Journeys from Wimbledon Common

The curious case of the time-travelling detective?

2012-02-09T09:24:00.004Z

Over the coming weeks and months, I'll be working with the publishers to make Journeys from Wimbledon Common as good as it can be - and, in particular, to eliminate typographical errors and other mistakes. However, there's no guarantee the book will be completely error-free. Even the best writers and publishers don't manage it, and sometimes they have a hard time admitting it...

A thoughtful person recently bought me a copy of Eleven minutes late, Matthew Engel’s history of the railways in Britain. Engel used to edit the cricketer’s almanac Wisden and has written for the Guardian and the Financial Times over the years. Anyone who enjoys a good, sustained, wittily written rant is likely to like Engel’s writing. However, to illustrate a point about railway development, Engel cites Dr Watson’s train journey in The Hound of the Baskervilles - which, he writes, was ‘presumed to have been set in the early 1870s’.

My initial reaction was to refer to the first Holmes story A Study in Scarlet, which opens with Watson’s statement that he took his medical degree in 1878. As we know he didn’t meet Holmes for a while after that, how can Baskervilles possibly be set in the early 1870s?

Engel states on the same page that Conan Doyle was ‘a notoriously slipshod writer’. Hmm. Writer, heal thyself.

At the end of his book, Engel writes: ‘Readers who wish to correct errors of fact, vent their spleen against the railways or me, pick up on new developments, check the sourcing for my assertions, or join in a discussion about the issues raised by this work are welcome to log on at [my website].’

So I did. Via the website, I emailed him, politely. He replied: ‘Searching for consistency in the Sherlock Holmes stories will drive you mad. Just enjoy them.’ I suspect he meant: ‘P*** off, I wrote that book two years ago and I don’t care.’

A check on the early pages of Baskervilles showed, as you probably know, that Dr Mortimer’s stick is engraved with the date 1884. Holmes states this means that Mortimer left Charing Cross Hospital five years ago. So the story is set in 1889 or, at a stretch, 1890. Mortimer did not bring the stick back from the future, nor did Holmes and Watson solve the case by travelling back into the past. There’s no problem of consistency: Engel’s reference is a proofreading error or a research error.

I invited him to share with me his sources for the claim that the story was ‘presumed’ to be set in the early 1870s: perhaps by people who never read it? He has yet to respond: surprise, surprise. I'll do my best to ensure that Journeys from Wimbledon Common does not include any such shocking errors. And, if it does and someone points them out, I'll try to remember Engel's bad example - and own up.

New museum?

2012-01-19T17:49:00.001Z

It seems Elisabeth Beresford's home on Alderney may be turned into an official Wombles museum, according to a press report. The island only has about 2,000 inhabitants and the late author's home in St Anne's is well known for its display of Wombles in the window. A museum's a great idea, not just to keep the Wombles in the public eye, but also to promote Alderney itself - a proud postage stamp of an island which I thoroughly enjoyed visiting. Let's hope the museum opens soon...

Sing if you're a mug...

2012-01-14T17:41:00.001Z

So, no Christmas number 1 for the furry friends from Wimbledon - but plenty of publicity and, with the reissued original books getting plenty of media attention, it should be an exciting Womble-tastic year.

My household now has a singing Wombles mug. Yes. Really. You pick it up and the first two lines of The Wombling Song issue forth. If you set things up right, you can get the music playing if you open the door of the cupboard in which you keep the mug...

Happy Wombling in 2012

2012-01-03T07:43:00.000Z

As we wait for the local services to collect the European rubbish bag mountain from the neighbourhood, this seems like an appropriate time to wish everyone a Happy New Year. If only the Wombles were at the Olympics... playing the national anthems or taking part in the sports, they're versatile...

Wombling Merry Christmas...

2011-12-24T12:02:00.003Z

As we wait to see if the Wombles have achieved a Christmas Number 1, here's a picture from the Matthews household... Larger Wombles (Orinoco, Bulgaria, Bungo) at the foot of the tree, with smaller Wombles (Shansi, Alderney and others) sitting on various branches. There's even a guest appearance from Bagpuss.

I wish you a very Merry Wombling Christmas and a Happy 2012...

Womble tart?

2011-12-20T07:54:00.000Z

Well, not really. Confounding my expectations, the Wombles were part of the Identity Parade round on last night's Never Mind the Buzzcocks. They tweaked the normal format; instead of identifying a band member, the challenge was to identify which Womble was not in the band. If you haven't seen it, BBC iPlayer has the clip. It was - shall we say? - a little out of place with the normal tone of the programme, which was even more outrageous than normal due to the presence of guest host John Barrowman. So why not view the clip and see if you can spot the non-band member? And as for the reference to Womble tart - that's explained in the clip, too.

Beware Barrowman's Buzzcocks

2011-12-19T14:21:00.000Z

The campaign for Christmas number 1 comes to BBC2 this evening, with Never Mind the Buzzcocks hosted by John Barrowman. A preview clip showed team captain Noel Fielding describing our furry friends as 'the worst five-a-side team ever'. Surely they can't be the subjects of the Identity Parade round? And how will Madame Cholet survive the attentions of the professionally amorous Mr Barrowman? Tune in at 10pm this evening to find out...

Going for Number 1...

2011-12-12T21:58:00.002Z

It was great to see all the media coverage as everyone's favourite furry environmentalist pop-stars launched their bid for a seasonal No. 1 at HMV in London on Sunday.

Sadly I couldn't be there, but some people were - here are some pictures from the event (courtesy of Tony Clark).

Keep on Wombling...

More travel writing tips passed on

2011-11-18T08:26:00.001Z

Last time I promised to pass on some more comments made by well-known travel writer Andrew Eames at a book masterclass, so here goes...

All types of travel writinghave in common a strong sense of place and a central narrator

The theme is crucial– it enables you and the reader to find something out

You can use backstoryat points when there isn’t enough content about aspects of your journey

Ups and downs areimportant – they add interest

The five key elements –narrative, people, research, descriptive text, reflection/thoughts/views

Can you includesome suspense somehow? Try to tease the reader into continuing to read

No doubt much of this is obvious when you think about it (as Einstein is supposed to have said, all good ideas are obvious in retrospect). But it's very useful to get reminded of all this stuff, especially by an established writer.

I found the comment about backstory interesting. It's always a challenge to include some historical background in a travel narrative, without it coming across as the reading equivalent of cod liver oil.

Structure, structure, structure

2011-11-11T07:17:00.002Z

As part of the planning for future books(!) I went to a book writing masterclass the other day. The course leader has a neat line in gentle, positive, constructive but incisive comment.

The course gives you the chance to pitch your idea for a travel book and to receive feedback to help you create a book proposal for agents and publishers. I thought it might be interesting for my reader if I shared some of the content from the masterclass (which comes recommended).

One of the crucial aspects of a book is structure. We learnt that the average length for a travel book is somewhere between 90,000-120,000 words and that, writing every day, it might take an average (very roughly) of 5-6 months to complete a first draft. Given the length of the publishing cycle, being over-topical might be a hindrance.

