"Nada", directed Claude Chabrol

Thriller, 1974

Political kidnap thriller in which the politics are never really made explicit and are pushed out in favour of some fairly poorly realised relationships, particularly those involving the aging Epaulard. There's lots of gloomy drinking in gloomy flats with gloomy furniture and unfinished baguettes. There are also lightly scathing views of people all round - while the police are clearly reprehensible, the Nada Gang aren't much better. Not a great film, all in all, though quite engaging.

"H is For Hawk" by Helen Macdonald

Non-fiction, 2014

Curious, ambitious and successful interweaving of three narratives - the loss of a father, a meditation of TH White and his book The Goshawk and Macdonald's own struggles with training her own bird. Different sections will work better for some people than others; the training was enthralling and beautifully done, although for me, parts of the looking back at White felt a tad laboured. This is, however, an unflinching, and in being both a bold book and very readable, pulls off quite a feat.

"Laughing Gas" by PG Wodehouse

Novel, 1936

Wodehouse with an element of science-fiction and a switch of identities in a dentist's surgery following a misadventure with the eponymous laughing gas, all of which leaves a young Hollywood brat's body being taken by a toff from The Drones and vice versa. These misfiring figures are then let loose in a familiar world of fearsome aunt-like-authority figures, drunken bounders, clumsy toughs, sly gardeners and plot twists which trip, delightfully, one into the other. The Hollywood setting allows a few pokes at a different society, although despite this, and despite a lack of Wodehouse A-list characters, this is all wonderfully, sublimely familiar.

"The Accidental Tourist" by Anne Tyler

Novel, 1985

Account of what happens after domestic disasters befall a man hooked on routines and constantly updating his world guides on travelling on business in such a way as to encounter as few surprises as possible. While the lively plot largely turns on fairly predictable events and developments, it's a good read all the same, with characters' pathos and sadness nicely and possibly at times over balanced with comedy. This is certainly a good page turner and aims and tugs the heart. Could perhaps have done with a few more unpredictable plot twists, but excellent all the same.

The Man Whose Face Fell Off

Just before I left for a recent and well-deserved break, I posted a short story. It's kind of fantastic and fanciful and may need improving. All suggestions would be more than welcome.

Holiday reading

Picking holiday reading is far too important to leave until the last few months before departure. It is essential NOT TO LISTEN to anyone advocating trash. Light? Yes, certainly. Advisedly, even. But trash? You can read trash any time of the year. Trash is for when your brains are in the employ of grubby bosses or otherwise obliquely being used in order to secure a living. Trash is for when you're fagged from work, or your reading time's restricted to the odd ten minutes just before the lights go out and you're losing or have already consciousness and concentration.

In the not too distant future, I'll return to a fortnight's holiday amd pack a real BELTER in the old gunny sack. Something like Tolstoy's Warren Peas, or something by Proust (unsummarised).

The main reading holiday  - obviously I have more than holiday a year - usually involves going through a number of volumes selected by myself and my good lady. This year, we're packing:

• PG Wodehouse - Laughing Gas. We always take PG Wodehouse;
• David Karp - One, an interesting looking speculative charity shop purchase;
• Esi Edugyan - Half-Blood Blues (as above);
• Timothy J Jarvis - The Wanderer, by a lecturer at the Uni where I ply my trade;
• Helen MacDonald - H is for Hawk, which has one of those multibuy money off stickers on the cover, which is always a bit fishy.

Will report back.

Writing courses - any suggestions?

Is writing a state of mind? Do you need a room of your own and comfortable means? And be able to spell? And don't editors make all properly published stuff up anyway?

You may neither know about some of these questions, nor care. In which case, move over. Maybe watch this excellent goal by Luke Guttridge. If, on the other hand, you'd like to help and/or offer thoughts, I'm all ears. 

I am fortunate enough to have a "medium job" which "provides". This is the road I've taken. I'd like to say I've chosen it, but I've probably just been corporate and pliable enough to have made a good fist of often dithering situations and never had the chutzpah to go off and do something I've really wanted. Or really succeed at anything. And besides, I've always  wanted to spend most of my time doing something I've not really wanted to so that I can find time to do bits and pieces I've always wanted to do, thus making these times 'non-work' and thus more enjoyable. Rather a pissed artist than a suffering artist.

If I'd been able to spend more time on my adequate drum playing - recent improved wrist action and sensible patterns have recently turned this into this -  I might have actually been slightly more successful at it and played festivals and that. Neither my football nor my modelling career ever got off the ground as I always enjoyed introspection over kicking balls hard, looking my age or putting crap in my hair.

Anyway, I'm drifting. Can anyone recommend a good writing course for fiction writers? I'd like to do a full blown uni course - probably by correspondence - but suspect I need to have a taster try out in the meantime. Arvon retreats look way too posh. Much more inclined towards short regular evening courses so I can test out my feeling that being in a room where people talk about their writing is going to be creepy.

"The Good German", directed Soderbergh

Thriller, 2006

A film which, despite looking beautiful and clipping along at a fair old rate, nonetheless feels too pleased with itself, with its classy A-list actors trussed in period dress, swanning through painfully authentic looking titles, fades, soundtrack and a plot more peppered with violence than the 40s noir films it otherwise pays homage to. It's by no means a bad film, but form and style take over, suffocating already occasionally stiff acting and what should be a strong plot.

"India" by John Keay

Non fiction, revised 2010

After shopping round to avoid a big, mighty tome listing generals, battles, dates, politicians and treaties, I ended up buying a big, mighty tome listing generals, battles, dates, politicians and treaties. All of which, over 600 pages of quite dense reading, makes for a reading slog and the likelihood of information and having been far from fully and properly absorbed. Still, a worthy book it's hard to criticise even if it wasn't the one I wanted and should have looked harder for. Never mind; I'll know in the future.

My life as a writer

"My life as a writer" is an adventurous title, especially as my day job entails very little adventure. My day job is at a struggling university in the South East of England. At the weekend, there's not much more in the way of adventure in all honesty.

Not much there to inspire or persuade anyone there's potential for a life of writing, but then again, I've always wanted to write and be published and I've recently - or at least relatively recently - taken steps in this direction through the self-publishing route. See here, haikus for sale.

Right, well, I'm on holiday next week, so there'll be little going up then. I will, however, try and make this blog look half decent in the meantime and put some archivey stuff up. And link pages to other areas of excitement.

Comments and dialogue welcome.