdMp6PRteFdXi8I9hQ2k3YPtgyfx-GWtb68dY/s1600/stage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNCnqAlLhFrY_kfCGgTTRg2zW1GMRho0utyUQJfn_iD2wuI05KbBJKOoHCAOMYd7wejprEQfI7DaHelh1Ea07lLycA_lZCfZsU1TFVhGWwdMp6PRteFdXi8I9hQ2k3YPtgyfx-GWtb68dY/s320/stage.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hello Simon and family, I’m
waving to you all too and thank you so much for all the support that you have given me and other writers. You can check out their website <a href="http://familybookworms.wales/">here</a>.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And I also want
to wave to Paul Jeorrett who asked us questions and made us laugh and somehow
inspired me to tell a few hundred people about the eating habits of Irma, my beloved pet bunny.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And I want to wave to Helen
Jones and Eirlys at the Welsh Books Council who are LUSH and who are
doing stirling work promoting reading and books for children in Wales in both
the Welsh and English languages.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was
very impressed to learn that Eirlys was in the BBC drama of ‘The Owl Service’ which scared the sh*t out of me when I was about 12. Now I’ll have to watch it all over again to see if I can spot her. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And I want
to wave to my friend Gwen who let me stay in her house. Gwen has a cat called Bara Brith (Welsh
teacake) who just happened to turn up inside the pages of ‘The Nearest Faraway
Place.’ Here she is:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmETbQrarm1IgOejGA7i-ftpx4rW8akHJbkxISh_juWsRlFhgeZPcjN-jfGgvbZAFF55eDxdcAEeQB2kto54RGXYOqvwaV0VQoF2pR8f5WteFFV_bs5zEnLjHSI_NjlLyjy3roTPSX4Bg/s1600/IMG_20180508_201335+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmETbQrarm1IgOejGA7i-ftpx4rW8akHJbkxISh_juWsRlFhgeZPcjN-jfGgvbZAFF55eDxdcAEeQB2kto54RGXYOqvwaV0VQoF2pR8f5WteFFV_bs5zEnLjHSI_NjlLyjy3roTPSX4Bg/s320/IMG_20180508_201335+%25281%2529.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Just to be clear, that's Bara Brith - not Gwen.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And also, I
want to wave to everyone in real life or on any social media who said ‘Congratulations’
or ‘Well done’ or ‘Llongyfarchiadau’ or anything else sweet and friendly to me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Thank you so
much.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Diolch yn
fawr.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And Emma Matthewson, I kicked the bar for you ;)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Wales, I
love you, don’t I? I'll end this post with some pictures.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNCnqAlLhFrY_kfCGgTTRg2zW1GMRho0utyUQJfn_iD2wuI05KbBJKOoHCAOMYd7wejprEQfI7DaHelh1Ea07lLycA_lZCfZsU1TFVhGWwdMp6PRteFdXi8I9hQ2k3YPtgyfx-GWtb68dY/s1600/stage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"></span></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq1je2uKIMhL-brff_mOwGcFctBiXeYVyHzliCSJQ0zDN37MndFNdmP2jCMnbzYx2Ck3nSPNXVIrTTRe4iO03w_ZoPbw8gnXs7vvtJa8BipIh8OV1KHR3wyC-mCjdhy3Dk3_2HaQsTjmkQ/s1600/IMG_20180508_192825.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq1je2uKIMhL-brff_mOwGcFctBiXeYVyHzliCSJQ0zDN37MndFNdmP2jCMnbzYx2Ck3nSPNXVIrTTRe4iO03w_ZoPbw8gnXs7vvtJa8BipIh8OV1KHR3wyC-mCjdhy3Dk3_2HaQsTjmkQ/s320/IMG_20180508_192825.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Down the other end is a bar that needs kicking. It's an Aber thing. It's a lucky thing. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsjfrcQYCyOzr-dXOuhIBna7oXD3dEj5duxjSG4lxeQ6d3XhcdqgLj0F5etNdpkeXJ-t5G3TCAUs2nt7tCKx8UiU2jFmEzeRQsh7p0pitvystt4bIg5Z-dvH047I8a5puS9cudMVnxfA98/s1600/IMG_20180509_130034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsjfrcQYCyOzr-dXOuhIBna7oXD3dEj5duxjSG4lxeQ6d3XhcdqgLj0F5etNdpkeXJ-t5G3TCAUs2nt7tCKx8UiU2jFmEzeRQsh7p0pitvystt4bIg5Z-dvH047I8a5puS9cudMVnxfA98/s320/IMG_20180509_130034.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aberystwyth Castle. Seen better days. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDEWSc6NR-WFHllDhQtDTkVGLxYVAJeJvNfWzFQ_gApy4NaTpq08_DiZCnnW88JNZKleC3_J-VgLuHybxleW17h3AWlhaWNP3jYRQaWw87T0wj5WKOg37OdptYOrGxskAAHWOHwQgaNBju/s1600/IMG_20180509_130046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDEWSc6NR-WFHllDhQtDTkVGLxYVAJeJvNfWzFQ_gApy4NaTpq08_DiZCnnW88JNZKleC3_J-VgLuHybxleW17h3AWlhaWNP3jYRQaWw87T0wj5WKOg37OdptYOrGxskAAHWOHwQgaNBju/s320/IMG_20180509_130046.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Special bench. Love conquers All. Griff and Hari sat here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWoIzLZucAJGP2cQSUeVq77OYqB2_eiSv9VPyJTp8VrJqrk4sr0tAdB7yZt2V-ihaydliHaMzo-YUqFhXghl2EhSzj7_iOi0nnodnDi5oUYsd9lkx6kJiYDCkMJgKdl1ub7ZKCsj-4yeQe/s1600/IMG_20180509_193624.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWoIzLZucAJGP2cQSUeVq77OYqB2_eiSv9VPyJTp8VrJqrk4sr0tAdB7yZt2V-ihaydliHaMzo-YUqFhXghl2EhSzj7_iOi0nnodnDi5oUYsd9lkx6kJiYDCkMJgKdl1ub7ZKCsj-4yeQe/s320/IMG_20180509_193624.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Special sticker :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh42GYvUl7x5ZmB5zoW6y58ik4ygI19Q6MJoiB8Pz0fzUdAgthXYqBI6ca08tjFj5oXzupeBt0SmPHW-gI0AbgdTQfEOxnQh5noYd4ML3vXR0fZMc-Ne4WoHGddagtW4gbBi4S6mGrRZUIL/s1600/IMG_20180511_095211.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh42GYvUl7x5ZmB5zoW6y58ik4ygI19Q6MJoiB8Pz0fzUdAgthXYqBI6ca08tjFj5oXzupeBt0SmPHW-gI0AbgdTQfEOxnQh5noYd4ML3vXR0fZMc-Ne4WoHGddagtW4gbBi4S6mGrRZUIL/s320/IMG_20180511_095211.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For my fancy cabinet</td></tr>
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Hayley Longhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12932152248871509263noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-17931014067498200872018-05-05T19:43:00.000+01:002018-05-05T23:00:39.846+01:00Top Ten Novels about Teenage Love and Loss<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhos_WFE5Vfs9qPvVh4VVa1FIz5dqYqUZ60iL6QB9DxOiGZdsUc9wbgxHWp2ch5fLu0Gb0szYQRqi5KNlJMPqO4eQMZtwjfl4cXaiNLnEZBORIj080xG3EBpKuZWKzMKWTFQBzfTCZGEwQJ/s1600/ponyboy.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhos_WFE5Vfs9qPvVh4VVa1FIz5dqYqUZ60iL6QB9DxOiGZdsUc9wbgxHWp2ch5fLu0Gb0szYQRqi5KNlJMPqO4eQMZtwjfl4cXaiNLnEZBORIj080xG3EBpKuZWKzMKWTFQBzfTCZGEwQJ/s320/ponyboy.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It’s no spoiler to tell
you that my latest novel, ‘The Nearest Faraway Place’ begins with a terrible
accident. It’s the literary equivalent
of delivering a knockout punch before the audience has even got comfortable in
their seats. Game over. Story finished. The end.