You can keep the reader's interest by writing out of chronological sequence and/or by having more than one strand to the narrative (which typically might be the actual journey and some type of inner/emotional journey). Ideally the different strands will be held together by a central theme and will come together at the end of the book.

The guest tutor was travel author Andrew Eames and, in the next blog entry, I'll say a little about his insights into themes, back stories, plot elements and the travel book market.

It's Christmas!

2011-10-30T16:47:00.001Z

No, not yet. But the annual battle for 'Christmas No. 1' - which normally leaves me and, perhaps, many other people, cold - has a different flavour this year.

Everyone's favourite Wimbledon residents are bringing out 'The W Factor', a compilation of 20 remastered tracks. For those who didn't know, or have forgotten, the Wombles' musical oeuvre covers much more than Wombling Merry Christmas. The new album covers classical (Minuetto Allegretto), Bond themes (To Wimbledon with Love) and country and western (Nashville Wombles). It's all very entertaining, and a reminder of what a clever man that Mike Batt is.

I look forward to saying on Christmas Day, in the style of a certain Norwegian football commentator:

'Simon Cowell! Louis Walsh! Dermot O'Leary! Your boys took a HELL of a beating!'

How to get a book published...?

2011-10-06T07:16:00.008+01:00

This was the optimistic title of a panel of experts assembled at UCL last night, 5 October, at UCL, for the benefit of that university's alumni. The panel members themselves included at least three UCL alumni: Ken Follett and Joanna Briscoe, giving authors' perspectives, and Luigi Bonomi, a literary agent. Alexandra Pringle, editor-in-chief at Bloomsbury, completed the line-up. Each gave a brief talk and then there was a Q&A session.

So what wisdom did the panellists have to impart? In no particular order, here are some of the points made:

Write a good book - make the reader care about the characters
Many publishers don't read unsolicited manuscripts and it is essential to get a literary agent
When approaching agents, make it clear you have ideas for other books
Approach the agents which your research shows will be a good fit for your book(s)
Be ready to promote your book over the long-term
Write what you want to write, but don't bore the reader - cut, edit, redraft
Plotting needs discipline - a plot idea is not a plot
A flawed but engaging novel may be more popular than a well-worked-out novel which doesn't engage the reader
Don't give up the day job
Small numbers of people work in agencies and receive up to 5,000 manuscripts a year, from which they may select 10 authors with whom to work
Write short chapters
Agents may make their minds up about a manuscript within 2-3 pages, or a chapter at most
For non-fiction, the synopsis you send in is crucial - not so much for fiction
A book is launched a year before it is published, or sometimes more than a year before

The event was billed as offering 'all the tips you will need to achieve your dream'. It's hard for me to assess whether it really did that, as I have heard and read much of this advice before (and will go to more such events, no doubt, in future). And I'm not a subscriber to the post-modern ideology that everybody can do anything - clearly that's a ludicrous notion. Nonetheless I found this event a little less than encouraging. Ken Follett claimed that you had the best chance to become a writer if you had started writing around the age of 4; which seems less than realistic - although his other comment, that those who show imagination from an early age are better-placed to succeed in writing, is surely nearer the mark.

After the formal event, I drew a blank with a couple of personal approaches. As Bloomsbury have recently republished the Wombles books I wanted to ask Alexandra Pringle who in Bloomsbury might be the appropriate contact for me. But - albeit politely - she just blanked the question with a standard response: 'You must get a literary agent.' I also asked Luigi Bonomi if his agency is considering travel books at present. His reply (again, polite but to the point): 'No... sorry. It is tough out there. Good luck.'

Overall the brief talks and Q&A were heavily biased towards novels, which may be part of the problem. More and more agents and publishers are hunting a smaller and smaller target - the blockbuster best-selling novel. For those of us writing anything else - and I had an interesting chat with an alumna who has written a series of three SF novels - it seems it is going to be harder and harder to attract the attention of the mainstream industry. Predictably, the literary agent was very sniffy when asked about self-publishing - although, perhaps surprisingly, the publisher acknowledged it might be a good route for some.

Good thing Robert the Bruce didn't want to be a published writer...

Wombles out West

2011-10-04T09:41:00.001+01:00

Having starred at Glastonbury, the Wombles are guesting at another major event in the West - the Cheltenham Literary Festival on 8 October. The event sounds like the equivalent of something I visited on Wimbledon Common last year. It was great fun and there was a Wombles cake! Mmm. Also, Great Uncle Bulgaria turned up, to much acclaim. So, if you're in or around Cheltenham on 8 October, I'd recommend booking this event for a Womble-tastic time.

How's your GCSE Biology?

2011-09-23T22:16:00.003+01:00

Would you do better than Katharine Parkinson, who claims that she gave a Womble as an example of a mammal in a GCSE Biology exam?

This, er, remarkable claim came on this evening's edition of 'Would I Lie to You?'

To find out if Katharine was telling the truth, watch the programme. (It's the first question in, so you won't have to wait long - but parts of the rest of the programme are funny, too...)

Coasting: an echo of Britain from the 1980s

2011-08-14T17:56:00.012+01:00

Thirty years after the Brixton and Toxteth riots, and coming up to the 30th anniversary of the Falklands War, it may seem odd that a travel book researched and written in those inflammatory early 80s years can offer so much cause for reflection as Jonathan Raban's Coasting (Lond: Picador, 1987). But then one of the purposes of travel may be to search for the meaning of home, and Raban's account of his precarious journeys round the British coastline in a small boat has exactly that object in sight.

Raban sets his journey in a self-deprecating context, remembering a stifling childhood as the son of a vicar and the victim of a public school education: parents and school reports alike chided him for 'coasting'. He admits the charge, describing writing as 'a good coaster's occupation' (though by 1982 he ahd already received two significant literary awarrds, and would win more in later years). His aim in Coasting is to 'emerge... as a domestic Columbus, the true discoverer of a doorstep empire'; in other words, Britain. Raban confesses that he is the latest in 'a long queue of certifiable obsessives' who have attempted the same thing over the centuries.

Britain is, of course, not an island but a collection of them, so it's appropriate that Raban's account of his findings begins in earnest on the Isle of Man. He meets an 'exiled Englishman' of a landlord who tells him: 'We're thirty years behind the times... And we mean to keep it that way.' Raban visits a casino and an antique shop and is barraged by locals' quotations from their favourite Manx poet TE Brown. Despite Brown's position as a Manx hero (ironic, as he studied at Oxford and taught at an English public school), his 1880s verse 'with its nostalgia for old days and folk ways, its foursquare localness, its constant undercurrent of xenophobia' seems to Raban to symbolise late 20th century British attitudes. Meanness, and the compulsion to cut down those who get 'above themselves', is everywhere, in pubs and yacht clubs alike.

Raban's arrival in Plymouth coincides with the outbreak of the Falklands 'Conflict' (it was not officially described as a war at the time), arising from what the author describes as a 'silly diplomatic comedy'. The bareness and remoteness of the Falklands, he believes, enables the British to invest them with meaning as 'a perfect symbol of themselves'. As so often in Coasting, Raban portrays himself as being ambushed into conversations - in this case with grotesques such as the 'florid man with fierce grey handlebar moustaches - ex RAF, ex assistant sales director, I decided, and probably called Wilcox', who stands in a hotel bar blaming Britain's ills on the ending of National Service. 'Wilcox', Raban concludes, makes less sense than the macaw which shares the bar with them.

