Guest Blogger - My Dad

Since I am busy this weekend, I am handing over today's blog post to my Dad. It all started when he rang me up last week (not like him, as my regular reader will know - it's usually "Hello Dad," "I'll pass you over to your mother.") Anyway, this is how the conversation went.

"Donna, I'm reading a book by Charles Cumming."

Now, all well and good, but somehow, underneath the seemingly innocuous words, I could hear an accusatory tone. "Are you, Dad?" I said.

"Yes, I am." Again, the slightly clipped and accusing tone.

"And...errrrr...is it good?"

"He was born in Scotland, you know." Ah, here it was.

"Oh, was he?"

"Yes, but he's not on your list of Scottish authors." I could actually hear the italics.

"Oh dear, I'd better sort that out then, hadn't I, Dad?"

"Yes." That word conveyed so much. That's all he said but what he meant was "Yes, young lady, because right now you are, most definitely, the world's worst blogger of Scottish crime fiction. I am convinced the stork dropped you on your head from a great height."

"Then you can write me a review, right?"

"Yes." That one was chock full of smugness.

"So, how would you like to do a guest blog for me?"

"What about?"

"Anything you like?"

"Really?"

OK, so that was a mistake. "Well, no, within limits."

"Maps?"

"No, Dad. Stuff you read."

"I read maps."

Sometimes it's tough, dear reader. "OK Dad, point taken. But I was thinking more books and things."

"I'll have a think about it. I probably won't do it. But I'll have a think. Not promising anything, mind."

"And remember, pater, it can't all be about Lord Of The Rings."

"Pearls before swine" said my Dad, before the phone was slammed down.

Ten minutes later, this appeared in my inbox. Obviously, I have been forgiven. Although, given the amount of digs...maybe not. It was accompanied by a little note that said "Please do not take anything out." As in "Please leave in the bits where I have been horrible to my only daughter."


That lazy little blogger's been at it again. She phones to say "Dad will you write something for my blog." I think she must have a mental block, or maybe just mental.

She disturbs me as I was reading a novel by Caro Ramsay. there were no Elves, Orcs or damn great Spiders, only that DCI Quinn who seems a bit of an ogress. When I asked what I was to write about she suggested one or two things which at the time did not appeal, and said to write about anything.

My liking for books covers many subjects and authors, spy novels, mystery stories and general fiction, books that grip my imagination from the beginning or tell of social issues. In the past I have read Hemingway, Dickens, Steinbeck, Robert Ludlum and Colin Forbes. My bookcase has a book by Donna Moore, plus others by authors you may actually have heard of, such as a complete set by Stephen Booth.*

Yes,the book I am reading at the moment is by Caro Ramsay. SINGING TO THE DEAD. I have only got to page 218 so I will probably give the verdict at a later date. This is the second one by this author that I have managed to obtain from our local library, the first one I enjoyed a few weeks ago. The library I speak of is part of Cambridgeshire Libraries and has a good selection of both fiction and non fiction with a section for crime novels which are mostly paperback, some of those authors I even know or have met.**

I think that all habits form when one is young, such as reading habits, I try to read books by an author in sequence, a habit formed many years ago when I read books by W E Johns. I think as a lad with scabbed knees I read most of his books, along with the Beano, Dandy and Eagle comics.There was no television in those days, just the radio and reading to pass the time, if we heard a doodlebug pass over, and we heard a bang it was OK to carry on reading. When Donna was smaller (yes she was smaller***) I would tell her stories, usually Enid Blyton or fairy stories that I could remember, she was quite happy if I had forgotten and made it up as I went along.

So much for trying to think of something to write, now that bit that Winnie the Pooh had a little of, is beginning to hurt, so goodnight till it be the morrow (with apologies to Bill Shakespeare).

* I shall ignore the slight and just mention that the set of Stephen Booth books actually belongs to my Mum, if we're being picky here.

** My Mum and Dad both loved their visit to Crimefest in Bristol earlier this year. They were so thrilled that 'proper authors' (as in, 'not our Donna') actually took the time to chat to them.

*** Everyone's a critic. I AM BIG BONED, ok?