Except of course, the game is not over and the story must go on. In fiction - just as in life - endings and
beginnings blur together in a never-ending cycle and we humans reveal ourselves
to be a remarkably resilient bunch. And
nowhere is this resilience more strikingly apparent than in the teenager. Where there is grief and loss, there is
almost always love and hope. Below is my
top ten list of books which show teenagers and tweens at their most vulnerable -
while celebrating, too, youth’s infinite capacity for recovery and optimism. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jane Eyre – Charlotte Brontë<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7bHlYqdJdasCyC_Wf-gCzl18ck0qL3VIv-rYar9ztfriChjK0r-qBLYzVKQi9G9yytmeS5ELJGFXa3SstiKViQRvDpUos21OIlSxqqH5325c-JFG5YgciSYS4lUG_q-QsBdniDR2arxZT/s1600/jane+eyre.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="180" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7bHlYqdJdasCyC_Wf-gCzl18ck0qL3VIv-rYar9ztfriChjK0r-qBLYzVKQi9G9yytmeS5ELJGFXa3SstiKViQRvDpUos21OIlSxqqH5325c-JFG5YgciSYS4lUG_q-QsBdniDR2arxZT/s200/jane+eyre.jpg" width="128" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Surely everyone knows
something of this story whether they’ve read it or not.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s one of those nineteenth century
emotional rollercoasters which lifts the reader up on one page only to bring
them crashing down on the next. Orphaned Jane Eyre lives in the house of her
rich cruel aunt with her rich cruel cousins and keenly feels the absence of
love in her life.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">But then Jane is sent to Lowood School and is
finally free of her hideous relations.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Hooray!</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Except that Lowood turns
out to be a joyless hellhole just screaming to be shut down by OFSTED.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Boo!</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s OK though because Jane is befriended by the wise, kind and saintly
Helen Burns.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">But then Helen dies of
consumption.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">And so it continues.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Jane is feisty, self-reliant, irrepressible
and wonderful.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I first read this book
when I was twelve - or rather, I repeatedly read the first half of it.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">My twelve-year-old self had zero interest in
Jane’s adult shenanigans and all that soppy Mr Rochester stuff.</span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life: An Exploded Diagram – Mal Peet<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNAc-8fzltraI0mFULGaxfWW8vwsBYRknUWZyLUKfRiUSWrdyDQEpJjEoY8EmLf2m247StpMRt62qF93LZLslV3_u-I4ypyR1IfIf0zDgCbq2NY3ElGc-j57lHKqrFRjjZPjRlVw4Htvs9/s1600/mal+peet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="278" data-original-width="181" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNAc-8fzltraI0mFULGaxfWW8vwsBYRknUWZyLUKfRiUSWrdyDQEpJjEoY8EmLf2m247StpMRt62qF93LZLslV3_u-I4ypyR1IfIf0zDgCbq2NY3ElGc-j57lHKqrFRjjZPjRlVw4Htvs9/s200/mal+peet.jpg" width="130" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Oh how I love, love, love
this book!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is it a novel or is it an
autobiography?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a note at the back, Mal
Peet tells us it’s actually a bit of both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Clem - or is it Mal? - looks back on his life and narrates the story of
his origins in rural Norfolk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He tells us
about his stern and domineering grandmother – the marvellously named Win Little
– and his own premature birth during World War Two when a German bomber crash-lands
into the garden of the house where Win and his heavily-pregnant mother live.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The novel grows into a touching and funny teenage
love story which culminates in a disastrous ending.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Love, lust, regret, loss – it is all
here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, and there is not one but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">two</i> jaw-dropping endings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ultimately, it is hope that prevails, of
course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A Time to Love, A Time to Mourn – Paige
Dixon<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC7-c9RMM3Rypxjf0lzW5Iyj0-DRtmbkJnXzr9Y41IwxCVZOb7SEr3eJVEpBEYpH-UjBOzP1Ndr7X2P-iOy23nXxZCh8NKCj1e1_KpUN__JtKiDCg7u5eHfHGQXuHw9y-7xHeJLhLOmI-d/s1600/paige.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="291" data-original-width="173" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC7-c9RMM3Rypxjf0lzW5Iyj0-DRtmbkJnXzr9Y41IwxCVZOb7SEr3eJVEpBEYpH-UjBOzP1Ndr7X2P-iOy23nXxZCh8NKCj1e1_KpUN__JtKiDCg7u5eHfHGQXuHw9y-7xHeJLhLOmI-d/s200/paige.jpg" width="118" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Way, way back before the
words <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Youtube</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Smartphone </i>or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ice-Bucket
Challenge</i> meant anything to anyone, I read a book that made me aware of a serious
degenerative illness called ALS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or
Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis to give it its full term.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All eleven syllables have been burned on my
brain since the age of thirteen when I powered my way through Paige Dixon’s heart-breaking
teen novel about an eighteen-year-old boy called Jordan who, one day, experiences
a weird loss of sensation in his arm while playing tennis. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From there onwards, Jordan’s health plummets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BUT, in this unforgettable story, the
bleaker things get, the more Jordan’s mental strength soars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember that I cried snot and tears at the
ending.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also remember that I loved
Jordan Phillips absolutely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And secretly
vowed that Morten Harket and I would name our future son Jordan Phillip in Jordan’s
memory. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Tape
– Steven Camden</span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzQ7iqvgB7qwks8tUFZk90dur82OphmnsAXt8RWv9_6FZkjJh-q95LMNtrwE2e1lWkU4L7rUvjz9X5PfyiB4ybH4Ym5aphSyY5mb9yuUrv52sIxyWT2TJE3NQLlUluz3Jfknh-w6g7B7P0/s1600/steven+camden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="277" data-original-width="182" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzQ7iqvgB7qwks8tUFZk90dur82OphmnsAXt8RWv9_6FZkjJh-q95LMNtrwE2e1lWkU4L7rUvjz9X5PfyiB4ybH4Ym5aphSyY5mb9yuUrv52sIxyWT2TJE3NQLlUluz3Jfknh-w6g7B7P0/s200/steven+camden.jpg" width="131" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">At the heart of this novel
is a premise built pretty much upon cassette tapes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having spent my entire childhood and teenage
years winding chewed-up tape back into its rightful place with the end of a
pencil, I was OBVIOUSLY GOING TO LIKE THIS BOOK.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I loved it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a love story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s also a very sad story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it’s about family too and wanting to know
more about those who came before you in order to get a clearer understanding of
who <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s touching and real and very, very
clever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish I’d written it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Broken
Soup – Jenny Valentine</span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnj25uqyqH54fRHOrUqUeJc_18P2b1bdeyyBBKdHlO4qZZ8FFFJ5GkK4oSnS2CaczXd599ageVG1qizevo6CwmtR3KA3KiOd-vLLlXtVbA4S7xTtCHmSBt7wglMepiFcdMB9R5g2kxJmAS/s1600/jenny+valentine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="277" data-original-width="182" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnj25uqyqH54fRHOrUqUeJc_18P2b1bdeyyBBKdHlO4qZZ8FFFJ5GkK4oSnS2CaczXd599ageVG1qizevo6CwmtR3KA3KiOd-vLLlXtVbA4S7xTtCHmSBt7wglMepiFcdMB9R5g2kxJmAS/s200/jenny+valentine.jpg" width="131" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">This is another book
about family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jenny Valentine is particularly
great at capturing in words the more difficult aspects of family life, and this
book is a quiet little masterpiece in the study of grief and breakup and how
that can impact upon the life of a teenager.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But we needn’t fret too much about 15 year old Rowan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While everyone around her is losing their
heads, she keeps hers firmly on her shoulders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What a woman!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
Outsiders – S.E Hinton</span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJosWDwsMVyi6w0CJ07xXhbHz-D9W6bxfi0dghGhn1ZnuMzBMfJJU0jHrH6PIyM1cdiWUXQZntyLf10QOChMeJqjDxYz9hjPCLOWdfUI5YK51J1kRfBKwNxOoePDDAGVm9S8wzshgAFEi7/s1600/sehinton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="278" data-original-width="181" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJosWDwsMVyi6w0CJ07xXhbHz-D9W6bxfi0dghGhn1ZnuMzBMfJJU0jHrH6PIyM1cdiWUXQZntyLf10QOChMeJqjDxYz9hjPCLOWdfUI5YK51J1kRfBKwNxOoePDDAGVm9S8wzshgAFEi7/s200/sehinton.jpg" width="130" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">If, like me, your
introduction to this book was via the 1980s brat-pack film, things can only get
better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The film was great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The book is better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ponyboy Curtis is a sensitive soul in a
brutal world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No wonder he feels like he
is an outsider.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s nothing more I need
to say really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other than that S.E
Hinton was 16 years old when she wrote this. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>SIXTEEN.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And that this book about gangster-boys was WRITTEN BY A GIRL.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Refugee
Boy – Benjamin Zephaniah</span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO86o2IUVYmflfcB6LaTR8EjXOp9GNR7ON5KEjUpHhF44FokFoWVUd9vj5Fcr_0kBgMCDY8tqb0bcN7U5ZkhA3u6j-wpKEbsp1-2_5wTNIzbLbMAmjhFiHjSSQZ2joKcToBAbI3WrT7aJu/s1600/zephaniah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="278" data-original-width="181" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO86o2IUVYmflfcB6LaTR8EjXOp9GNR7ON5KEjUpHhF44FokFoWVUd9vj5Fcr_0kBgMCDY8tqb0bcN7U5ZkhA3u6j-wpKEbsp1-2_5wTNIzbLbMAmjhFiHjSSQZ2joKcToBAbI3WrT7aJu/s200/zephaniah.jpg" width="130" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I first read this book
with a class of thirteen year olds when I was an English teacher almost twenty
years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, sadly, the issues in
this book seem more relevant than ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>14-year-old Alem lives in Ethiopia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His father is Ethiopian and his mother is Eritrean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two countries are at war.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day, Alem’s father treats him
unexpectedly to a holiday in London.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
then... he just disappears leaving Alem completely alone in a foreign country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is another story about love and
loss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s also a story about human
beings who find themselves in situations so dire that they’ll do anything to
get themselves or their loved ones to a safer place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And about how the people in those ‘safer
places’ receive them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Waterland
– Graham Swift</span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_GZF47V06wIinW6HXlfq0HngpWsr-qR9P7chDGmm_sbHzUcBiVEm7iiYTGsvOD1DPuizn-3AGaERdKqlQ-xEfi2NmyAzfEt9mPF0tge4lh-GwP2vFdXaZM4Tk3JI84n0K9EjHl7hstkB_/s1600/waterland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="279" data-original-width="180" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_GZF47V06wIinW6HXlfq0HngpWsr-qR9P7chDGmm_sbHzUcBiVEm7iiYTGsvOD1DPuizn-3AGaERdKqlQ-xEfi2NmyAzfEt9mPF0tge4lh-GwP2vFdXaZM4Tk3JI84n0K9EjHl7hstkB_/s200/waterland.jpg" width="129" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">This is another one of
those novels I’ve never been able to forget.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I read it in my first year as an undergraduate and it has stayed with me
and haunted me ever since.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s an
awful lot going on in this novel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Love,
grief, breakdown, family secrets, abuse... and it’s all set against a very
atmospheric Fenland setting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tom, Dick
and Mary are the teenagers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is
love, there is certainly loss and.... well, actually, the teen resilience
either burns out or peters out for all three of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh dear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But quite simply, this novel is magnificent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Depressing? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hell yes!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But still magnificent. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We
Were Liars – E. Lockhart</span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbSriXDnwX5pSBH14GVAvLMoqmXMIZc8I3zYKw-e3m2VlGIodNbkavISD0NSQ4nHPC0qxcf9tyaL6UdHauc6MPJQlkxx8NHGDM7RrIkegfATEZacB_PrPtmfu-Q1egLMvCGWD5eWaNu4C-/s1600/elockhart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="276" data-original-width="182" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbSriXDnwX5pSBH14GVAvLMoqmXMIZc8I3zYKw-e3m2VlGIodNbkavISD0NSQ4nHPC0qxcf9tyaL6UdHauc6MPJQlkxx8NHGDM7RrIkegfATEZacB_PrPtmfu-Q1egLMvCGWD5eWaNu4C-/s200/elockhart.jpg" width="131" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Clever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Clever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cadence Sinclair is
seventeen and has survived a horrific trauma which has affected her memory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We aren’t quite sure what it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, as the title suggests, we can never
be too sure about anything that Cadence is telling us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But slowly, Cadence starts to work things out
and so do we.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’m sure the
experience of reading this unique story is different for every reader.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read this just as I was in the early stages
of mulling over an idea that became ‘The Nearest Faraway Place.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure it added something to the flavour of
what I would go on to write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The very next
book I read definitely added something too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was...<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1 <span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
Goldfinch – Donna Tartt</span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjysZopQeedYJ8d4lBkTInr_00Z71_tYXqouzhZUk4hil6WYxc4D46lNUA-LR1Ev2qqxEkGXdYUALrP2rhxRVBp8yYsQZfcCFe3fF_xT3_WVEk2YPg7tHggZWdmXZcj9jBZiGReJoWD_hMJ/s1600/goldfinch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="179" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjysZopQeedYJ8d4lBkTInr_00Z71_tYXqouzhZUk4hil6WYxc4D46lNUA-LR1Ev2qqxEkGXdYUALrP2rhxRVBp8yYsQZfcCFe3fF_xT3_WVEk2YPg7tHggZWdmXZcj9jBZiGReJoWD_hMJ/s200/goldfinch.jpg" width="127" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Wow. Just wow.