Sharp vignettes of encounters with world-weary fisherman, and glimpses of life as an amateur sailor, alternate with snatches of autobiography - until, that is, Raban brings his past into the present by visiting his parents in their retirement in Southampton. Nearby Lymington where Raban lands, 'genteelly frugal' in the 1950s, is now 'awash with had cash', with 'mean-eyed boats' in the marinas giving clues as to 'the profits still to be made in Mrs Thatcher's England' in property, money markets, oil, 'silicon chippery and the legerdemain of tax accountancy.' Raban's parents live in an 'aggressively English' terraced house, in a 'red light district' part of Southampton - in contrast to their former rectory home. Old childhood certainties are reversed, as it transpires that his father now goes on anti-war protest marches; in the midst of an argument with his mother, Raban hears his own voice as 'the wittering accent of a 1950s cleric in full cry'.

While Lymington may have shed what Raban sees as its 1950s character, his next destination Rye has changed in different but equally alarming ways. Rye, it seems, does nothing and makes nothing, and has been 'in decline for so long that the picturesque business of slowly crumbling on its hill had become its only form of conspicuous activity.' The town is slowly turning into a museum piece, a fate which the author believes may befall anything which doesn't work, as the service industries eclipse Britain's manufacturing traditions.

After a brief interlude in London - in which he joins a tour party briefly and with mixed feelings - Raban head sup to Hull, where he took his degree, and to Aberdeen. Hull relied on 'The Fishing', but that has long gone, leaving the atmosphere of a town abandoned, taking refuge in graveyard humour. Raban meets Philip Larkin, whom he knew as an undergraduate (Larkin worked in the university library), for an oddly charged evening of food and drink in which the poet demonstrates his ability for 'nailing the unbearable truth'.

The book concludes on a hopeful note: Raban finds a cottage on the Essex coast, in an area free from recession and 'that troubled, inward English look', where he can write and plan future maritime adventures.

This is a skilful book in its depiction of time and place. While Raban makes his views clear, they are not devoid of nuance. For all his contempt for the 'insular' nature of the Falklands War, he cannot stop himself weeping as he sees the taskforce leaving British shores; and his nostalgia for times and Britains past is distinctly double-edged. The abiding tone is of loss, regret and uncertainty, on a personal and national level: 'between the Festival of Britain and the Falklands War, there had been so much heavy weather, thick fog, leeway lost and tidal streams left uncalculated, that it was impossible to work out where we were.' The overall conceit of interweaving the Falklands War with Raban's reminiscences and encounters works well. There are few weak points, although a short diversion to Yorkshire in 1984 to join a flying picket during the miners' strike seems a contrived and needless addition; and we learn nothing of any Welsh or Irish locations which the author may have visited.

And now the nation finds itself in choppy economic waters once again, with riots breaking out and the chatterati agonising about what it all means. The chroniclers of Britain in the 2010s will not, it seems, include Raban, who moved many years ago to Seattle and now writes mainly about America and its politics. Nonetheless, this book - which, belying its name, shows its author with his powers at full throttle - remains as a powerful personal vision of Britain, as relevant today as it was 30 years ago.

On literary agencies

2011-08-02T18:25:00.003+01:00

My manuscript is complete and I am now on the hunt for a literary agency which will find me a willing publisher.

It's a buyer's market at the moment, so this is bound to be difficult - but not as difficult as one agency seems intent on making it. On their website they state:

'DON'T... Send submissions that are also landing on the desks of every agent in town - we do talk!'

Well, why not? What's the problem? Sure, if I was being deceitful and pretending I was only sending it to that one agency, that would be wrong. But as long as I state that I'm approaching more than one agency, there's no problem. Agencies typically quote 6 weeks to 3 months as their lead times for reading and responding to submissions. If I approached agencies one at a time, it would, at a rough guess, take somewhere between 6-12 years to go round them all. I'm patient, but not that patient.

Wombles at Glastonbury

2011-07-07T08:27:00.001+01:00

Yes, it really did happen. Watch and enjoy. Thanks in particular to Mike Batt for being such a great Wombles ambassador in the run-up to the event

Where's Shansi?

2011-06-18T16:07:00.002+01:00

Well, Shansi Womble is here, but that's not what I mean. Shansi is one of those rare Wombles whose name doesn't lead unambiguously to a single place. There are two neighbouring provinces in China with similar names to Shansi/Shanxi. One of them includes X'ian, home of the world famous Terracotta Warriors, which I visited a few years ago. 'Amazing' is a devalued word these days, but the Terracotta Warriors are amazing. Anyway, it's a pleasure to welcome Shansi to our own Womble burrow.

Hello Obidos!

2011-06-18T16:04:00.001+01:00

I'd love to have gone to Obidos - which is in Brazil, on the Amazon. Perhaps I'll get there one day...?

Welcome to Team Womble

2011-06-18T15:38:00.002+01:00

My other half's visit to a local charity shop resulted in the acquisition of half a dozen more members of our Womble team, joining Orinoco, Bungo, Great Uncle Bulgaria and Wellington.

Pictured, top row (l to r): McWomble the Terrible (who isn't really terrible - he was very cooperative at the photo shoot); Alderney; Wellington; Obidos; Madame Cholet.

Centre row: Orinoco, Bungo, Bulgaria

Bottom row: Tobermory, Shansi

One more needed for a football team...

The 'Fab Fur'

2011-06-09T13:26:00.002+01:00

Meanwhile, the band is busy around London, promoting its soon-to-be-reissued albums and that Glastonbury gig...

Less than total harmony at Glastonbury

2011-06-09T12:51:00.003+01:00

As one of the world's most famous rock and pop festivals prepares for an injection of Womble-ness, it seems the organiser of the event is having second thoughts about inviting everyone's favourite furry eco-warriors.

Now, it isn't exactly a new idea for the Wombles to play Glastonbury (remember the rumours next year) so Mr Eavis can hardly claim to be taken by surprised. He is quoted thus:

"I've got about 25 stages and managers and bookers for each of the stages. I can't control every single one of them but I do get cross about that kind of thing."

Cross about what, exactly? Cross about a very popular band playing at your festival? Cross about your underlings doing something you don't approve of? (And criticising your organising team in public seems a stupid thing to do) Cross (as you say yourself) that you can't control everything?

Or cross that the Wombles get the publicity from this story and Glastonbury doesn't? In which case a burst of synthetic, calculated anger a couple of weeks before the festival may garner Glastonbury yet more publicity.

That, you may say, is a cynical thought. Well, yes, it is. But scarcely more cynical than booking a band and then criticising the book. I'm sure Mr Eavis will be grumbling all the way to the bank.

Cynical, disorganised, control freakery... no wonder he doesn't like the Wombles.

I love a funny robot...

2011-04-30T12:04:00.006+01:00

Don't you? We met this one in Canal City, a major shopping centre in Fukuoka which models itself - loosely - on Venice.

