Great Adventures

I have just finished reading The Pickwick Papers. What a bunch of characters. The poet Snodgrass, the lover Tupman, the sportsman Winkle and, above all, Mr Pickwick - that quintessentially English Quixote. Their travels took us to Dingly Dell Cricket Club, the Fleet Debtors' Prison with many incidents springing to life along the way. Some of it was, however, pretty heavy going and, when I had finished it, thought that I needed a little light relief before starting on my next book, Wilkie Collins' The Woman in White.

As The Enid Blyton Society Journal had just dropped onto the mat (and what a cracking read that was), I thought it was time to pick up a Famous Five. I picked up Five on a Treasure Island for the umpteenth time, and such is the quality of Blyton's writing, read it with the same spellbound enthusiasm that I had fifty years ago when reading it for the first time. Clever folk who criticise her books for the type of language she used - get a life, that's how we spoke in the 50s - need to envelope the era and the settings that she used. There is still a whole world of Blyton at our fingertips. I urge you, if you are not familiar or have forgotten how wonderful her books are, to check out a couple of websites. Keith Robinson's tremendous dedicated site to her work, www.enidblyton.net is a great starting point. With a message board, reviews, illustrations and much more, you can really get the feel of all things Blyton.

The doyen of the Blyton world has to be the official Blyton Society site, www.enidblytonsociety.co.uk This is the definitive website for fans and researchers of Blyton's work. There is a book listing which contains hundreds of illustrations as well as information on the author and the society. An incredibly active forum is the icing on the cake. Wonderful!

Now, I must dash - I've got to get back to Kirrin Island...

London Calling

"Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner, that I love London Town" goes the old song. Well, I'm not a Londoner - far from it. All of my ancestors, up to my father (born on the IOW), were born south of Helston, in Cornwall; so I, in spite of my Wiltshire monicker, consider myself to be Cornish. Anyway, back to London (Turn again, Whittington?). Well, in a minute or two. I really feel at home in Cornwall. Down by the old boats at The Lizard, climbing the rocks at Port Quin, supping St Austell in the Golden Lion at Port Isaac (Doc Martin's Port Wenn), walking alongside extinct tin mines near Pendeen, more drinking at The St Kew Inn, ah, I digress again. Really, we must return to London.

As I have said, or rather, I don't think I have said it yet; I do love London Town. I love the way everything gets bigger the nearer you approach (well, nearly everything). Take the West of England line. Single track from Exeter to Salisbury, then double to just west of Basingstoke. Four tracks then to the approaches to Waterloo, where it is a symphony of lines. Last Wednesday it was Hallowe'en. The Cavaliers had a launch night for their new single, Halloween, so we hot-footed it up to Town. Hotel booked (we couldn't get the Islington Hilton - not available on lastminute.com) so had to settle for a 2* hotel near Russell Square. It was okay, in an old people's home sort of way. However, more of this later. We got the bus from Waterloo to Oxford Circus and hit the shops. After checking in at the hotel, we bussed to Old Street, where the Cavaliers were playing. A smashing venue even if Guinness was nearly £4 a pint. A short stroll down Curtain Street, led us to the Barley Mow. This is a great little boozer, some great Fuller's beer and a fair range of Belgian and other beers from around the globe. After a few bevvies we returned to 333 - the venue in Old Street. The Cavaliers were truly amazing. About 500 people were there, many with Cavaliers badges and stickers, loving every minute of it. They were featured on BBC London 94.9 (London's BBC radio station) and were well reviewed. Just waiting for national recognition now!

Weary, tipsy and tired, we headed back to our hotel. Sleep came quickly, wakefulness even sooner. Reaching out for a glass of water, I knocked it over. I pulled the light cord over the bed (Jane was already awake and fuming), and it came away in my hand. Of course, we now had a blinding light on with no cord to turn it off. Out I stumbled and dismantled the light. After taking the cover off, I discovered the other end of the core - about a quarter of an inch - surrounded by live wires. I gingerly caught it between finger and thumb, missing the wires by a fraction, and pulled it, extinguishing the light. Hurrah! As I was up, I thought it might be prudent to visit the toilet. I didn't put the light on in the loo, as I couldn't see where it was, still blinded from looking at the bedside light. The next problem was finding my way out. Not that it was a large bathroom; far from it. You could sit on the loo, rest your head in the sink and wash your feet in the shower and use the electric shaver point (well you could if it worked) all at the same time. I ran my hands down the wall, searching for the door handle. Could I find it? I was certain it had fallen off. Exasperated, Jane let me out, muttering something along the lines of it wasn't only the hotel that was similar to an old folks' home and that I was well suited here.

Up far too late for brekkie, it was back to Oxford Street in the morning, and coffee and croissants in St Christopher's Square before returning to Waterloo and Salisbury. A smashing couple of days.

"I get a funny feeling inside of me
When walking up and down,
Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner,
That I love London Town."

Or maybe not.