Neighbourly Relations

Albert Cooper

Albert John Cooper the third was born to Albert and Alice Cooper of 48 William Street, Norwich on the 16th of June 1933. Like all new born babies for those first few moments in his new world he started turning blue, until rushes of air cleared Albert’s throat for the first time in many, however, the blues had remained.

From Albert Cooper, A Chronicle of Norwich’s King of the Blues

So began the long and eventful life of Albert Cooper, Norwich’s very own Man in Black who’s been singing the blues since 1942. Albert lives below us in the old Co-op warehouse. He’s a Norwich original with a tale or ten to tell, is still gigging at the age of 81 and remains in fine voice. Long may he continue.

Orford_Cellar_2Norwich has a rich musical heritage to suit all tastes from high brow to arty-farty,  symphonic to solo, electric to unplugged and everything in between. Albert is a wonderful part of this tradition and if you happen to be in town tomorrow evening, pop along to the Rumsey Wells Pub in St Andrews Street to catch the local legend and his blues and boogie band.

Down the years, we’ve been remarkably blessed with engaging, generous, fascinating and wacky neighbours. Until recently we shared a Weaver’s Cottage with the modest and unassuming Anjali Joseph who has written two internationally acclaimed novels and lectured in English Literature at the Sorbonne. And there was dear old Colin with his signature horn-rimmed glasses who bought my house and all its contents in Walthamstow, lock, stock and barrel. His kindness eased our passage to paradise and when we got there, we found ourselves sharing a garden with Beril and Vadim…

Turkey Street…a maverick and unwed Turkish couple who had escaped the conformity of Ankara to take possession of Stone House No. 1 and join us in the garden of sin. Vadim was a retired rock and roller, a portly, rosy-cheeked percussionist in his late fifties, obsessed with drums and wedded to his collection of Turkish darbukas. Beril was a good decade younger than her rhythm and blues man and bore more than a passing resemblance to Kate Bush in her Home Counties years. She tolerated Vadim’s banging with good grace but preferred the gloomy Gallic romanticism of Charles Aznavour to the guitar riffs of Eric Clapton.

From Turkey Street, Jack and Liam move to Bodrum, Chapter One

Jay Talking

The incomparable Roving Jay recently blew into town for a few bevvies, a bite and a chin wag. She was on a pilgrimage to the Norfolk flatlands of her birth and catching up with her folks. Luckily for me, she detoured to Norwich to pick up where we left off last time we met and this time, Liam joined us for a boozy threesome. First stop was a couple of bottles in the Lamb Inn, a lively little watering hole where the ridiculously low ceiling makes everyone look tall. Even me. Hair gel was being applied like Dulux emulsion. Next up, gourmet grub at Cinema City’s swanky Dining Rooms, a bar-restaurant with an old vaulted ceiling, a medieval courtyard and a mini multiplex in the east wing. Last time, the rural hit-and-miss bus schedule conspired against us and Jay flew away prematurely. This time, she threw caution to the wind, stayed for a natter and jumped into a Hackney cab at the end of the night.

BPTG 3D right Cropped

Those who are familiar with Jay will know that she is a devoted Turkophile and a holiday resident of glorious Gümüslük. In 2013, she realised a long-held ambition and published a fabulous guidebook about the Bodrum area. Jay is a bit of a magpie and the Bodrum Peninsula Travel Guide is a meticulously researched, first-hand account of the little corner of Turkey we called home for a while. The e-book is doing well, very well. That’s because it’s good, very good. Summer’s just round the bend so if you’re heading Bodrum-way this year you’d be mad not to pick up a copy. For more information about Jay’s must-have guide, click here.

Jay’s next big thing is a more detailed guide to Gümüslük and it will include offerings from others in the know; she was even mad enough to ask me for my tuppence-worth, but don’t let that put you off. The Gümüslük guide will be the first in an exciting series of in-depth guides of towns on the Peninsula. To find out where Jay the magpie’s at with all of this, do check out her website.