This chap was trundling around the fourth floor, when we introduced him to Bungo. Not sure who was the more surprised...

Bungo's bridge

2011-04-30T11:51:00.004+01:00

One of the places we visited in Japan was Kitakyushu (formerly Kokura). The city has a number of bridges over its main river which have a Japanese name but also a themed designation.

Bungo Bridge is the Bridge of Sound - appropriate for this most over-enthusiastic of Wombles. So we were delighted to find the bridge - helped by the signage being in English and Japanese - and to persuade Bungo to smile, or at least to wrinkle his nose, for the camera...

'A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step...'

2011-04-29T11:47:00.003+01:00

... Chairman Mao is supposed to have said. But he didn't know that a journey of 50,000 miles begins with a singing Womble, as it did in my case.

With the help of the interweb, I've calculated that just getting to the various locations for this project comes to over 22,000 miles travelled. Osaka in Japan is the most distant, being 5900 miles from here, with Wimbledon being the closest at a mere 28 miles. And of course I've had to come back, too.

Double that 22,000 to get to 44,000, and add in the internal travel, particularly within Bulgaria, Venezuela and Japan - and that's how I came up with 50,000 miles.

And I haven't even earned airmiles for any of that...

Not the royal wedding

2011-04-29T11:03:00.004+01:00

Welcome to this wedding-free zone. Nothing against the happy couple; but a combination of jetlag from 24 hours of travelling back from Japan, and the need to do various things like sleeping, washing, ironing, photo processing, notes, more sleeping, a bit of eating, some shopping possibly, more sleeping, trying to remember what I'm supposed to be doing next week, reading post and emails and so on... they'll be fine without me.

Japan was great fun. The Foreign Office warned us off going to Tokyo, so we flew to and from Osaka - via Amsterdam - instead, staying in Hiroshima, Matsuyama, Fukuoka and Kyoto. Funny robots, theraputic seals, strange pickles, large carp, vertiginous castles, a manga museum, a philosopher's walk, the Space Shuttle, a zoo... we saw a lot and yet realised at the same time that we'd only begun to see everything that strange land has to show.

Bungo came with us and enjoyed himself. He even got his own seat for the final connecting flight from Amsterdam. Those nice people at Cityjet offered him a complimentary drink and a cheese roll, too. Further blogging, and some Bungo pictures, to come over the next few days...

The media story of the millennium, century etc

2011-04-16T22:35:00.005+01:00

Well, possibly not, but hype is apparently the way to get your story mentioned, so I thought I would try it. Anyway... the story is - it seems - that The Wombles are playing Glastonbury this year. Now there were rumours they'd be at last year's Glasto, but maybe this year it's true. Their name is on the official poster, as performing on the Avalon Stage. As the Wombles albums are due for re-release around the same time, it would be quite credible for them to give some live performances. The poster also lists The Wombats as being booked to perform. Now there's a thought: Wombles v Wombats... Sad to say, it may be more difficult to invent time travel and go back to the 1966 World Cup Final than to get a ticket to Glastonbury. And if Tidybag's report is accurate, we won't even be able to see the Wombles' gig on the BBC. Shame!

In the news...

2011-04-15T10:37:00.002+01:00

Yes, an enterprising local reporter caught up with me during the recent trip to Wellington (see opposite). Thanks to Caroline Garbett for setting this up. Fame at last...

An alternative to the Grand National...?

2011-04-15T09:00:00.003+01:00

After all the Grand National controversy about the killing of horses (not 'destruction' as the euphemistic press puts it - the horses were living beings, they were killed), how about a safer option? While in Wellington, I went to Hoo Farm, just north of Telford. Apart from the loquaciousness of the parrots, the day's highlight was a goat race - with small toy sheep strapped to them as ersatz jockeys. No goats were harmed in this race. One or two were so reluctant to complete the course that they turned, halfway along, and went back to the start. You don't get that at Aintree...

The other Wellington

2011-04-15T08:51:00.002+01:00

Just back from Shropshire, and the second of the pair of Wellingtons. This one has been around for a long time - well over a millennium - and became a market town as far back as 1244. Shown here is a building which encapsulates Wellington's mixture of old and new - some Tudor-Eliza-Jacobethan features in a building currently occupied by an outlet of cheap fast food store Subway. Old buildings with new uses. The Wombles might approve (though not, I suspect, of the food...)

Rearrange these five letters...

2011-04-06T22:44:00.004+01:00

Tokyo is an anagram of Kyoto. Neat, eh? My trip to Japan has had a slight but significant revision. The Foreign Office is advising against travel to Tokyo, which was due to be our first and last destination in Japan. Instead we'll now fly to Osaka - making a shorter round trip to Kyushu and back - and spend the final two nights in Kyoto. So we miss the capital (and there was a Cousin Tokyo in The Wombles go round the world), and that's a shame. But Kyoto should be fun: a glimpse of old Japan. But before Japan comes Shropshire... of which more soon.

'You’re not seriously still planning to go to Japan are you?'

2011-03-18T22:15:00.005Z

This was a comment today from someone with whom I am currently working. They went on:

'Given the concerns re radiation, the severe shortages of food and petrol (in Tokyo as well as the NE region) and the power cuts across the whole country, would it not be a better idea to postpone?'

It's an understandable question. It would be crass and insensitive not to be aware of the terrible events unfolding in Japan at the moment, and my trip to Kyushu (across the Bungo Channel) is only a few weeks away.

I spoke yesterday to the travel agent arranging our trip. They advised us not to be hasty, but to wait and see how events develop in the next couple of weeks. As my main interest is in the south, a long way from the Fukushima Daiichi site, the risks should be minimal as long as things don't get much worse between now and April. Japan, and Bungo, will in all likelihood be my final journey for the book, and I'm keen not to delay the completion of a project which is now in its third year, if at all possible.

On the other hand, Kyushu has its own volcano...

Need a new toothbrush holder?

2011-02-27T21:23:00.007Z

You might find what you need in London's Portobello Road, as I did the other day (pictured). Mind you, £15 is a bit steep, even for the pleasure of opening your bathroom cabinet to see Orinoco each morning and evening.

This was my second Womble encounter of the day. Before visiting Portobello Road, I had spent an engrossing hour in the Museum of Brands, Packaging and Advertising.

The 1970s section housed some of TV's best-known non-humans including the Pink Panther, the Muppets, Emu, Paddington Bear and Orinoco.

The display also included a copy of The Wombles boardgame which apparently comprised 'games board, 4 jigsaw puzzles, litter bin, 4 cut-out Wombles [and] 4 tidy bags'.

The Museum is well worth a visit. From a professional/historical point of view, they could be a bit braver and show fewer exhibits, as the extra space would enable the telling of some branding, advertising and packaging stories which don't make it into the Museum at present. But if you're looking for a good nostalgic wallow and a chance to recognise some of the day-to-day items of your childhood, or your parents' or event grandparents' childhoods, it's great fun.

Richard and Judy - taste arbiters for the next generation?

2011-01-27T12:23:00.003Z

It seems that Richard and Judy have extended their successful Book Idea club to form a new club for children. Their first set of recommendations includes 'The Wombles'. Quite right, too.