In the opening pages of the novel, 13-year-old Theo Decker finds himself
in the middle of a devastating terrorist attack which will impact upon his
entire life. It’s shocking. It’s entirely convincing. And it is, of course, a beautiful and
captivating read. And Theo’s story goes from New York City to Las Vegas and back again and then to
Amsterdam. It’s heart-breaking and nail-biting
and frequently very funny. And at the
end, I felt there was a section where Donna Tartt stepped away from her role as
story-teller and just started talking to me – ME – directly – about THE MEANING
OF MY LIFE. At the end, I remember
closing this brick of a book and thinking <i>Wow</i>. Just wow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Hayley Longhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12932152248871509263noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-42374194743101229232018-03-02T17:00:00.002+00:002018-03-02T17:21:29.280+00:00World Book Day Vs The Beast from the East<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5N3wS9dw6M7P8LTxWu2zc8-tgGIu-kxo5vRfYU6p-4A7PVRSCqgmu2DA9mba9kD13jyIh0fjeQMmiFdgINOgF0e9Qd5LW0BHaKkOLtWsCsDZFwK8CPRE5_EbU1VRHh4rJjOGnKpMVwB1O/s1600/francis+holland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="540" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5N3wS9dw6M7P8LTxWu2zc8-tgGIu-kxo5vRfYU6p-4A7PVRSCqgmu2DA9mba9kD13jyIh0fjeQMmiFdgINOgF0e9Qd5LW0BHaKkOLtWsCsDZFwK8CPRE5_EbU1VRHh4rJjOGnKpMVwB1O/s400/francis+holland.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Well then, World Book Day is always fun and always interesting and 2018 was no exception. I was up early on the eve of WBD to visit schools in London and before I'd even left Norwich train station, my life turned into an action-packed snowy adventure thriller divided into two dramatic episodes: <br />
<br />
Part I: The Longest Journey<br />
<br />
and<br />
<br />
Part II: The Revenant<br />
<br />
Well, I eventually got to visit Francis Holland School in Regent's Park and how glad I am that I made it because that place is lovely! And so is everyone inside. <i>And</i> I got to eat bread and butter pudding with custard as well which is one of the best things you can possibly eat when it looks like Narnia outside. I nicked the photo (above) from the school's website. I'm talking to the lunchtime literary society and I don't think you can see it from this photo but they're all eating sandwiches. <b>Books and book talk and eating sandwiches in the warm during a snowstorm is actually my idea of Paradise.</b> As I said, Francis Holland School is <i>very</i> nice.<br />
<br />
And then I skidded through the snow to my hotel and the person on reception said the magic words, 'Hello, we've upgraded you to a family suite' which was completely unnecessary because there was only me and I don't take up that much space - but, on the plus side, it did mean I got to walk around my rooms and laze on my chaise longue. On the downside, it meant I had to go to sleep next to this creepy picture...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKTpJlIi6pn-pEyE0PjsMzQAB7ITZ4M0Id1s47_jU_pw_gbkhiW1vRrq6fn44h55UMlqulH05QYexKRjyd7O1hxmYyWQeAI7BrKiIL9LP_ElE8lvuTm77PvgcHApf0TCUONmuhlQ3U3uWu/s1600/IMG-20180228-WA0006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKTpJlIi6pn-pEyE0PjsMzQAB7ITZ4M0Id1s47_jU_pw_gbkhiW1vRrq6fn44h55UMlqulH05QYexKRjyd7O1hxmYyWQeAI7BrKiIL9LP_ElE8lvuTm77PvgcHApf0TCUONmuhlQ3U3uWu/s200/IMG-20180228-WA0006.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
And then.... well, the Beast from the East did its worst and the rest of my week got mothballed. Or rather, snowballed. But it's OK, these things can be rearranged. And even though it was looking a bit ropey for a time, Abellio Greater Anglia got me home! I'm extremely grateful to them. The train was warm and it kept moving. And I loved the fact that the train driver went a bit scatty and started saying things like, 'The next station stop is Snowmarket' and 'We are now approaching the Suffolk-Norfolk border - please have your passports ready.'<br />
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So in spite of all the drama, World Book Day was as fun as ever - but just not in a way I was anticipating.<br />
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Oh, and, very importantly, <b>the winner of my WBD giveaway is Sharon Bullough of Sheffield</b>. Signed copies of 'The Nearest Faraway Place' and 'Sophie Someone' will be in the post when it's safe to step foot on the pavement. Thank you to everyone who sent me an email. I wrote all the names on separate slips of scrap paper and waited to see which one Irma Bunny would run off with. Simple but effective.<br />
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<br />Hayley Longhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12932152248871509263noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-47823022320047364742018-02-26T17:34:00.000+00:002018-02-26T18:00:45.075+00:00World Book Day Giveaway <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaYUNy6CuW6vSNNS6Y8A490GUOyfzMsVBKquSnp3faq15TRIaNADkiYy5Uh-XTs1a0PSdw-QTSlQ_4f8grTFrBnVVybMAzMZKEdW3lUKhjQBwbLRNRvJkQH0840h-8zs4C926rvru5SEpH/s1600/bookmarks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaYUNy6CuW6vSNNS6Y8A490GUOyfzMsVBKquSnp3faq15TRIaNADkiYy5Uh-XTs1a0PSdw-QTSlQ_4f8grTFrBnVVybMAzMZKEdW3lUKhjQBwbLRNRvJkQH0840h-8zs4C926rvru5SEpH/s320/bookmarks.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Thursday 1st March is World Book Day!<br />
<br />
To celebrate this marvellous fact I'm going to give away a copy of 'The Nearest Faraway Place' and a pretty American hardback edition of 'Sophie Someone' - along with some bookmarks. I will, of course, sign the books for you or your school or your dog or whoever you like.<br />
<br />
If you'd like this little package to drop through your letterbox, just send an email to <b>hayleylong@hayleylong.org</b> with this magic message:<br />
<br />
Hi Hayley<br />
<br />
Go on then. May as well.<br />
<br />
[Insert your name here]<br />
<br />
Do this before midnight Thursday 1st March to be in with a shout. UK only, I'm afraid. The recipient will be chosen at random and notified pretty soon afterwards.<br />
<br />
Happy World Book Day x.<br />
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<br />Hayley Longhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12932152248871509263noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-39493791699567959952017-11-25T15:13:00.001+00:002017-11-25T16:58:05.269+00:00The Mal Peet Children's Book Award<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXisovJBe44sYX2hvAQhriX4G5zpMBKy_dLvg-c-Dm7l8ii9H4pl6OmRWIXk-Wc4kQBF3O7xcwDp-uvkkyyXRvsA8MnB79PPONTQu3yDFjEw2DWuIIC-jDJ9lIarIew_n5N0auXiKRTqfp/s1600/tnfp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="332" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXisovJBe44sYX2hvAQhriX4G5zpMBKy_dLvg-c-Dm7l8ii9H4pl6OmRWIXk-Wc4kQBF3O7xcwDp-uvkkyyXRvsA8MnB79PPONTQu3yDFjEw2DWuIIC-jDJ9lIarIew_n5N0auXiKRTqfp/s320/tnfp.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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I'm really very delighted to have received the <b>Mal Peet Children's Book Award</b> for <b>'The Nearest Faraway Place'</b> at a packed-out event in Delia Smith's Top of the Terrace Restaurant at Norwich City Football Club. The award was one of eight prizes given out for the <b>2017 East Anglian Book Awards </b>and I am especially chuffed to have received it not only because winning is nice but also<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4F-jMfm_Zr9_9i4YkeTYjtetUtY7VNH7pYQv3zlW06ktiOxRL_x8rRB1p_m0lS-lXczbzT63-m_m7xUAOMq3tc1lcGCU6ECfzG8FqR3OektEcU87KD9bMgTH92xaLzW3Zwag4jgXCiclB/s1600/mal+peet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="326" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4F-jMfm_Zr9_9i4YkeTYjtetUtY7VNH7pYQv3zlW06ktiOxRL_x8rRB1p_m0lS-lXczbzT63-m_m7xUAOMq3tc1lcGCU6ECfzG8FqR3OektEcU87KD9bMgTH92xaLzW3Zwag4jgXCiclB/s200/mal+peet.jpg" width="130" /></a> i) I am from mighty Felixstowe (full East Anglian credentials) and<br />
ii) I am also a massive admirer of the late great Mal Peet.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNdRJROj-Stq5X1aImE4lZ-PCagpbsN-46aWZBJvOH6igo8iQjJkjn7kjnx7BAwRX1i77-HCLqgwydDJ0aSi3zDIn3Enek2E1vQVQc0JVBmbDUtxQegC3bgtJOzTtwhrpYeetpze8bXLdP/s1600/mal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="355" data-original-width="250" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNdRJROj-Stq5X1aImE4lZ-PCagpbsN-46aWZBJvOH6igo8iQjJkjn7kjnx7BAwRX1i77-HCLqgwydDJ0aSi3zDIn3Enek2E1vQVQc0JVBmbDUtxQegC3bgtJOzTtwhrpYeetpze8bXLdP/s200/mal.jpg" width="140" /></a>Mal was a fantastic writer and his book 'Life: An Exploded Diagram' is an absolute stormer and one of my all-time favourite reads. I love this book for many reasons but here are just two of them:<br />
<br />
i). The school, 'Newgate', that Mal describes so unmistakably is very clearly Paston College where I used to work as an English teacher.<br />
<br />
ii). When the central character, Clem, passes his eleven-plus, his nana - who is called Win Little (ha!) - says, ''He go to that Newgate... he'll start to think his shit dunt stink.'<br />
<br />
Ah! Spoken as only an East Anglian could say it.<br />
<br />
Anyway, what a lovely event the East Anglian Book Awards was and is.<br />
The big prize for Book of the Year went to John Berger and John Christie for the non-fiction book 'Lapwing and Fox.'<br />
<br />
Other winners were: Sarah Hall for 'Madame Zero' (fiction)<br />
Carl Gorham for 'The Owl at the Window' (biography)<br />
Christine Hiskey for 'Holkham' (history)<br />
Neil Powell for 'Was and Is' (poetry)<br />
<br />
A prize for best cover was awarded to 'Was and Is'<br />
<br />
The other authors shortlisted for the Mal Peet Children's Award were Francesca Armour-Chelu for 'Fenn Halflin and the Seaborn' and William Bee for 'Migloo's Weekend.'<br />
<br />
I feel very honoured to have scooped the prize on this occasion.<br />