Roving Jay

In the meantime, sit back and enjoy what all the fuss is about…

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Can’t Wait to Read the Sequel

I can’t remember the last time I published a review of Perking the Pansies, Jack and Liam move to Turkey on this blog. Generally, I try to keep my book business and random ramblings quite separate (until the sequel, Turkey Street, comes out, that is). But when I was sent an out-of-the blue critique from a total stranger in a distant land, unconnected to me or Turkey, I was rather taken aback and felt compelled to share it. Not as a boast, you understand, but as a humble thank you.

Perking the Pansies2 (464 x 700)“I would like to buy Jack a drink or five. He and Liam present as the kind of people I would like to know. “Perking the Pansies” conveys personality right from the start. I was instantly interested in knowing and understanding the characters.

Jack doesn’t spare the truth. His descriptions of characters strip away all the pretentions and leave them exposed for who they really are instead of who they pretend to be. That is an uncomfortable feeling and yet I did not get the impression that he was being cruel or hateful. It is uncomfortable because the truth often is.

It is also funny as hell. The use of figurative language is superb. I had to stop and write down quite a few memorable lines just to make sure I don’t forget them. The line “…his distracting buns quivering like two piglets in a sack,” comes to mind. Then his little aside about trying to find “… something funny to say about faulty alarm cocks,” is another good example. I can imagine the frustration of writers block when such a marvelous circumstance presents itself. It was funny and it created a connection to the author.

The book’s greatest strength is the connection to the author. Reading it gives such an intimate look at the life and thoughts of the writer that you come out of it feeling like you know him. He becomes a real person. Obviously the book is written much like a journal, relaying a first person account of everything, but that is not the true source of the realism. It is honesty. The little details like Jack standing in the mirror making a face lift with his fingers are so true to life that you have to believe it. It doesn’t matter if everything written is literally true or not, the effect creates truth.

I found myself rooting for Jack and Liam not to give up. I wanted them to stay in Turkey and make a happy life. Sometimes their naïveté scared me. When Liam says that “We’re infidels and Hell-bound anyway so it hardly matters what we get up to,” I was afraid for them. Religious fundamentalists are not known for rational thinking. So many things could go wrong. When Uzgun was killed it highlighted the potential danger. I was vicariously proud of the courage and fortitude Jack and Liam showed by staying in Turkey.  The message is a good one. Things will only change if everyday people are brave enough to live everyday lives.

It was great. I can’t wait to read the sequel.”

Destin

Helpfully, Destin also posted a cut-down version of the review on Amazon.com. Good reviews do sell books and every little helps as they say at Tesco’s. This diminutive, myopic, ex-pretty boy with his best years behind him is chuffed to bits and eternally grateful to all you kind reviewers. Thank you.

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Tales from Turkey

Peoples_RepublicLast month I had the pleasure of being interviewed by the gorgeous Shelley Antscherl for the People’s Republic of South Devon, the premier online newspaper for that bejewelled corner of this sceptre’d isle.

“We’d both reached a professional impasse and thought it was high time to take a break from our labours while we still had our own teeth.”

Update – Friday 17th January

sad-face

I’ve just checked back with the People’s Republic of South Devon and my interview (and, the entire website, it seems) has disappeared from the ether.  That’s rather unfortunate. It was there yesterday. My witless words are now lost for all time. Sorry about that.

Bah! Humbug!

bah humbug1I’m no scrooge, really I’m not. The piggy bank may have dropped a few pounds since my days as a senior bean counter, shuffling a pile of papers from one side of my desk to the other then back again, but we can still afford to spend a farthing or two on our nearest and dearest. We just can’t thrash the plastic to make the grand gesture any more. Britain may be finally emerging from the longest and deepest recession since the Great Depression but our days of austerity are permanent (that is, unless Liam’s Lotto numbers come up). It’s fine. We don’t mind. It’s our choice. Let’s face it, I could always stop mucking about with this writing lark and get a proper job.

Anyway, don’t you think festive fever is a bit OTT these days? I’m not one of those old farts down the pub who will bore you with their sad Victorian tales of home-sewn Christmas stockings stuffed with two walnuts and a satsuma – very A Christmas Carol.  No, I got a Dalek suit, a Hot Wheels racing set, an action man with all the butch accessories and enough Dinky toys to run Port Talbot (admit it, you thought I played with Barbie dolls, didn’t you?). It just the whole commercial juggernaut seems to start earlier and earlier and by the time the baby Jesus pops out, I’m ready to chuck my lot in with the Devil. That’s why I just love this glorious ad from posh Knightsbridge department store, Harvey Nichols (superior by far to their more famous neighbour, Harrods, only spitting distance away). It’s a breath of fresh air. 