Rubbish hotel

2011-01-20T14:09:00.001Z

Ever thought the hotel in which you stayed was rubbish? Well, now there is a hotel which is genuinely rubbish. No Wombles fan could ignore this! If you're Madrid-bound, you know where to stay...

Sad news

2010-12-25T15:40:00.003Z

Sorry to read that Elisabeth Beresford has passed away. Her work has given, and will continue to give, a great deal of pleasure to children of all ages. I met her a while ago; she was both charming and helpful, and will be greatly missed.

We wish you...

2010-12-25T11:22:00.001Z

... a Wombling Merry Christmas, of course! And a Happy New Year. May your tidy bag never be empty...

2010-11-11T08:34:00.002Z

I'm doing some research for the trip to Japan (Bungo) and came across this implausible duo at HyperJapan recently. Like others at the event, they were big fans of anime, the Japanese style of animated film.

I had a chance to see an anime film for the first time last night, at a special screening of The Girl who leapt through time at the Japanese Embassy in Piccadilly, London. The plot, for all its intricacies, has a basic simplicity - what if you could time travel and put right your mistakes? There are some nice touches - the central character seems as angry about her sister eating her pudding as anything else - but I can't yet see what all the fuss is about. Maybe, when I get to Japan, it will become clearer...?

A Wombling relaunch

2010-10-10T20:18:00.002+01:00

I was in Wimbledon yesterday for an event celebrating the publication of new editions of the original Wombles books - and there was a special guest...

Great Uncle Bulgaria was an instant hit, not just with those of a certain age (like, ahem, me) who remember the original Wombles, but also with children who weren't born then, or even in the 1990s when they made their TV comeback. One little girl in particular wrapped her arms round her newest, furriest friend and just didn't want to let go... There was a book reading, puppet making, story writing and even a Wombles-themed cake. Lovely!

Pocket Womble

2010-10-09T19:00:00.003+01:00

Yes, the Womble in your pocket will never lose its value, as a PM once said (nearly). This little Wellington hitched a ride home from an exciting and Womble-tastic day in Wimbledon today, of which more shortly...

David and Ed Miliband not spotted in Somerset

2010-09-30T23:17:00.002+01:00

This little girl is about Ed Miliband's age, though. Maybe she's Harriet Harman's younger sister?

Anyway that's enough topical references. The picture comes from the annual Carnival event in Wellington, a smallish town near Taunton in Somerset. On a Saturday night in September, locals line both sides of the road, from one end of the town to the other, to watch a procession of floats, dancers and assorted performers. Watchers are invited to throw money into the floats as donations to local charities. If I remember right, this girl was part of the 'Over the Rainbow' float, and very colourful it was, too.

The truth, the whole truth and... or... but...?

2010-08-29T10:46:00.005+01:00

Bruce Chatwin once wrote that 'however closely the narrative may fit the facts, the fictional process has been at work' (What am I doing here, London: Pan Books, 1990, p.xi). Sometimes the narrative doesn't fit the facts...

I've been reading Susan Richards' book Lost and found in Russia: encounters in a deep heartland (London: IB Tauris, 2009). It counterpoints the lives of a number of the author's Russian friends against developments in Russia between 1992-2008. Towards its end (p.249), the author describes a visit to the house of two friends to watch the 2006 football World Cup semi-final between France and Portugal. One friend, Misha, is by this time chairman of his local football club. He has become a successful businessman despite the growing spread of corruption in Russian business:

'For Misha the French team played a beautiful game, but the Portuguese - pah! Each time a Portuguese player fell over, accusing a French player of foul play, Misha roared with indignation. Portugal's narrow victory left him inconsolable: it was the last straw, this most public triumph of the sly ones who snatched victory from the honest men by bending the rules!'

So there you have it - a telling glimpse into the psyche of one of the author's friends and, by association, into Russia itself.

Except... Portugal didn't win. France won. As a football fan, I knew that. The book's introduction gives credit, among others, to an editor and copy-editor. Maybe they aren't football fans.

The book up to this point is a great read, but there are signs of a lack of proofreading (hyphens where there shouldn't be hyphens, for instance). But this is a mistake of a different order. The point of Susan Richards' anecdote is undermined. And you then start to wonder what else in the book is wrong...

I seem to recall someone, at an event I attended a while ago, saying that the publishing houses carry out much less checking of manuscripts than they used to do. This seems to be one piece of evidence to that effect. As an author who will be looking for a mainstream publisher for his book, that gives me pause for thought.

Fabulous Faberge eggs...

2010-08-26T16:26:00.005+01:00

You've always wanted a Faberge egg. You saw them when you visited the Kremlin. And now you can have one. Well... not quite. But those clever Cholet people have thought of a cunning wheeze. They get ostrich eggs, and paint them...

Bonjour, Cholet

2010-08-18T08:17:00.003+01:00

Just back from Cholet - a little town in western France. Among its surprises are the Sacre Coeur church - a Roman-Byzantine delight - and large yellow pencils all over the place, denoting nearby schools. Both are shown in this picture...

Drink up...

2010-07-29T11:54:00.003+01:00

You might enjoy this picture of Bungo (who came with us to Tomsk, as we don't have a Tomsk companion) enjoying a drink from one of the glasses which you can borrow from the provodnitsas (carriage attendants) on the Trans-Siberian. Drink up...

(A little) fame at last

2010-07-16T08:29:00.004+01:00

A picture of me with Anton Chekhov in Tomsk (similar but not identical to the one I posted here the other day) has made it onto the front page of a free local paper. And so has a picture of Helen in front of the Trans-Siberian. Both of us were holding copies of said local paper for the pictures - it's a little feature they've run for years to enable suckers like us to provide them with free content. Hurrah!

Anton Chekhov v. The People of Tomsk

2010-07-14T21:59:00.004+01:00

120 years ago, Anton Chekhov was on his way to the far east of Siberia. For one reason and another, he'd had a trying journey by the time he reached Tomsk, which may have influenced his view: 'Tomsk is a very dull town. To judge from the drunkards whose acquaintance I have made, and from the intellectual people who have come to the hotel to pay their respects to me, the inhabitants are very dull too.' The locals weren't too impressed, and put up this unflattering monument (Chekhov's the one on the left).

To Russia with love...

2010-07-13T22:01:00.006+01:00

In a neat reversal of Mike Batt's Bond parody To Wimbledon with Love, Bungo accompanied us to Moscow and then on the Trans-Siberian Railway. Here he is, acting as Lenin's special advisor.

What a wonderful day for going to the doors of the Kremlin...

2010-07-13T13:23:00.002+01:00

And asking: 'Is Lenin?' (As Ken Dodd used to say.)

He is still around in Tomsk, too - as a statue on a traffic island in the north of the city, as a sort of glorified traffic policeman. There's a cathedral behind him. You can't see it in the picture, but Lenin is pointing towards a theatre which is a great example of Soviet brutalism in concrete.

Just back...

2010-07-10T18:43:00.001+01:00

...from a tiring but entertaining trip to Tomsk, including 56 hours on the Trans-Siberian Railway. More info to come, as the jetlag wears off!