Below are some pictures of the event.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJnJfYg451G_m5L9YoAv3TYYBoZutlOTLduv6bRNz1JjquR2_gWs56r7oSzI7nRCw1UQSTW9RLKxfbXfhlyN_reZ5Hp7kG0_fBJnXHiqLp2A3r35J8w2W5AnfAeFfsZzfwfkBnPP8qdc_S/s1600/view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJnJfYg451G_m5L9YoAv3TYYBoZutlOTLduv6bRNz1JjquR2_gWs56r7oSzI7nRCw1UQSTW9RLKxfbXfhlyN_reZ5Hp7kG0_fBJnXHiqLp2A3r35J8w2W5AnfAeFfsZzfwfkBnPP8qdc_S/s320/view.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took this one. (Not as big as Ipswich Town's ground).</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN3_3KnqoH7w5HfL30SMgCsLIdnFftEypFFUN83clEU1p62JeDcTTJdvakxbeEVM4aykkpjj0g1lqHeHqxazhGeLFjVQlkY9l4gsKEqo20p-Cu92L_rmn62F-QGlPnwskktgN4RNFTiHF6/s1600/eaba2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="630" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN3_3KnqoH7w5HfL30SMgCsLIdnFftEypFFUN83clEU1p62JeDcTTJdvakxbeEVM4aykkpjj0g1lqHeHqxazhGeLFjVQlkY9l4gsKEqo20p-Cu92L_rmn62F-QGlPnwskktgN4RNFTiHF6/s320/eaba2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture by Nick Butcher for the EDP</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PLdgEGqv0ZOnImWvKxXzmXqevwHuk0-pO0KYd3DVBxjOJEzbWXjekGXwm7GiuEaKMuo7-iVpFLYm9SbFQVACoHpVfy_h9ZQ67QynVV9L4aPG7iKhnnqwCXwW0Ppe5xkU3iDjq8NkFFHL/s1600/eaba.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="630" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PLdgEGqv0ZOnImWvKxXzmXqevwHuk0-pO0KYd3DVBxjOJEzbWXjekGXwm7GiuEaKMuo7-iVpFLYm9SbFQVACoHpVfy_h9ZQ67QynVV9L4aPG7iKhnnqwCXwW0Ppe5xkU3iDjq8NkFFHL/s320/eaba.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture by Nick Butcher for the EDP</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXH1zGqwh-ZxnvxzYuKZg_bK4KGbs18sKMuNS_5ddHLwqOnE_YrAsa3q-hm_W9mnA3rSXJEnD8scgjisYYAEY8pBIjQ4m7_UrkU4bvfbFNFowcZXa8zqqtMUPHQwfVKWNNEeTcZFkZOwf4/s1600/P1000399.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXH1zGqwh-ZxnvxzYuKZg_bK4KGbs18sKMuNS_5ddHLwqOnE_YrAsa3q-hm_W9mnA3rSXJEnD8scgjisYYAEY8pBIjQ4m7_UrkU4bvfbFNFowcZXa8zqqtMUPHQwfVKWNNEeTcZFkZOwf4/s320/P1000399.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My very proud husband took this one :)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAIjD07P3-yW0qvbKl84GbeyWSJ_pmCwMHXSii-PSxZXXLAWAWlo3uCsQ3QcZopg6AEJvD844357dYjZEbifup7vi4Wa098VULIFgyI_Y1xMcoDRWgG8ojaMyJEGsm5U_yN8eTlMCraGFe/s1600/DPbNhElWAAAuj8X.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAIjD07P3-yW0qvbKl84GbeyWSJ_pmCwMHXSii-PSxZXXLAWAWlo3uCsQ3QcZopg6AEJvD844357dYjZEbifup7vi4Wa098VULIFgyI_Y1xMcoDRWgG8ojaMyJEGsm5U_yN8eTlMCraGFe/s320/DPbNhElWAAAuj8X.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Can you get in height order?' Photo by Poppyline Press</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSFwUXun0NSDt-5poOdfPY0XkTfK6YoJI9pOaM_8ocHQJOY-3PlOtlCkRk94hsfJCr9rbWLP0KOb4UCV_F8xbTcFI67rNAgesKhesYISNkXs1dpMwlT1QfumPpqBL7HWOEQffQpTwvVfuV/s1600/trophy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSFwUXun0NSDt-5poOdfPY0XkTfK6YoJI9pOaM_8ocHQJOY-3PlOtlCkRk94hsfJCr9rbWLP0KOb4UCV_F8xbTcFI67rNAgesKhesYISNkXs1dpMwlT1QfumPpqBL7HWOEQffQpTwvVfuV/s320/trophy.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by pleased me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Hayley Longhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12932152248871509263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-90584905476017899582017-11-20T21:12:00.001+00:002017-11-25T16:09:22.808+00:00DESPERATELY SEEKING ANNIKA<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5bSQjMF82qr_PchKtUu5hhst8EJ0kCC6cJYYXTwul6XZOsCxFkVZzew3KPuwoMuuh-z9X6HEOjfi9gb_JV2SvoPojtm7XUBTO6qfXzalsrUJG4D2mmFFSuOYhI6C3mOnFbkpSUC5-7wQD/s1600/IMG_20171120_204924.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5bSQjMF82qr_PchKtUu5hhst8EJ0kCC6cJYYXTwul6XZOsCxFkVZzew3KPuwoMuuh-z9X6HEOjfi9gb_JV2SvoPojtm7XUBTO6qfXzalsrUJG4D2mmFFSuOYhI6C3mOnFbkpSUC5-7wQD/s320/IMG_20171120_204924.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
OK, this is a long shot because I don't know if anyone reads this blog. Also, I'm not on Twitter so that doesn't help either. But if you are reading this I NEED YOUR HELP PLEASE.<br />
<br />
What it is, see, I'm trying to get hold of someone called Annika.<br />
<br />
Here's why?<br />
<br />
Some weeks ago, I did a book festival thing in Uxbridge at the end of the Metropolitan line. Annika chaired a panel with me and the writer Alice Oseman. Before the panel, I'd commented on Annika's very nice notebook [see fig.1]. She'd said, 'Please, won't you have it?'<br />
<br />
I'd said, 'Oh, I couldn't possibly. Oh, OK then.' And thanks to Annika's sweet generous nature, I'd gone home with a notebook that very neatly summed up my general situation.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRdxzb4L-Jkr0j66vdSRxNtvdCqvsylJPEkWt3V7Dhyphenhyphenug-hjfwTITF7x9qY4wt84I4ipGqmzCveILIpZ9_CF41bASyd_yNoDvOCJFeE8xL7YnE_NGDkR3lBE74WWIAocw87YSC1DYLSCQg/s1600/notebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRdxzb4L-Jkr0j66vdSRxNtvdCqvsylJPEkWt3V7Dhyphenhyphenug-hjfwTITF7x9qY4wt84I4ipGqmzCveILIpZ9_CF41bASyd_yNoDvOCJFeE8xL7YnE_NGDkR3lBE74WWIAocw87YSC1DYLSCQg/s320/notebook.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fig.1</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But being a firm believer in Swoppsies, I'd wanted to give Annika something in return. So I asked the festival organiser for a contact address and sent Annika a parcel. Like I said, this was all some weeks ago.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, I went to the post office depot in Norwich and picked my parcel up again. There are few things more disappointing than thinking you've got a mysterious exciting parcel to collect and then discovering it's actually an undelivered one that you posted yourself to someone else.<br />
<br />
<b>I don't want this parcel. I'm the one trying to send it!</b><br />
<br />
So if you are Annika, please would you drop me an email at <b>hayleylong@hayleylong.com</b> Or if you know someone called Annika who was at Hillingdon Culture Bite in October, please can you tell her to look at this page. Or if you wouldn't even mind just sharing this post on your social media thing, that would be very nice of you. Thanks.<br />
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PS. In other news, I'm off to Delia Smith's Top of the Terrace restaurant at Norwich City Football Club on Friday for the <b>East Anglian Book Awards</b>. 'The Nearest Faraway Place' has been shortlisted for the <b>Mal Peet Children's Prize </b>which is lush. Especially as I am a huge admirer of the great Mal Peet. I am also a little bit allergic to Norwich City Football Club but that's because I am from Ipswich. I'll be fine though.Hayley Longhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12932152248871509263noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-62308778935754343202017-05-04T11:03:00.002+01:002017-05-04T11:03:40.633+01:00Book Giveaway WinnerThe proof copy of THE NEAREST FARAWAY PLACE and the American edition of SOPHIE SOMEONE were won by Ylenia Rahmati of Gateshead, Tyne and Wear.<br />
<br />
Hooray :)Hayley Longhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12932152248871509263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-31700776771324482017-04-06T20:24:00.000+01:002017-04-06T20:24:11.477+01:00Book Giveaway <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9eVJnGt80M1wSGcIG737fqiROXtCer3oXK9zAOow9dpIQ-UfEMGJCpzjr2-rUV8umOoh6rwMPeGGf8edisizFP5n-ybI1W1RDAYfFHSU7XxNnfLJzLoixJB_xMMWx0K6nOfcOvLCKwuje/s1600/20170406_195137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9eVJnGt80M1wSGcIG737fqiROXtCer3oXK9zAOow9dpIQ-UfEMGJCpzjr2-rUV8umOoh6rwMPeGGf8edisizFP5n-ybI1W1RDAYfFHSU7XxNnfLJzLoixJB_xMMWx0K6nOfcOvLCKwuje/s400/20170406_195137.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
This week I had two exciting deliveries through the post. One was a box of very gorgeous American editions of 'Sophie Someone' (see the lovely binding below) and the other was a package containing some proof copies of my brand new novel 'The Nearest Faraway Place'. The latter is not released in its proper shiny format until July so these draft copies are publishing-industry early-birds for reviewers and the like. If anyone wants to pre-order this book from Waterstones or Amazon or their lovely local bookseller, they should be advised that <b>all pre-orders come with a free virtual hug from me.</b><br />
<br />
Having said that - because you are reading my blog and I'm not entirely convinced that anyone else does - I am giving YOU the opportunity to read my next novel WELL EARLY. Also I have got too many books on the floor of my house. To be in with a chance of winning a very pretty copy of 'Sophie Someone' AND a proof copy of 'The Nearest Faraway Place', all you have to do is send me an email at hayleylong@hayleylong.org <b>before the end of April</b> which says: <b>Hi Hayley, I don't mind taking those books off your hands</b>.<br />
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<b>UK, USA and EU* entrants only, please</b><br />
<br />
One random person will then be selected at random to randomly receive these two items. I will also sign them for you or some other random person of your choosing if you so wish.<br />
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The random winner will be notified in early May.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*Because I am a European </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCrtETDyI5P21ki8bYc-GmEZB_o2as8W4QUOOs2b_rZv-1gWzjUIb2pyvRvrgRjGarSEEXKcp9XF2Spleg8IFVPDPEK4Wp0WpwRSaxdFyxopivqsEWhl7bFZF7TpRtdqvv7CQ1o22S8QZT/s1600/am+soph.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCrtETDyI5P21ki8bYc-GmEZB_o2as8W4QUOOs2b_rZv-1gWzjUIb2pyvRvrgRjGarSEEXKcp9XF2Spleg8IFVPDPEK4Wp0WpwRSaxdFyxopivqsEWhl7bFZF7TpRtdqvv7CQ1o22S8QZT/s320/am+soph.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>Hayley Longhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12932152248871509263noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-91572628350413308462017-03-10T09:43:00.000+00:002017-03-10T10:16:14.490+00:00De La Soul and The Joy of Getting Old<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtnZjMGzCwdzyrPJrLrK1a-3zYysWN4VwRIfj1cyq1k32lRKNCIQ5LCksVeDAv11XIDqkSRHAy-ZZzVq8QegqRNTH8kyjhk7MjuU7UyijFilgB_4eR8i49cQa9lJaLNvCtPE8VsjGPz88/s1600/de+la+soul.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtnZjMGzCwdzyrPJrLrK1a-3zYysWN4VwRIfj1cyq1k32lRKNCIQ5LCksVeDAv11XIDqkSRHAy-ZZzVq8QegqRNTH8kyjhk7MjuU7UyijFilgB_4eR8i49cQa9lJaLNvCtPE8VsjGPz88/s320/de+la+soul.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It’s been a
while since I wrote on this blog so I thought I’d write a post about the joy of
getting old. Yeah, that’s right. I said the <b>joy of getting old</b>. I didn’t
realise that this was an <b>actual thing</b> until
a couple of nights ago. I mean, who
could possibly feel chuffed about a situation as depressingly inevitable as
that? Me, that’s who. And my friend McG. And several hundred other greying ‘teenagers’
who were in the UEA’s Lower Common Room last Wednesday night. And it was the legendary
hip hop trio De La Soul who enlightened us all to the pure joy of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">De La
Soul. That’s them in the picture above. Please excuse the awful image quality. There is a good reason for this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> 1. </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The camera on my phone is worse than
the Kodak 110 I had in 1989.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> 2. </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Spoken like a true Generation X’er, Plug
1 – or was it Plug 2 – was <b>most </b>insistent
that we ‘put the ******* phones away.
