The Big Sleep

The Big Sleep is Raymond Chandler's debut novel published in 1939 and it's a corker featuring Chandler's now iconic hard boiled private detective Philip Marlowe. It's filled with memorable characters; tough guys, wise guys, grifters and chancers all playing their roles in the tangled web of a plot. Although complex I really like how much of the detail in the book actually turns out to be connected with everything else. There is no hiding the answers behind piles of irrelevant and unconnected red herrings, which seems to be the the current template for quite a lot of contemporary paint by numbers crime fiction. As more details are discovered and things start to move, stirred by the relentless Marlowe, the picture starts to come together until all eventually becomes clear. Yes I admit, I have seen both film versions many times, though mostly I kept getting flashbacks from the more lurid and inferior 1970s Robert Mitchum version rather than the superior 1940s Humphrey Bogart version. Probably because that version, although set in the wrong country, had more license to depict the more brash and striking elements from the book. And I still haven't mentioned Chandler's colourful and witty similes which are rightly famous and endlessly imitated. Chandler's writing is so much better than the pulp genre it inhabits; there is real heart and emotion here if you persevere to the last page. So if you are stuck for a new detective novel why not give one of the old masters a try. Worked for me.

The Willows at Christmas

Back in the 90s William Horwood wrote three pastiche books that featured the best loved characters from Kenneth Grahame's The Wind in the Willows. I really enjoyed them. Each book saw these characters mature until by the third book I suspected that Horwood would reboot the series by introducing a next generation of River Bank characters. This didn't happen. Three years passed before he was to revisit Mr. Toad, Mr. Mole and company. When first published after such a lengthy hiatus The Willows at Christmas flew swiftly under my radar, until now. In the hope of having some pleasingly seasonal reading material over the festive period I ordered a copy. Horwood has rolled back time to not long after K.Grahame's classic and prequelling his own trilogy.
Mr. Mole is dismayed to discover that the spirit of Christmas has been lost by the riverbankers and the nearby village. He sets out to try to rediscover it. The early scenes with Mole investigating the causes of the lack of festivity are the best. Miss Bugle's sad little Christmas witnessed by the ever lovable Mole almost had me reaching for the handkerchief and for a mind boggling moment had me hoping for a little inter-species romance. The later sections of the book slide more into the sorts of situations that Mr. Toad's foolishness often resulted in the original. The threat of incarceration and execution should surely be familiar to Mr. Toad. Patrick Benson's rustic little line drawings and beautiful coloured plates complement the writing perfectly. Very good but never really replaces the original book in your heart but for those wishing to spend time with such beloved characters for a little bit longer you really can't go far wrong with this book and the three that preceded it.

A Thin Ghost

M.R. James' third collection of superb ghost stories was published just after the first world war. The first three stories are as chilling as ever. What can beat the visceral chill of thinking you are safe in bed when your dangling hand touches something that is other in the dark. Even though I'm in awe of the whole style of these short form ghost stories I must admit that the closing pair of stories were a little below the standard set in previous publications. I heartily recommend the first two collections to be read before this one. And read them in the depth of Winter when dark and cold holds sway.

Sea Holly

Sea Holly among the dunes at Southport. My resident forager says the roots were once used to make sweets. Being related to the carrot not holly the roots can be also eaten like a vegetable and the young shoots like asparagus. The flower-heads are a misty blue during the summer months and are probably more threatened by being stuffed into vases for floral displays than from rising sea levels. Although they die back like this one in the winter they grow back from the roots in the spring.

Christmas stocking

My sister Debbie made this Christmas stocking for my mum this year. When I was a little 'un we both used to pin up my dad's socks. I'm still trying to figure out how Santa used to get all that stuff into them without waking us up.

The faux tree

Here are some pictures of our ancient faux Christmas tree. First without tinsel and next with. My mum blew a week's wages on this tree over 38 years ago. It is still serviceable. Some of it is perishing and the whole bottom row of branches is long gone, broken and split by the exuberance of a still fondly remembered family dog from decades ago. Some of the decorations are hand made, some are brand new and others are older than me. It's all part of family tradition now. It carries stories and memories on every branch.

Snow prints

My friend Mark took this picture of two footprints in the snow. "One was made by a cat," he says. "Guess what made the other one," he challenges. Aha, the game is afoot. (whoops for the punnage). My guess is a pheasant.