All I want for Christmas is...

2010-05-20T13:31:00.001+01:00

Apparently, all four original Wombles albums will be re-released this Christmas on vinyl and CD. Womble-tastic!

And across the water...

2010-05-08T16:18:00.001+01:00

Off to Dublin at the end of May. Hurrah!

Vive le technologie

2010-04-24T12:00:00.001+01:00

With gobsmacking efficiency, my photo ID licence arrived today. The photo even looks something like me. Sometimes I love technology.

Scary x 2

2010-04-21T15:18:00.003+01:00

Scary thing 1: Passport is now with visa processing firm in order to get a visa for Russia.

Scary thing 2: I'd like to go to Dublin soon, but my old driving licence doesn't have a photo so, in the absence of a passport, it can't serve as photo ID at the airport. As a consequence I have applied for a replacement photo-ID driving licence. This requires me to tear my old licence in two and send it to Swansea.

Eek.

Wombles in print

2010-04-16T10:45:00.001+01:00

The Tidybag website tells us that the original Wombles books will be republished in late 2010, with more possibly following in early 2011. Hurrah!

In the coming election...

2010-04-07T21:58:00.001+01:00

Vote Womble!

That is all.

Thank you.

Omsk, Tomsk, Minsk and Smolensk

2010-02-14T22:17:00.002Z

In Silverland Dervla Murphy writes that she once had four cats called Omsk, Tomsk, Minsk and Smolensk. Well, it sounds better than Slough, Reading, Basingstoke and Fareham.

To Tomsk by train

2010-02-11T16:33:00.003Z

Did you know that the Trans-Siberian Railway from Moscow to Tomsk only departs on odd dates? Neither did I. This gem of trivia came to light as part of the planning for the Tomsk part of the book. The idea is to include the TSR Moscow-Tomsk on the outward route. More news as and when...

Mud, mud...

2010-02-10T18:39:00.002Z

According to the Evening Standard, the Wombles are reforming for this year's Glastonbury.

My mind-boggle-o-meter just went off the scale.

The fall and rise of Wimbledon

2010-02-09T21:24:00.002Z

I paid a visit to the Wimbledon Museum of Local History this weekend. It's free, and staffed by enthusiastic volunteers. Wimbledon seems to have had its ups and downs over the centuries, until it became an attractive place for politicians such as William Pitt and Charles James Fox to stay or to live. Pitt even fought a duel on the Common in 1798.

The area started to develop apace in the late 19th century with the advent of reliable public transport in the shape of trains, trams and buses. The idea of a 'workman's fare' of 1d (less than a halfpenny nowadays) to travel on the trams before 7am sounds surreal, a century later.

I liked the stuffed peacock, too! (That must have taken a while...)

In deepest London this week...

2010-02-03T22:11:00.002Z

I delivered a copy of the manuscript (to date) to a well-known literary agency, at their request. Hopefully they will like the final, complete version and find me a publisher!

Alan Coren was right

2010-01-21T12:50:00.003Z

Years ago, when stuck for a title for his latest book, Alan Coren used the findings of research showing the subjects of the most popular library books: Nazis, golf and cats. In an attempt to cash in, his book gained the title Golfing for Cats and the cover featured a swastika.

In similar vein, I'm aware that publishers like to know that their authors have several ideas rather than just one. So, although I believe Journeys from Wimbledon Common will have a wide appeal, I've been considering ideas for a second book.

After extensive brainstorming, consultation etc, the following items have come up as having perennial appeal to a wide range of readers:

Vampires
Nazis
Penguins
Dinosaurs

So that seems simple enough. It only remains for me to write Vampire Penguins versus the Nazis - a comedy thriller set in Latin America, involving a deadly battle for possession of priceless dinosaur remains. It can't fail to be an international bestseller.

Island Pride

2010-01-08T17:24:00.001Z

Those nice people at Optima have published an article of mine about Alderney...

A Wombling Merry Christmas...

2009-12-24T12:46:00.002Z

To all of you at home, and best wishes for a Wombling New Year!

Bernard Cribbins for a knighthood in the new year's honours?

Die Wombles sind im Kommen

2009-12-08T22:45:00.002Z

As a member of a Wombles-related online discussion group, I've received an email message which refers to the German version of Remember You're a Womble. Life gets stranger. Byron was once described as "mad, bad and dangerous to know". My autobiography might just end up with the title Mad, sad and bewildering to know at this rate.

BAFTA for Bernard

2009-11-25T14:49:00.003Z

Well-deserved recognition for the original voice of the Wombles...

Objects and images

2009-11-20T14:53:00.004Z

I've just been reading an academic article about the origins of the Vespa and Lambretta scooters, and their significance as objects of desire, symbols of female emancipation etc. Wonder what marks I could get by writing 4,000 words on the cultural symbolism of a singing Womble...?

Ready for Rumba

2009-11-12T06:47:00.008Z

I've written a piece about my stay on the Orinoco for Papagaio, the magazine of Journey Latin America, who organised the trip. 'Papagaio' is Portuguese for 'parrot', so here's a photo of Rumba, the blue and gold macaw at the Orinoco Delta Lodge. She reminded me of a five-year-old human - bright, destructive, naughty and yet endearing. Human children often play with their food, but they're less likely to drop it on you from a tree...

Blind bland?

2009-10-23T19:22:00.005+01:00

In another place I read an article about visually impaired (i.e. blind) people, which elicited the following request:

'People who struggle to see are not "VI people" or visually impaired people - they are people who have a visual impairment. Society has a hideous tendancy [sic] to see the impairment and not the person. Their impairment is but one part of them - only one.'

This is unnecessary pedantry. People from Scotland are usually described as Scots or Scottish people - there's no need for the extra words, which don't change the meaning.

A third party has defended the original writer as 'conscientious, caring' etc - which I didn't, and wouldn't, dispute, and which I suggest misses the point. There is no benefit in trying to hide someone's status (as blind or visually impaired) with clumsy extra words... even if worshipping at the busy altar of political correctness.

Deep-fried in print

2009-10-15T17:34:00.006+01:00

This month's Wanderlust magazine includes, in its Serendipities feature, my short article on deep-fried Mars bars in Inverbeg. This happened on our way back from Tobermory, on the island of Mull. Mmm, I can taste those Mars bars right now...

Alderney ahoy

2009-09-27T22:16:00.004+01:00

This week's adventure was a trip to Alderney, one of the lesser-known Channel Islands.

My only companion was Bungo - recently acquired from Wimbledon Common. Like Great Uncle Bulgaria on the recent journey to the eponymous country, Bungo got out and about a bit and seemed to enjoy the experience (pictured).

Among other things I learned how to get two window seats on the same flight; what happens halfway through film screenings in the Arts Centre in St Anne, the capital; and what is and isn't an Alderney cow.

On a more serious note, it was sobering to learn about the evacuation of the island in 1940 and its subsequent occupation for five years by the Germans. Some traces remain of the fortifications which the occupiers built - an ironic postscript to the forts which Britain built a century before, against possible invasion by the French. There is little or nothing to see of the three forced labour camps and the SS concentration camp which the Germans used until 1945. Even now, the memory is a raw wound for islanders.