You wanna party with us or watch a ******* movie? Come <i>on</i>,
you guys; I want you to enjoy yourselves now not later on when you watch the
whole ******* thing at home.’ It was a
fair point and one I respect. So I took
my dirty snap in a guilty hurry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Speaking of
Generation X, I am very definitely am part of it.
I was a sixth-former when ‘Me, Myself and I’ was on the radio. Just... um... let me do the maths... 28 years
ago. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieXss3bKC88F7tlzijnXYdiuzmZL95en48mz9QJA1PgGupOmnVq7efYMVqpG0VSG4u8KoTcH79y1DJC613OYm-4gYw0uFIc3SMq1B5ZgizBdvSHl-06YSCqt0tgNTLSNWYjeYXne_uI3c/s1600/munch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieXss3bKC88F7tlzijnXYdiuzmZL95en48mz9QJA1PgGupOmnVq7efYMVqpG0VSG4u8KoTcH79y1DJC613OYm-4gYw0uFIc3SMq1B5ZgizBdvSHl-06YSCqt0tgNTLSNWYjeYXne_uI3c/s320/munch.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">But that
song and the album it came from - ‘3 Feet High and Rising’ - still sounds as
fresh as the D.A.I.S.Y age* it came from.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">So fast-forward 28 years and there I was at the UEA with my friend McG
and with a venue full of very happy people.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The De La Soul men were up on the stage illustrating how three is the
magic number, everyone else’s hands were up in the air and the bass was so loud
it was making my jeans vibrate.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then the
bass calmed down a bit.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And then it
stopped altogether.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Time for some
interaction with the audience.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Plug 1 – or was
it Plug 2 – said, ‘OK, let’s see who’s in the house. Let me hear some noise if you’re aged 18 to
25.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">There was a
big happy cheer from loads of people who didn’t exist when I was doing my A
levels. I smiled at the joyful sound of
their youth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The men on
stage were impressed. Then one of them –
the same bloke as before who I think was calling himself Plug 1 but who is actually
called Kelvin – said, ‘OK, so who in here is aged 26 to 35?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Another big
cheer. But I didn’t smile this
time. I was starting to feel the early beginnings
of anxiety. Where was this all leading? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">‘Let me hear
it from all the 36 to 40 year olds.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Oh God. The age bands were getting narrower. I looked at my friend McG and she looked back
at me with an expression of panic that must have mirrored my own. But whatever concerns she was having, mine
were <b>worse</b>. I’d been on the planet <b>two whole years </b>longer than her.
As far as De La Soul were concerned, we might not even be in the same
demographic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Plug 1 – aka
Kelvin - said, ‘And now we come to my <b>FAVOURITE
</b>people. The 41s and over. I totally <b>LOVE</b> you guys. And <b>WELL DONE</b> on <b>STILL BEING HERE </b>and <b>STILL
PARTYING. LET ME HEAR YOU MAKE SOME
NOOOOOOOIIIIIIISE!<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The roof of
the LCR nearly lifted off. It was the
loudest, happiest and most beautiful roar I have ever heard. It reduced the previous cheers to half-arsed pitiful squeaks. I think I was actually crying
with laughter and relief. When I looked
at McG, I think she was too. I haven't laughed so hard in ages. God, I love
De La Soul. That night of hip-hop in ‘Hull - **** sorry - I mean Nor-wich,’
was one of the most fun nights ever. And
those three blokes from the Bronx were better than any anti-ageing cream I have
ever wasted money on. Better even than
Boots Time Delay. Never been so chuffed
and proud and delighted to be forty-five in my life.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">*Da Inner
Sound Y’all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-29370114957228304092016-12-31T18:38:00.000+00:002016-12-31T19:05:55.080+00:00My Seven Reasons to be Cheerful about 2016<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">2016.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">What a year.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There have been times during the last twelve months when I’ve felt like shoving
the whole of 2016 into the Chamber of Horrors and throwing away the key.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But three hundred and sixty-five days are a </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">lot</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> of days.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Not all</span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">
</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">of them made me want to scream.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In order not to let
the shit things overshadow everything else, I’ve made myself sit down and think
about the bits I liked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">1.
The Comeback Kids<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">In 2016, my
cousin Julie and my friend Helen totally owned the words SPEEDY RECOVERY. They both bounced back from major operations
on giant space-hoppers. Phew. Hooray :) </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">2.
The Olympics and the Paralympics<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_lWfMuSHUufNyPiChLmGU43SADNJ0X0M8a2diJK9SUdEvpDnk-OvZMrnk-sVNuqmfEBrhNRMfvdqw4klxnw-J2PI2EhcXay4vYkKWtC90bF1qu4Dnw5IhLQZfXqhMyfcPI4yAylpUius/s1600/ellie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_lWfMuSHUufNyPiChLmGU43SADNJ0X0M8a2diJK9SUdEvpDnk-OvZMrnk-sVNuqmfEBrhNRMfvdqw4klxnw-J2PI2EhcXay4vYkKWtC90bF1qu4Dnw5IhLQZfXqhMyfcPI4yAylpUius/s320/ellie.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ellie Robinson - totally rhyming small with cool.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">This summer,
I learned that nothing helps a frazzled head more than sitting in front of the
telly and watching people win stuff.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I
watched Max Whitlock do roly-polys.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I
watched nice smiley Nicola Adams thump people in the face.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I watched divers in skimpy speedos stand under a
shower and then dry themselves with a tea-towel.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I watched the two Ellies walk around the edges of swimming
pools in massive coats.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The only bit I didn’t
watch was the Tae Kwondo.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It’s that thing
where two people shuffle about on a mat and then kick each other in the
head.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I couldn’t watch that. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Maybe it’s one of those
sports that are much more fun if you are actually </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">doing</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> it.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">3.
Belly at Norwich Waterfront<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGGppBZEDOTQ15f9ghT9fihj0mx_Md26qM1MfN6VogcYYyCiDogkdIqZOVaaNFg8bhzPdgpzyE1isbety7-vxhuopVwjwPR6PLyXYwZRAw0Od24OAp9dRCLXTLTC24zU87U6R19m53cZE/s1600/belly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGGppBZEDOTQ15f9ghT9fihj0mx_Md26qM1MfN6VogcYYyCiDogkdIqZOVaaNFg8bhzPdgpzyE1isbety7-vxhuopVwjwPR6PLyXYwZRAw0Od24OAp9dRCLXTLTC24zU87U6R19m53cZE/s320/belly.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can't remember if I took this photo or my friend Jayne did.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">In 1993, the
American indie-pop band Belly released the album ‘Star’.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I loved that album then and I still love it
now.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And Tanya Donelly - Belly’s singer
and founder – has been one of my favourite all-time Americans ever since.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">So when she announced that she was putting her
band back together again and doing a UK tour, I was quick to get my
ticket.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was a night of pure joy.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tanya D is probably the coolest woman in the
world.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And if she isn’t, it’s because Gail
Greenwood is. [She is Belly’s bass player.]</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">4.
Wales at Euro 2016<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Wales v
England? My loyalties were always going
to be torn. Or so I thought. Actually, there was no conflict of emotion at
all. When Gareth Bale scored against
England from a free-kick, I jumped in the air and cheered. What a team!
And it wasn’t just ninja-assassin Gareth, was it? There was also the bloke who looked like
Edward VII and the bloke who looked like the actor Toby Jones and the bloke who
looked like Jesus. I was sad when Wales
didn’t get to the final - but didn’t they do brilliantly anyway!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ6LNcAXL-PU5to0tDjiNzyIYniGt-senj8jbfoXpKI8XtuisFqzKWWehlqBFCDdVXD01jVz-XbuY9RMBOcvSPZ48BSMrrENSdiRS1xKwPXdne_kEaLYY0nj55zu24MTP_Cq79OITrfsY/s1600/jesus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ6LNcAXL-PU5to0tDjiNzyIYniGt-senj8jbfoXpKI8XtuisFqzKWWehlqBFCDdVXD01jVz-XbuY9RMBOcvSPZ48BSMrrENSdiRS1xKwPXdne_kEaLYY0nj55zu24MTP_Cq79OITrfsY/s320/jesus.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joe Allen - a Welsh footballer who looks like Jesus</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">5.
Hahaha! But what’s the point?</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I completed
my MA in American Literature by writing 20,000 words on comedy and nihilism and
got a distinction. Hooray! :)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">6.
Yet <i>more</i> Telly<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The year
began with ‘War and Peace’ which was EPIC and TREMENDOUS and it ended with ‘To
Walk Invisible’ which was two uninterrupted hours about the Bront</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">ë</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">s. Total bliss. In the middle was the final series of ‘Hinterland’
– finest Welsh noir. Can you pass the
peanuts, please?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">7.
