Margaret’s on the mend

Margaret’s on the mend. The reconstructive surgery has been a complete success and she should be walking again before the autumn. Thankfully she has no recollection of us all laughing at her as she snaked across the kitchen floor into the hallway. It turns out she must really have been in a lot of pain. Don has sorted out a put-up bed in the orangery and I’ve donated my oil filled radiator to keep the chill off as the nights start drawing in. She should be home  by the weekend all being well.

Whatever happened to Michael Rodd?

I dreamt about Michael Rodd again last night. I say again, it must be 18 months or more since I last dreamt about DynoRodd.

Last night we were co-hosting an episode of Tomorrow’s World, live from Appleton Marsh community centre.  Michael, as ever, was the consummate professional and his easy manner helped to settle my nerves.          

For the last 25 years, the former presenter of Screen Test has been running a successful events and communications company, offering a unique edge when solving complex communication challenges; apparently. With his business partner, the furtive looking and unknown (to me at least) Robert Lipfriend, they form the two halves of Lipfriend Rodd.

Born in November 1943 somewhere in the north east, Michael “Hotrodd” Rodd was educated near Perth in Scotland and at Newcastle University. He became a familiar face to millions of viewers when he presented the young filmakers’ series Screen Test. Fast forward half a lifetime and Michael is just as good looking and has added after dinner speaking and conference hosting to his impressive basket of skills.

If only the DBLW autumn fashion show budget would stretch to it, I would hire the services of the Mighty, Lightning Rodd in a heartbeat. 

Woeful Statistics

Sometimes I wonder if I’m talking to myself with this blog. It seems that nobody’s interested these days in reading pearls of widsom from a ladies outfitter. Honestly, some days, if it wasn’t for “Syria flag bikini” and “Cullompton by-pass”, I’d have no readers at all.

Shrinking Doris 2

Four months into my diet and I’m pleased to report that I’ve lost three pounds!

I feel like a new woman. I have more energy, my mind’s sharper, my blouses no longer cut off the blood supply to my head. What’s the secret of my success? You won’t be surprised to learn there’s no magic wand; it’s down to sheer willpower and eating sensibly, by which I mean portion control and cutting down on fatty foods such as biscuits and profiteroles.

If I’m honest, I’d hoped to have lost a little bit more by now. While spiritual soul partners, Blabs and Susie, are putting me to shame with their dieting achievements, I am seriously considering removing those tempting finger bowls of Bombay mix that I have scattered strategically around the house.  And if I do that then I might as well put the Toffifees out of bounds.

But I don’t want to be stupid about it. I remember when Lillian, god rest her soul, went on a crash diet. Her motivation was slightly different from my own. She had bought a new bathroom suite and was struggling to keep up with the repayments.

“It’s the soft close toilet seat or it’s a week’s shopping, Doris,” she said.

Over that summer we all watched as the weight fell off her. She went from a formidable size 18 to a frail size 8. She used to stagger into the shop, not knowing what day of the week it was, lipstick smeared across her cheeks and chin.

So I could be doing better but I’m doing okay. At my current rate of progress I should achieve my target weight loss of seven pounds and my ideal weight of fifteen stone by the end of November.

The next Scott Turow

Margaret Chaff is a huge Scrabble fan but she’s taken that game to a whole new level with her latest flight of fancy.

For reasons best known to her, Margaret Chaff has started work on a novel set in a northern legal practice which specialises in protecting the privacy of its, primarily West Yorkshire based celebrity clients, but which also does a bit of conveyancing and legal aid work. When you think celebrity think Alan Bennett, Jane McDonald, Eric Pickles and the cast of Emmerdale and you won’t be far off the mark.

To the best of my knowledge Maureen has confined her research to the bookshelves of Appleton Marsh Library, but it’s well stocked and there’s no reason to think that’s a problem. Where I do have an issue though is with her writing M.O.

The germ of an idea sprouted at a meeting of our book club; I remember it as if was yesterday. In fact it was last week, and we had gathered around at Flo’s to discuss Goddess of the Green Room by Jean Plaidy. Margaret retired almost twenty years ago and clearly has too much time on her hands. She put forward a theory that all novels are composed of, broadly, the same words. It is perfectly possible, she argued, to decide upfront, that your novel will contain 700 the’s and 600 a’s and 150 but’s, and so on. 80% of any novel comprises the same 50 or so words, just used in a different order to produce a unique work. Once you have your list, writing a novel becomes simply a matter of reorganising those words into something that makes sense. Need more words? Expand in the same proportions to fit.

With me so far? Remember, this is Margaret’s logic, not mine. Well, as you can imagine, we were queuing up to pour scorn on her ridiculous theory. 

Firstly, Flo pointed out, this approach made the already daunting task of writing far more difficult than it needed to be. Nonsense, said Margaret. It makes it more fun; it’s like Scrabble. And it saves you having to think about which words to use. Writing a novel becomes like selecting food in a cafeteria.

“In that case,” said Audrey, who’d been quiet until now, “you’re saying you could take any novel, rearrange the words and, hey presto, you’d have a completely new book.”

We all laughed at the very thought of it, but not Margaret. She was deadly serious.

“I’ll prove it to you,” she said. “Name a novel, any novel, and I will do just that.”

“Pride and Prejudice,” said Flo, as quick as a flash, which showed she was in the moment because Flo never does anything as quick as a flash.

“Pride and Prejudice it is,” declared Margaret with a triumphant look on her face.

And that’s how The Bingley Injunction came to be. Re-cycling taken to the next level.

Margaret won’t admit it but I think she’s struggling, bless her. She’s a stubborn piece of work at the best of times and she’s not the type to back down and make a show of herself. But, if you ask me, it has last, great unfinished novel written all over it.