The road to Hell...

2009-09-17T10:47:00.003+01:00

One of the highlights (or lowlights?) of our Bulgaria trip was to see the Devil's Throat. This is a cave near the village of Trigrad. It claims - like a few other places - to be the place where Orpheus entered the underworld to beg for the return of his dead wife Eurydice. Somehow he persuaded the gods to return her, on condition that he didn't look at her before they got into the open air. He turned round and looked, and she faded away.

Oscar Wilde was not completely right. The path to Hell may be paved with good intentions, but the start of it has two large piles of crates which were once full of Amstel beer and Coca-Cola. Once you get onto the path, there are steps down into the cave and then 288 more steps up to the exit. Hell hath no handrails, though, which is why I didn't make it down into the cave.

The whole health and safety thing seems to have passed some parts of Bulgaria by. Across the road from the cave, a flimsy zip wire was giving mugs, sorry the adventurous, the chance to fly across a gorge, through the air, with the greatest of ease. The operator's right wrist was heavily bandaged, which did not seem a good sign...

Fasten your seatbelts...

2009-09-09T09:49:00.004+01:00

The flight to Sofia wasn't packed - there were plenty of spare seats, and the woman next to me went to sit in Business Class. This left an opportunity to get Great Uncle Bulgaria out of my hand luggage and into a comfortable seat. He didn't get a chance to sample the airline food (a cheese roll), but he seemed to enjoy the flight.

Back from Bulgaria

2009-09-06T17:12:00.003+01:00

Just back from a walking tour of the Rodopi mountains, near the border with Greece. Among other things, it confirmed:

There are plenty of ways to get scared
Age and experience will do better than youth and enthusiasm
The road to Hell is either paved badly, or with Coca Cola - whatever Oscar Wilde thought

More on this when the jetlag wears off...

Guerrilla gardening

2009-08-10T12:06:00.006+01:00

I promised in a previous post to talk about the guerrilla gardener we met in Hastings.

We found out about Chris in a Co-operative Society magazine, where he cited the Wombles and Blue Peter as childhood influences on his life, career and outlook. Chris is a freelance gardener and, in his spare time, a guerrilla gardener. Guerrilla gardeners target an abandoned piece of land which they don’t own to grow crops or plants, in order to reclaim land from what they see as neglect or misuse and to assign a new purpose to it. Some guerrilla gardeners carry out their actions at night, in relative secrecy, to sow and tend a new vegetable patch or flower garden. Others work more openly, seeking to engage with members of the local community.

In Chris's case, this has meant planting fruit trees, or sowing seeds, in unloved gardens and other public spaces. The fruit trees are usually apples or pears, not from any Cockney connection but because the trees bear fruit quickly.

New uses for neglected land, fruit everyone can share and new plants everyone can enjoy. That sounds good to me.

Orwell that ends well

2009-08-09T09:45:00.021+01:00

A comment has flooded in from someone who (I can only speculate) scans the internet for any mention of George Orwell. They must have been disappointed to find that this blog isn't about Orwell, but related to the Wombles. Disappointment might explain why their lengthy comment was a cocktail of hyperbolic bile and factual error. Maybe they'll be even more disappointed if their sophisticated software directs them here again now. If it does: you know who you are...and please bear in mind:

1. I didn't say my life or career has been inspired by the Wombles
2. Nor did I compare my writings to Orwell's
3. Anger management courses are available to help you:-)

Said correspondent's comments won't be featuring on here (the combination of arrogance, ignorance and rudeness didn't appeal), but yours could do. Feel free to send in a comment about your memories of the Wombles, or if you live in, or have visited, any of the places after which they were named.

UPDATE MON 10 AUG: said (sad) bilious, anonymous correspondent has responded. It's clear they have had a successful irony bypass (my reference to a comment 'flooding' in was ironic) and they have nothing constructive to say. They've also asserted that they have a right to be rude and unpleasant if they want to be. That's true... but it doesn't entitle their rudeness to be featured here, and it won't be. Their attitude is typical of some cowardly people on the internet who (as a writer in today's Guardian puts it) "spout things they would consider unacceptable if they were standing in the room and couldn't hide behind the cloak of anonymity".

Sheer egoism

2009-08-04T15:34:00.006+01:00

Ahem...guilty as charged. In the same slim volume of essays I mentioned the other day, George Orwell gives four general motives for writing, of which the first is:-

"Sheer egoism. Desire to seem clever, to be talked about, to be remembered after death, to get your own back on grownups who snubbed you in childhood, etc etc."

An article about Granada, which I wrote some time ago, has now been published in Optima, a lifestyle magazine for south Herts and north Middlesex. It is also available online.

Orwell defined the other three motives as aesthetic enthusiasm, historical impulse and political purpose - but my initial reaction to seeing my work in print and online owed more to egoism. Next time, perhaps the novelty will fade...

A timeless reminder

2009-08-02T16:48:00.013+01:00

Yesterday, for no particular reason, I picked up a small book of articles by George Orwell, from Penguin's Great Ideas series. It includes Politics and the English Language, a passionate attempt to nail a link between the use of English in politics and the decline of the language. There is also a list of points for writers to follow:

"i. Never use a metaphor, simile or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.
ii. Never use a long word where a short one will do.
iii. If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.
iv. Never use the passive where you can use the active.
v. Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.
vi. Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous."

Elsewhere in the article, Orwell admits that he often breaks the rules he advocates...but he has a point. I think business should take some of the blame, too, having spent many hours in meetings which turn into games of buzzword Bingo. I'll try to bear Orwell's advice in mind for the book and this blog...

Things you never thought you'd be doing

2009-07-27T06:34:00.008+01:00

Yesterday my plan was to visit Hastings to interview a guerrilla gardener. This schedule did not include any aspect of breaking and entering.

Helen and I were visiting someone for a quick walk and a cup of tea before setting off around the seventh Circle of Hell (the M25). The small hitch in this plan was that they had left keys in the locks on the inside of their front and back doors. The prospect of a long wait for a locksmith on a Sunday encouraged us to investigate the one bedroom window which had been left open. Some minutes later, my version of the Fosberry Flop got me through the window, with the aid of an Ottoman footstool to break my fall. This may have been the most athletic thing I have ever done - not that there's much competition.

We did get to Hastings for a chat with the gardener - and he's a splendid and interesting man, of which more, another time.

Slack Bladder's cunning plan

2009-07-25T09:33:00.005+01:00

Rory Maclean writes that, while researching his first book, he acquired a reputation for having a weak bladder, because he would dash to the toilet to make notes of conversations, while they were fresh in his mind. Colin Thubron disclosed, at a travel writing event earlier this year, that he does the same thing.

So there we have it. Not only is it a good idea to use the toilet on your travels whenever you can, because you never know how long you'll have to wait for the next one...it's also an aid to travel writing.