This Planet is Capable of Being Lush<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">This summer,
I went to Sark. What a beautiful place! Sark has got no cars, no phone signal, no
light pollution, no noise pollution, nothing much to spend your money on - and it’s
where I’d be living RIGHT NOW if I could convince my husband that selling
everything we have and becoming artists is a good idea. But I can’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Never mind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">A little
after this, I went to Birmingham to visit my friends Jayne and Sue who live on
a canal boat. I thought I knew what
Birmingham was all about but it turns out that I know nothing. Birmingham has more miles of canal than
Venice apparently. And these canals are
a blissed-out world of total peace and quiet that are ignored by almost
everyone. What a life my friends have! While I was there, I was treated to a glimpse
of it. We travelled really, <i>really</i> slowly. We saw a kingfisher. We went through a tunnel that was nearly two
and a half miles long and was freezing cold, pitch dark and shit scary. I beat everyone at Backgammon. I barely washed. I loved every second of my canal boat
adventure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCMz1NDyhviOrgCls8gnGgBKMllaOXP6Jn6a7DCsjEK_tA2iE0-DVTx7PwXhF3fAM8sg5hyzSve_R3ilyL7_HFRSC5DnjXBu_-q-py53u_Rv3lZ7APESd2k0qGylivy0-2jMVjBIj67Zg/s1600/IMG-20160930-WA0013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCMz1NDyhviOrgCls8gnGgBKMllaOXP6Jn6a7DCsjEK_tA2iE0-DVTx7PwXhF3fAM8sg5hyzSve_R3ilyL7_HFRSC5DnjXBu_-q-py53u_Rv3lZ7APESd2k0qGylivy0-2jMVjBIj67Zg/s320/IMG-20160930-WA0013.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A very happy dog who lives on a boat. Jayne Morgan took this picture.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">So then -
taking all this into account - what do I think of 2016 </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">now</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">?</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I think <i>my</i> 2016 has been better than I realised. In places, it’s even been great. And writing this has made me appreciate just how
very lucky I am. For lots of people, 2016
hasn’t been anything close to alright and that isn’t OK. I’m clinging to the hope that 2017
will be better. Come on, 2017! My fingers are crossed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-63667361357663859602016-11-18T17:23:00.001+00:002016-11-19T22:34:26.514+00:00Dystopian Fiction or Scary Reality?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc8wBYP1BQb8CVO5mcHy4_VGbWCs4bY5vGK1X13ztLdqJVgsw-mL2Z0UjaMdVRzFHhWzRFR4xMpMeoiQZpAmI66kK7P2-TlJ-hhxO1GySfbQNP8D4z7cG8NYixCWX6zz0D6USmmzzmyRs/s1600/cell+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc8wBYP1BQb8CVO5mcHy4_VGbWCs4bY5vGK1X13ztLdqJVgsw-mL2Z0UjaMdVRzFHhWzRFR4xMpMeoiQZpAmI66kK7P2-TlJ-hhxO1GySfbQNP8D4z7cG8NYixCWX6zz0D6USmmzzmyRs/s400/cell+7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Did you know that the Oxford English Dictionary’s Word of
the Year for 2016 is <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">post-truth</b>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The OED gives this definition:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="ind" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><b>Relating
to or denoting circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in
shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief</b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="ind" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Yep, it seems that we’ve arrived in an era
where subjective feelings have more clout than actual facts and where anyone
can make whatever fanciful claims they like so long as they garner enough public
support to stifle debate.*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="ind" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That’s pretty depressing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="ind" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So, like I’ve often done when truth is freakier
than fiction, I switched off the TV and the internet and buried my nose in a
couple of novels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of them was the
dystopian thriller <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cell 7</i></b> by Kerry Drewery, and the other was Morton Rhue’s
international bestseller <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Wave</i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both of them are teen
fiction and both of them prove that “teen reads” can be as memorable, compelling,
and capable of provoking thought as any other novel. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="ind" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So first let me tell you about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cell 7</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is set in a UK which seems a lot like the one we are all familiar
with - except that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this</i> UK has taken
a different direction following the abolition of the death penalty in
1965.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Drewery tells us that some years
later - by popular demand - the death penalty is reinstated. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this time, there is no criminal justice
system and there are no judges - there are only daily episodes of a reality TV
show called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Death is Justice</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The decision of who is guilty and who is
innocent is placed directly into the hands of the viewing audience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Death Row is available to paying subscribers
as a 24-hour live feed and the dull formality of sifting through facts in order
to present a fair trial has been replaced by emotional manipulation, glitzy TV presenters and
voyeuristic audiences.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="ind" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">To use a new word, it’s all very post-truth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sixteen year old Martha, the book’s central
character and death row inmate, says of those who will decide her fate, <b>‘They
don’t want to know the truth, they just believe what’s fed to them.’</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="ind" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This novel is also so entirely plausible
that it’s terrifying.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="ind" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And what a tremendous read!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really like the way Drewery chops the text
up with different voices and different viewpoints.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s like we’re watching Martha through
multiple camera angles; which, of course, we are - just like the audience of <i>Death is Justice</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sequel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Day 7</i> is out in June.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll
be tuning in.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And then I read <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Wave</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Crikey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was not
a relaxing experience either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I first read <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Wave</i>
when I was about 13.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember
borrowing it from Felixstowe library and thinking ‘Oh my God – this book is
brilliant.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cell 7</i>, the scenario is not a parallel or future dystopia, it’s one
based very much on real life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 1969, a
history teacher in a California school attempted to demonstrate to his class how
Nazi ideology was able to infect an entire country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His teaching was too effective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within days, this teacher had turned the
entire school into one collective movement of chanting, flag-waving followers -
and anyone who questioned the majority or dared to be different was treated with suspicion, victimized
and intimidated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is Morton Rhue’s
fictionalised account of that real event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s a very short read and simply told but it packs some powerful messages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point, a worried parent tells her
daughter, <b>‘… just remember, that the popular thing is not always the right
thing.’</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Wise words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">post-truth</i>
is so illogical that it defies basic commonsense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Michael Gove recently scrapped a load of A
levels including Creative Writing and History of Art because he thought they
were useless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He should have read <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cell 7</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Wave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>If ever there were
a couple of novels that might prove that art helps make sense of the world,
then these two would be them.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">*Um... 350 million pounds a week to the NHS anyone? </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The giveaway from my last blog was won by Sally in Worcestershire and Caroline in Westchester, NY. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-24132281040604113632016-10-07T10:09:00.000+01:002016-10-07T10:49:34.255+01:00'Being a Girl' in America<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfmtoqLVGdz8Ukdy65STOviviXVbuxk_hz10I0KrrUAw2teVR7l1XxbKKI0LC3NymOi63Jk4-8nbxdkXpOq2EkqLkWFNXGQtiFH9vM3-fESEzBDQ8yFKb9KPuwakPVWxv9bqR1OpvoHfc/s1600/20161007_092901.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfmtoqLVGdz8Ukdy65STOviviXVbuxk_hz10I0KrrUAw2teVR7l1XxbKKI0LC3NymOi63Jk4-8nbxdkXpOq2EkqLkWFNXGQtiFH9vM3-fESEzBDQ8yFKb9KPuwakPVWxv9bqR1OpvoHfc/s400/20161007_092901.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">On the 25</span><sup>th</sup><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> October, an American edition of BEING
A GIRL will hit the shelves in bookstores in the USA.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It’s pretty much like the British edition
except that:</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> - </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
spelling and vocab is like... totally American.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> - </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It’s
full of references to some awesome women I hadn’t actually heard of until I found
myself writing about them - women like Mary Edwards Walker who was a surgeon in
the American Civil War and then later got arrested for wearing men’s clothes! And Carli Lloyd who is A-MAZING at playing
football. I mean soccer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It’s
got a seriously lovely rhubarb n’ custard cover. Complete with Gemma Correll's distinctive
doodlings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">In fact, Gemma’s lovely doodlings are in place throughout and
there’s even a couple of new American ones to sit alongside my new American
words. This is not bad going for a
couple of women from Ipswich, England, don’t you think?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Anyway, to celebrate this lovely American object, I’m going to
give a couple of copies away. I’ll send
one copy to someone in America and one copy to someone in the UK who fancies
learning a bit more about some American <i>she</i>roes. If you want the chance to win one, you just
have to email <a href="mailto:hayleylong@hayleylong.org">hayleylong@hayleylong.org</a>
with the magic words: <b>Hey, H!
Your sneakers are looking fresh to def and I’m loving your shell-toes.</b>*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">And do it before midnight of October 14<sup>th</sup>. Sorted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Anyway, because I’ve got/gotten so rotten at writing my
blog, I thought I’d seize this opportunity to list 10 of my Favourite/Favorite
American Things. Here they are in
reverse order:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">10. <b>Nirvana.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 21.3pt; text-indent: -21.3pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Oh Kurt Cobain. I STILL LOVE YOU. If only you’d married me and not Courtney
Love EVERYTHING WOULD HAVE BEEN OK.
Maybe. </span><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Ok, perhaps I’ve over-simplified a
very difficult set of circumstances. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; text-align: center; text-indent: -21.3pt;">For anyone, who has three minutes to spare, here is sad,
beautiful Kurt singing <i>About a Girl.</i> The grimace at the end is particularly
heart-breaking. Sob.</span><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/AhcttcXcRYY/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/AhcttcXcRYY?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 21.3pt; text-indent: -21.3pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 21.3pt; text-indent: -21.3pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">9. <b>Thelma
and Louise<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaZqvoYJUAB-spQsSvYobJi2Ge27ys_k2zyOiLRPKCf_Oj-6dlv8la881OCnKdFe3Mq_uzJRI1O6wYiJS72755XUoctH8-FFjk6zsE_s_xsA19tdUxbI1lD6hikZo0glqtAmXNgXgyic4/s1600/thelma__louise_6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaZqvoYJUAB-spQsSvYobJi2Ge27ys_k2zyOiLRPKCf_Oj-6dlv8la881OCnKdFe3Mq_uzJRI1O6wYiJS72755XUoctH8-FFjk6zsE_s_xsA19tdUxbI1lD6hikZo0glqtAmXNgXgyic4/s320/thelma__louise_6.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Oh
how I LOVE this film/movie - even though the first time I ever watched it, it
was on a VHS video that had been dubbed into French and I could
only understand one word in sixty. It
was still clear to me that this was a highly entertaining film. The beginning is harrowing and necessarily so
because there has to be a believable reason why Thelma and Louise go so ape-sh*t. But really... who doesn’t want to punch the
air when they blow up that dodgy trucker’s juggernaut?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 21.3pt; text-indent: -21.3pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 21.3pt; text-indent: -21.3pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">8. <b>Coney
Island<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 21.3pt; text-indent: -21.3pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> You’d think the seaside in New York City
would be all gee-whizz and flashy, wouldn’t you? But nope – it’s like a sandier and sunnier
version of Felixstowe. There are rickety
rollercoasters, ancient Big Wheels, hot dogs and candy floss and endless kiosks
of tat. I felt right at home there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 21.3pt; text-indent: -21.3pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 21.3pt; text-indent: -21.3pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">7. <b>Simon
Rich</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 21.3pt; text-indent: -21.3pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> You may not know him but if you like
reading stuff that makes you laugh, you SHOULD know him. This man is PROPER FUNNY. He also contributed to the film script for <i>Inside Out </i>which is the only cartoon
film that has ever made me cry.
Recently, I wrote 20,000 words about Simon Rich for an MA in American
Literature. In spite of this, I still
like him. If you don’t know him, a good
place to start is the novel, <i>Elliot
Allagash.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 21.3pt; text-indent: -21.3pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><i></i></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZdBNvnY3e7wQURk73uO_UCmvVDVSr2enQpiBqjUMZNpILiQxU715VX1j73LLNEHhf6qxd0wzmLVBCw2o6NAGWgdHK6epHQ90yQ4Kxh2DacOUvzRQismcoz_hpHbFzwIMJeU_8DRM9RZ4/s1600/simon+rich.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZdBNvnY3e7wQURk73uO_UCmvVDVSr2enQpiBqjUMZNpILiQxU715VX1j73LLNEHhf6qxd0wzmLVBCw2o6NAGWgdHK6epHQ90yQ4Kxh2DacOUvzRQismcoz_hpHbFzwIMJeU_8DRM9RZ4/s1600/simon+rich.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This man is funny. Also, he looks like a child.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 21.3pt; text-indent: -21.3pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">6. <b>The
Good, The Bad and The Ugly<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 14.2pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -14.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Another film set in the American West. I’m a little bit obsessed with the American West
even though guns make me scream. But
this film! It’s epic! And the soundtrack is epic too. In fact, these opening titles are probably
the best opening titles in the history of film.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 14.2pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -14.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 14.2pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -14.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">5. <b>Spoonbill
and Sugartown Bookstore</b> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 14.2pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -14.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> This is a fantastic little bookshop/store
in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.<b> </b>Now, everyone likes The Strand bookshop in
Manhattan and they are right to do so because it is enormous and fabulous but
Spoonbill and Sugartown is fabulous too!