The video was first picked up by the lovely Aussie Kym at Gidday from the UK.  Ta!

Schmooze It or Loose It

jack-the-hack-_writingtipsJack’s last word on blogging at the Displaced Nation.

FACT: most blogs run out of steam after two years. So, giving your blog legs will keep it in the race for longer. Here’s how.

More…

The Yellow Brick Road

jack-the-hack-_writingtipsThe blogging gospel according to St Jack, Chapter Two…

Posts can be written in batches and scheduled to be published over time. Try to post at least once a week, though. It’s good for what’s called search engine optimisation (SEO). Don’t be spooked by this. This is just how Internet search engines index and rank your site— it’s all done in the background. Over time, posting regularly will push up your assets better than a Playtex 18-hour girdle.

More…

One Equal World

Flag and TulipsI’m always chuffed when I’m asked to write a few words about the bees in my bonnet.  One Equal World publishes thoughtful and thought-provoking articles about equalities issues and they asked me about our experiences of Turkey.  This was my two-penneth…

I have often been asked why we chose an Islamic country as a place to step off the treadmill for a while and rest our work-weary bones. It’s not quite that simple; too often, the casual observer will lump all Muslims together. In truth, the Islamic world is no more homogenous than the West. There’s little to distinguish a grandma on a donkey in Christian Greece or Bulgaria from one trotting through a Turkish village. More…

Thou Shalt Blog

Thou Shalt Blog

jack-the-hack-_writingtipsRead the blogging gospel according to St Jack, chapter one, on Displaced Nation.

Those who regularly dip into Jack the Hack will know that I’m a passionate advocate of blogging—for fun and for glory. With a little effort and imagination, you really can make the Web work for you, and blogging is a very good place to start (cue Julie Andrews, the old Dame who tragically lost her fabulous soprano timbre). Still not convinced? Then let’s start at the very beginning…

More…

The Faerie Queene

Faerie QueeneIt’s my birthday today and I’d like to share a little poem that my English teacher, David Steddall, wrote in the card he gave me when I reached sweet sixteen.

I know you’re not a fairy queen

I know you’re not a donkey

Perhaps you’re something in between

Like a hairy gnome gone wonky

It reads worse than it was. It’s certainly true that I was relentlessly bullied as soon as I entered the gates of my ancient and prestigious South London grammar school. The other kids knew I was pink-leaning even when I didn’t (well, actually I did but that’s another story). I survived the ordeal by developing a sharp tongue and fast legs. But, by the time I reached my O Level years, the torment had subsided and I’d won the grudging acceptance of my peers, and high praise for my compositions. What Dave was actually telling me was to pull my finger out in the poetry stakes. “It’s not that difficult,” he wrote in my final school report after I miserably failed my English Literature mock. You see, I just didn’t get it. Simile, descriptive prose, analogy, word play?  It just flew right over my cute curly head. Do I get now? Well, let’s see:

“I know you’re not a fairy queen”

Because we’re not all camp as a row of tents (ok, I can be a little lary and loose-wristed, particularly when on the sauce).

“I know you’re not a donkey”

I’ve never claimed to be hung like Eeyore.

“Perhaps you’re something in between

Another sexuality reference, perhaps?

Like a hairy gnome gone wonky”

Well, my balls did drop sooner than most of my cohort and I was (and still am) vertically challenged. And the wonky bit? Another allusion to the Friends of Dorothy? I have a feeling in my water that this isn’t about Shakespeare’s sonnets after all.

There you go. Sorted. Now, where did I put my Chaucer?

PS.  I’m sure this degree of familiarity wouldn’t be allowed these days. We live in more hysterical times, imagining a pedo lurking round every corner. And, just in case anyone’s wondering, as far as I remember, Dave was a straight as my school ruler. No mucky business going on or intended.