I like it because it <i>isn’t</i>
enormous. It’s just a couple of rooms of
very carefully chosen books. It was in
here that I first discovered Simon Rich and went on to read everything he has ever written. I also like this shop/store
because it has cats in it. Sometimes they are
sitting on the book that you want to look at and so are actually in the
way. Except that cats in bookstores are <i>never</i> in the way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhot3WHfUpq_oojmm6PPk3ugQCEEa57FXxJ5CSDAEG_BxwbnOxCooOVIOyZAM6lQSfvKe3qPGaZbxIHp3HjVce1M2CBubNnKwuzS4maRhi-ydEwVLwxF6Ds11vKZWVZfzaLEPQUiM-Y9KI/s1600/spoonbill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhot3WHfUpq_oojmm6PPk3ugQCEEa57FXxJ5CSDAEG_BxwbnOxCooOVIOyZAM6lQSfvKe3qPGaZbxIHp3HjVce1M2CBubNnKwuzS4maRhi-ydEwVLwxF6Ds11vKZWVZfzaLEPQUiM-Y9KI/s320/spoonbill.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> This photo is by amieok. I got took it from Spoonbill and Sugartown's tumblr thing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 14.2pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -14.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">4. <b>The
Grand Canyon<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 14.2pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -14.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Did I mention that I have a thing about
the American West? Well, you can’t get
more yee-hah than this place. It’s
nuts. I was twenty when I visited the
Grand Canyon and I’ll never forget the weird, discombobulating effect that it
had on my head. Basically, my brain
couldn’t process what my eyes were seeing.
Red mountains. In a big crack in
the ground. Weird. Brilliant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwby2YLLwaKopd-JHCXfCWyGtrx2_M8sutsIDZvzc8RtRfiwwgt9W_F7e63jjPiWwts9W_wd2O8ayuc4QX9oJB3QJPEHdQ3lseGqgMHGd4sOoSEi9tBlKlF0IyVMv1W8WTH1Z5SyoLyJM/s1600/grandcanyon352.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwby2YLLwaKopd-JHCXfCWyGtrx2_M8sutsIDZvzc8RtRfiwwgt9W_F7e63jjPiWwts9W_wd2O8ayuc4QX9oJB3QJPEHdQ3lseGqgMHGd4sOoSEi9tBlKlF0IyVMv1W8WTH1Z5SyoLyJM/s320/grandcanyon352.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">20-year-old me pondering the enormity of The Grand Canyon. This photo is so old it's fading away.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 14.2pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -14.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">3. <b>Red
Velvet Cake<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 14.2pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -14.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Seriously though – do I need to explain
myself?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 14.2pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -14.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">2. <b>Louis
Sachar<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 14.2pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -14.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> He’s the bloke that wrote <i>Holes</i>.
If you know me at all, you’ll know I love this book. It’s a work of actual genius. There is not a single unnecessary sentence in
the whole book. And it’s set in the
American West. I really like Louis’ book
<i>The Cardturner</i> as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 14.2pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> 1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Girls with Guitars<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 14.2pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Ohhhhh. For me,
nothing will ever beat the American Indie bands of the 80s and 90s and the
feisty girls who played in them. I’m
talking about bands like Belly and The Breeders and The Throwing Muses and Mazzy
Star. This stuff all sounds as great to
me today as it did when I was nineteen.
I’ll sign off with indie pop music’s greatest ever twins. Kim and Kelley Deal, I salute you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%;">*I may have stolen these words from
Estelle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-35767905363311708562016-07-13T19:53:00.001+01:002016-07-13T19:54:54.951+01:00One Fine Day in Hay<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDAbHIa6Zs-sucRqWqcDky3e2oDi9MczCQ2ZnHM2VrQXC3OiW4TqgTgendnETQyo6KisgXYNC1hcL21QYW9EYVANND7fP8YqUdWQp4_2NwHO-Mb-JYWyKZbEjSHINVkAkESGw79e9sBgM/s1600/hay6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDAbHIa6Zs-sucRqWqcDky3e2oDi9MczCQ2ZnHM2VrQXC3OiW4TqgTgendnETQyo6KisgXYNC1hcL21QYW9EYVANND7fP8YqUdWQp4_2NwHO-Mb-JYWyKZbEjSHINVkAkESGw79e9sBgM/s320/hay6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I wrote a guest blog post for Kirsty at the Overflowing Library about my day with Jenny Valentine and Annabel Pitcher at the Hay Festival. Read all about it by clicking <a href="http://www.overflowinglibrary.com/2016/07/guest-post-hayley-long-one-fine-day-in.html">here</a>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-21149265271982506942016-06-26T19:16:00.000+01:002016-06-27T08:50:42.458+01:00About the EU Referendum Result<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRvapY6tBRm_oVKyY8Oygnw0ohdDeC5XV7aeXdTxaqPZPkxREaRPbFN9Hkih1nm2xuKIZ8j-vqBAzwC_JzgUT9KJH_DctDTohUokWUpDhaDW1Hl4thDT8kraF6OF-UVh-M1gLeLOkc_Jg/s1600/DSCF3022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRvapY6tBRm_oVKyY8Oygnw0ohdDeC5XV7aeXdTxaqPZPkxREaRPbFN9Hkih1nm2xuKIZ8j-vqBAzwC_JzgUT9KJH_DctDTohUokWUpDhaDW1Hl4thDT8kraF6OF-UVh-M1gLeLOkc_Jg/s320/DSCF3022.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Some things are too big to shut up about.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I need to say something about what happened
in the United Kingdom on Friday.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I am
one of that 48% who think the result of the referendum was a dreadful thing -
for the Kingdom that can no longer be called United, for the European Union
and, actually, for the whole world.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I have always thought of myself as British <i>and</i> as a citizen of this world. Growing up in the East Anglian port of
Felixstowe, I could see the cranes and ships from my bedroom window and it was a reminder – every time I opened my curtains – that there is far more out
there than just the ground beneath my feet.
My former hometown relied heavily – and still <i>does</i> rely – on the whole world.
And top priority in that world must surely be your neighbours – whether
times are good or bad, happy or sad etc.*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">When I left university in the 1990s, there was a
recession and I couldn’t find a job in the UK.
So I effectively became an ‘economic migrant’ and went to work
elsewhere. I enjoyed the freedom of
working in France and Spain - without any kind of visa - and was made very welcome
by the people I met there. I learned how
difficult it is to learn another language and also what an enormous gesture of
respect it is to even try. At the very least,
you can call it polite. Another time, I
arrived – with no plan and no job – in Belgium, and slept on the sofa of other 'economic migrant' friends until I finally found a job.
Nobody made me feel like I shouldn’t be there. On the contrary, I had the time of my life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">These experiences are priceless to me. They made me who I am. I am sad beyond words that the young British people of today and tomorrow will not be able to float around Europe with the freedom that <i>I</i> did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Now, I write books.
Not all my readers are in Britain – many are in the European Union. Last I heard, my books have been translated
into French, Castilian, Catalan, German, Italian, Romanian, Danish, Czech, Hungarian,
Greek, Dutch and Portuguese. The
publishers who buy the rights to translate my books and the readers who then
buy those translated editions are helping me to just about survive as a writer,
and I am enormously grateful to them for that.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I am wondering now what those readers, publishers and
translators are thinking of the British, and of what that referendum has done to
the European Union.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Please know that 48% of us are as horrified as you
probably are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I’ve always been proud to be British and – thanks to
the wisdom of a Polish man called Lado – also extremely grateful. I worked with Lado, years ago, in France. He was very kind, very intelligent, spoke
about seven languages fluently, and happened to be an old Etonian - so let’s <i>not</i> hastily condemn them all. Lado would never walk past a homeless person
without giving them whatever he had in his pocket. When I commented, less than generously, upon this, I remember him saying
these words to me: ‘Hayley, <i>bach</i>*, never
ever forget that being British is like winning a top prize in the lottery of
life - but with that comes some responsibility.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Right now, I don’t feel like I’ve won a top prize. I feel devastated. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">* Thanks Al Green.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">** This means little.
Yep, Lado even spoke some Welsh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-80285771674865565952016-05-20T17:49:00.000+01:002016-05-20T19:46:34.038+01:00Do Frogs Scream?<div class="MsoNormal">
A short horror story by Hayley Long*.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguGo6O6c5Pqmc53oTBs9WWRzys2X2UNxz0rRkZvcwTMgKkckQ7lm-SW6Gn7NYxizsjJt1u4inM7eYKwSKKPc_TodkDY5kKroYzgpXVfxftyTjROjuchsMQEC-o4isO6rwrPDqxfKM4NIg/s1600/27+-+scream+B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguGo6O6c5Pqmc53oTBs9WWRzys2X2UNxz0rRkZvcwTMgKkckQ7lm-SW6Gn7NYxizsjJt1u4inM7eYKwSKKPc_TodkDY5kKroYzgpXVfxftyTjROjuchsMQEC-o4isO6rwrPDqxfKM4NIg/s400/27+-+scream+B.jpg" width="273" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sun was shining and Irma the Bunny was in the
garden. I had half an eye on her as I sat
at the kitchen table reading a book called <i>Man’s
Search for Meaning</i>. I will not tell
you what the book was about but it didn't match the weather.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Something made me turn away from the page and look up. Irma had stopped destroying tulips and was now
sitting very still near a large bush by the back fence. She was staring at it very intently. Head sunk low. Ears tipped forwards like radar receivers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stood up and walked over to the back door. Irma didn’t move an inch. Still, she crouched low, testing the air
between herself and the bush.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I saw it. Just
for a second. Underneath the bush, something
moved.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was probably a wood pigeon. There were often wood pigeons in my
garden. Or maybe it was one of those big
fat baby birds that squawk a lot and can’t fly.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I kept watching.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I saw it again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was too solid to be a bird.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe it was a squirrel.
I sometimes had them in my garden too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Irma didn’t move. She
just kept staring at the thing that was in the bush.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I opened the door and sat down on the doorstep. For a minute - or maybe two minutes – nothing happened at all. But then, just
as I thought I might have been mistaken, the bottom of the bush moved and I
caught another glimpse of it. It wasn’t
a squirrel. But it was definitely something
furry. Maybe a wild rabbit. Or an escaped guinea pig.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stood up and walked slowly and carefully across the lawn towards
Irma and the mysterious thing in the bush.
Irma still didn’t move. She’d now
sunk very low into the ground. Like a
commando on the front line. Or a draft
excluder.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Squatting down next to her, I reached forward and gingerly
tugged at a branch of the bush so I could get a look at the lost guinea pig
inside.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What happened next is a blur. It was over in less than a second but it’s stuck
in my brain like a particularly sick gif on a never ending loop. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A small shrieking green thing shot out of nowhere and landed
on the grass just inches away from my feet.
Before I could rightly identify what the green thing was, a second thing
thing shot out of the bush. It was
bigger and furry and browny-grey and had a tail. It grabbed the shrieking green thing in its
mouth and they both disappeared back into the bush. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What happened next is worse.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What happened next is this:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The whole bush started to shake.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Properly shake.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And from within it, I heard a scream. It was high-pitched and tragic and it sounded
like the sound of something very small meeting a terrifying and awful end.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The screaming and the shaking lasted for three or four or
maybe five seconds. And then the scream
stopped and the bush went still.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For maybe a minute more, I remained where I was, crouching
on my ankles, scared rigid. If I hadn’t
been made of stone, I’d have probably thrown up. But pretty soon, I started breathing again so I turned my head and looked at the little black rabbit that was next to me. Still very low. Ears still on Code Red.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘I think that was a ****ing rat,’ I whispered.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Irma’s face was unreadable.
If she was as revolted as I was she wasn’t showing it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Slowly, I put my hand out to her, clamped it quickly around
her body and scooped her up. And then,
with nervous glances over my shoulder, I took us back to the safety of the
house.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back indoors, I felt panicky. And looking at my garden, I felt a stab of
shame too. There were dandelions in the
lawn. The boarders were full of wild
flowers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then again, it was hardly a rat’s nest.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A rat’s nest?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe there was An Actual Rat’s Nest. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Garden.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sat down shakily and wondered what to do.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I remembered my best friend.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lynda had once lived in an ancient flat on a fortified thirteenth
century bridge. The flat had been
amazing – or it would have been but for one problem. Rats.
Temporarily she’d fixed things with a bottle of gin and a 14-hole Doctor
Marten boot. But it wasn’t a solution
you could happily keep reapplying.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still. If she could
do it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Making sure the bunny was safely out of harm’s way, I took a
deep breath, screwed my courage to the sticking place and went outside to the
garage. Once there, I selected the
biggest, heaviest shovel I could find and went back to the bush to do a spot of
killing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the beast had gone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Weak with relief, I retreated back to the house.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But still I couldn’t relax.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stuck my head around the door of my office room where Irma
lives. She had hopped into her house and
was happily munching a piece of kale.
She didn’t seem stressed. So why
was I?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because. It. Was.
A. Rat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then again - maybe it wasn’t.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe I’d got the wrong end of the stick entirely. Maybe it was just a friendly water vole and
the green thing was its baby and it was rescuing its baby from the threat of me
and Irma and the scream I heard was just the high-pitched crying of a cute
little water vole baby? And maybe the
shaking of the bush was just the water vole rocking its cute little green water
vole baby-thing to sleep? And maybe the
crying stopped because the baby was OK. Maybe I'd nearly murdered a water vole?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I picked up my phone and tapped Google Search so I could ask
the question DO WATER VOLES HAVE GREEN BABIES?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But even before the search bar had loaded, my optimism
dwindled away. What was the point of
fooling myself? In search of knowledge
and meaning, I typed in the question that was really on my mind. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
DO FROGS SCREAM?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The answer is yes.
And it is a very sickening sound.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I dropped the phone on to the table and stared out of the
window. The bush... my garden... the
universe would never be the same again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
THE END.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*<span style="font-size: x-small;">who is currently suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-2663074808529954052016-05-02T16:21:00.000+01:002016-05-02T16:43:20.499+01:00Quick Bank Holiday Blog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHq8wWmJUVCfpja3Jf9VR3JRxGNlGHb2lQmX0czGNfEd8rFchCWU8WAFc_56dxoi7MDEvPJETyDWC8-cqhBcMhUPv_RsxuXmUTJSMt3xRtnBjeruCI29OPczGL5mdMUMwXMZW5vtbmoYk/s1600/hay+pic.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHq8wWmJUVCfpja3Jf9VR3JRxGNlGHb2lQmX0czGNfEd8rFchCWU8WAFc_56dxoi7MDEvPJETyDWC8-cqhBcMhUPv_RsxuXmUTJSMt3xRtnBjeruCI29OPczGL5mdMUMwXMZW5vtbmoYk/s400/hay+pic.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is a quick bank holiday blog post to say that the book
giveaway from my last blog was won by...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
S T E P H A N I E C
O A T E S of Brighton.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank you to everyone who entered. You provide me with hard evidence that somebody
reads these words.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Sophie Someone </i>will
be available to buy in an attractive blue paperback edition from any bookshop
from 5<sup>th</sup> May. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What else do I have to tell you? Oh yes, my plans for this summer? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well mostly I will be watching Euro 2016 and writing an MA
dissertation about something I don’t understand in the bits in between – but as
well as that, I will be doing a few book related things. You can find me at the <b>HAY FESTIVAL on June 3<sup>rd</sup></b> where I will be talking about
FAMILY SECRETS with <b>Jenny Valentine</b>
and <b>Annabel Pitcher</b>. Or come and see me in my (once) home town of
Felixstowe at <b>FELIXSTOWE BOOK FESTIVAL
on June 25<sup>th</sup></b> - where I’ll be talking about all things related to
writing for children and teenagers with writer <b>Ruth Fitzgerald</b> and literary agent <b>Hannah Sheppard</b>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I also have <b>more
events planned</b> for the summer which will be announced very soon so if you
fancy coming to say hello please keep an eye on the news page of my
website. By the way, I’ve smartened my
website up a bit so that it now contains slightly less felt-tip. Admittedly, it still looks fairly basic but
when you consider that... <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
a) I manage my website all by
myself and <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
b) I am <b>very</b> pre-digital<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: -1.0cm;">
...
you will understand that my website is actually nothing short of a miracle.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: -1.0cm;">
Please feel free to peruse it and
then tell me how good it is.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: -1.0cm;">
<a href="http://www.hayleylong.org/">www.hayleylong.org</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p>Speak later. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5219008681995635173.post-66983307457231088602016-04-21T15:05:00.001+01:002016-04-21T15:09:19.658+01:00Hooray for School Librarians!The School Libraries Association has put <i>Being a Girl</i> on the shortlist for their Information Book Award.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVizyhEtZVLp5HLwlY9bx9f640AOMIW6i6ebQHXW1lOS7a1v3uIuqDGluMfw82Iwwp9UoTPui-QLIXrEvjrbdw3t3ySnFMSGddA_EzX9fC7lh3GDW4XN4kOL6IhRtdTCZ-awAOlrv3kgA/s1600/funky+dancing+gif.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVizyhEtZVLp5HLwlY9bx9f640AOMIW6i6ebQHXW1lOS7a1v3uIuqDGluMfw82Iwwp9UoTPui-QLIXrEvjrbdw3t3ySnFMSGddA_EzX9fC7lh3GDW4XN4kOL6IhRtdTCZ-awAOlrv3kgA/s1600/funky+dancing+gif.gif" /></a></div>
<br />
Getting a book on a shortlist is always lovely. It's a big smiley thumbs-up. And as an ex-teacher, I'm really chuffed to get a big smiley thumbs-up from our school librarians. Have no doubt about it, they do a tricky and much needed job! All those kids who wander in and out of the library are in the care of the librarian and so are all those books on the shelves. And some of those kids are 11-year-olds who want to read <i>Horrid Henry</i> and some of them are 11-year-olds who want to read Stephen King. And then there are the sixth-formers with beards who want to know about Marxism or Monet... And the school librarian has to <b>look after all of them </b>and help everyone find the books they are ready for and which won't freak them out and put them off reading for life. Strategically, it's enough to melt my head! And that's without factoring in those fantastic books which can't be let loose on the shelves but have to live in the Four-Letter-Bomb Cupboard instead. Yes, <i>Curious Incident</i>, I'm talking about you!<br />
<br />
So, anyway, a thumbs-up for <i>Being a Girl</i> has made me happy. Because it means that in spite of the unavoidable and inevitably tricky content - like... oh... I dunno...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ_iSOSc2FUpYhczk_5_0Gb4CaFdQK3AJTw_JyOEi_Ft8V8MyxJps-3DFyh4GSFqT72W41dPJAGqbB45hfEhENKmgVRfx6dkKdq4luPfrajfXaltfoaCjYAYJ0_iovKg2otfg0hONI2R0/s1600/DSCF2840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ_iSOSc2FUpYhczk_5_0Gb4CaFdQK3AJTw_JyOEi_Ft8V8MyxJps-3DFyh4GSFqT72W41dPJAGqbB45hfEhENKmgVRfx6dkKdq4luPfrajfXaltfoaCjYAYJ0_iovKg2otfg0hONI2R0/s320/DSCF2840.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
and... maybe...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUg2yCv4jUOYA5_8DxFrFub_EuEhsdXz0KJsx1dj_YPcIY925rFOWSZi7M3FJguk6tpUwqmcS6FJDFreBv6c2FcMhHRs9YUQL32fv_0A6kUGzB6EuuzWsjyzzawa_XODsE61MnN2mdHC8/s1600/DSCF2881.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUg2yCv4jUOYA5_8DxFrFub_EuEhsdXz0KJsx1dj_YPcIY925rFOWSZi7M3FJguk6tpUwqmcS6FJDFreBv6c2FcMhHRs9YUQL32fv_0A6kUGzB6EuuzWsjyzzawa_XODsE61MnN2mdHC8/s320/DSCF2881.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
.... - the responsible librarians liked it!<br />
<br />
Phew!!! And Thank you xxx<br />
<br />
To read about the Information Book Award and to see the whole shortlist, please click <a href="http://www.sla.org.uk/information-book-award-2016.php#sn3845">here</a>. There are some absolutely cracking titles on there!<br />
<br />
Finally because I'm in a good mood and because SOPHIE SOMEONE is out in paperback on May 5th, I'm going to give away a signed SOPHIE and a signed BEING A GIRL. To be in with a chance of winning, just email me on hayleylong@hayleylong.org <b>before the end of April</b> with this secret password: Hi Hayley, Go on then - I'll 'ave'm.<br />
<br />
The winner will be chosen at random by my house rabbit.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDBLYbIxxxIohJpFibZaGgIm5LIno74exPr-BGZizx55FGQN5ge7LifYHPQdrI5C-AxnFvsh_YgszqyFq9NsSI1cinSZ913ahZpkpzzp4_eWkEpHcZ0okyANzYUUXJsYZmclmUer_bPB0/s1600/BAG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDBLYbIxxxIohJpFibZaGgIm5LIno74exPr-BGZizx55FGQN5ge7LifYHPQdrI5C-AxnFvsh_YgszqyFq9NsSI1cinSZ913ahZpkpzzp4_eWkEpHcZ0okyANzYUUXJsYZmclmUer_bPB0/s320/BAG.jpg" width="208" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAPELPgsKLtItPXRW70gSWiCMu-15ZuWRHmjacLgbISqHB_XtM53gC8Cks6QCoVESy6sUppO7cryuq_2y4j53IaLHcrmu-fpoZOZBXmKJM5c8Y6XSn4Yea9lRiPKSBjdn8kQ53ASvv6eY/s1600/sophie+pb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAPELPgsKLtItPXRW70gSWiCMu-15ZuWRHmjacLgbISqHB_XtM53gC8Cks6QCoVESy6sUppO7cryuq_2y4j53IaLHcrmu-fpoZOZBXmKJM5c8Y6XSn4Yea9lRiPKSBjdn8kQ53ASvv6eY/s320/sophie+pb.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1