Students' success

2009-07-20T22:38:00.007+01:00

I opened the latest issue of Real Travel this morning, to find an article from a fellow aspiring travel writer, whom I met at one of Dea Birkett's Travel Writing Workshops last year. It was a pleasing confirmation that all the effort can pay off - even if, in the case of Real Travel, you don't get paid. I did have a touch of envy, of course. "It is not enough to succeed. Others must fail," Gore Vidal is supposed to have said. I'd prefer to be more positive; if my fellow students can get published, so can I.

My wife and I went to an Audley Travel seminar at the weekend, to find out more about the Trans-Siberian Railway. The seminar covered other railways journeys, including routes across Australia. Now, I haven't planned to visit Adelaide, as Miss Adelaide wasn't in the original Wombles TV series. But she was in the books...and Adelaide is not too far from Wellington, New Zealand...and Kangaroo Island just opposite Adelaide sounds like fun...and...

Where can I get some more time? And money?

Temple tales

2009-07-15T16:56:00.019+01:00

While in London yesterday, I visited the Buddhapadipa Thai Temple in Wimbledon, just opposite the Common. The visit didn't get off to a great start. I took off my shoes as required before entering the building, and a short, elderly monk in the classic bright orange robe came out to greet me. His mouth began to open and I waited for wisdom to emerge. He said:

"You come to clean the kitchen?"

I was in casual dress, but this was a bit of a dressing-down (if that's the phrase I want) from someone who could have been going to a fancy dress party as a Terry's Chocolate Orange. Never mind. It turned out this wasn't a good day to go in the temple for some reason, but I could take photos from outside. While I was doing that, the monks and their helpers seemed to be carrying out various maintenance tasks. If you've ever wondered what a Buddhist monk looks like while carrying a ladder, I've seen it. The grounds overall are a bit of a mixture - a modern house at the front, the Thai temple and then other items such as a set of solar panels. The temple is incongruous to say the least, set in the midst of streets of prosperous detached houses with large gates, coats of arms with crossed keys and so on. Advice to pay less attention to material possessions may be lost on those houses' occupants. There's more info about the temple here.

This year's winner is...

2009-07-15T14:28:00.003+01:00

Last night I went to London - to Stanfords, perhaps the world's best map and travel book store. I was there for the awards ceremony for this year's Bradt Travel Guides / Independent on Sunday Travel-writing Competition.

As an entrant to this competition for several years, and via other routes, I've made the acquaintance of some of the great and the good of the travel writing profession who were there last night, including Hilary Bradt, the founder of Bradt Travel Guides, and Jonathan Lorie of Travellers' Tales.

I had a stimulating conversation with Adrian Phillips, Bradt's Editorial Director, and we conclusively proved from a sample audience of two that nobody will ever agree 100% on who should win awards! We also listened to a short speech by Matthew Parris - ex-MP, onetime presenter of Weekend World, political sketchwriter, travel writer and judge of the final winner from the six finalists. As always on these occasions, one's feelings are split between admiration for the winners, envy for the prizes they win (in this case, a trip to Colombia) and a nagging feeling about whether you could have done any more with your own entry to give it a better chance of winning.

I am lucky enough to have had the winning feeling - last year. I didn't win the big prize, a trip to Kyrgyzstan, but the Best Unpublished Writer prize (where unpublished = "never paid for being published"). I won a trip to Granada in Spain on a writing course with Travellers' Tales, which was very enjoyable. You can read my winning article here, or this year's winning articles here.

I also had a few words with Jonathan, who has been very helpful and encouraging about the book, and I will be taking up some of his suggestions. Onwards, ever onwards...

Wimbledon: a reader writes

2009-07-06T20:42:00.007+01:00

I've been (very politely) taken to task for describing the Wimbledon tennis championships as lacking the atmosphere of other top sporting venues. Apparently the final Sunday of the tournament is not typical of the fortnight as a whole. No doubt it is a lot buzzier when more of the courts are in action. I sit corrected.

If you'd like to take issue with anything I write - especially if you think there is a significant factual error - or even if you'd like to agree with me...you can either use the Comments facility at the foot of each blog entry, or email namtravel@btinternet.com.

Game, set...

2009-07-05T21:12:00.040+01:00

It may seem perverse to call this blog Journeys from Wimbledon Common and then make my first port of call Wimbledon...but I have my reasons. In no particular order, they are:

1. Wimbledon is the first place I've visited since starting the blog

2. It was the final day of the annual Tennis Championships today

3. Er...

4. That's it

I'd never been to the All England Lawn Tennis Club (AELTC) and I may well never go again. This isn't a moan - nothing bad happened - but nothing great happened, either. I was planning to visit Wimbledon Windmill Museum and the Wimbledon Society Museum before they both closed, so this meant I couldn't stay to watch Roger Federer win 202-200 (or whatever the final score was) in the final set of the men's final. It took two hours of queueing to get into the All England Lawn Tennis Club. This experience could have been a lot worse than it was. The weather was warm and dry, the queue kept moving most of the time and the stewards gave me "A Guide to Queueing for the Championships" to read...while in the queue. Thus I was conversant with the Queue Code of Conduct (pages 13-14). I've never heard of queues having codes of conduct. Among other things, this one states that:

"Pizza / 'take-away' orders must be arranged for delivery at the Wimbledon Park Road gate."

This is Wimbledon's equivalent of those signs you see on the London Underground which state: "Dogs must be carried." Whenever I see such a sign, I wonder exactly how I'm going to acquire a dog. In similar vein, I ignored the All England Club's stricture about pizza and take-away orders, as I wasn't hungry and didn't see the need to order anything. As a result, they will in all likelihood bar me from the Club for life. To be fair, some thoughtful sponsors gave us free bottles of mineral water and free cartons of watermelon juice.

Once inside, I was struck by how unmanic everything was. No doubt it would have been much more exciting if Andy Murray had made it to the final. There didn't seem to be any problem getting anywhere you could go within the Club. Mind you, a lot of the human traffic was diminished because so many people were eating. One of the diverting little quiz Q&A boards we read while queueing estimated that, at an average Wimbledon fortnight, 8,000 litres of Robinson's barley water, 135,000 ice creams and 300,000 cups of tea are consumed. There was plenty of eating and drinking in evidence, but I resisted the lure of half a lobster with salad for a mere £20, opting for a more economical but less interesting Cornish pasty. The AELTC decor is very green and purple; the flowers are very blue. As it was the final day of the Championships, and the men's final had yet to start, there wasn't much play to see. I did watch a few points from the women's doubles wheelchair final (pictured above). The finalists' adaptability and competitiveness was admirable. But I didn't feel the Club had the atmosphere of one of the world's great sporting venues. As a cricket fan rather than a tennis fan, I am biased, but it wasn't a patch on Lord's.

The day was not, overall, as useful as it might have been. I walked to the Windmill Museum to acquire a Great Uncle Bulgaria and a Bungo, for later stages of the project. Some misguided fool chose to design this version of Bungo with his cap on back to front, as if he were Lleyton Hewitt or Andy Roddick. Shame, but I'm sure he and Bulgaria will be excellent travelling companions. Photos to come soon. My other stop today was supposed to be the Wimbledon Society Museum of Local History. I wanted to find out more about the rifle shooting contests which used to take place on the Common and about the Prime Minister who fought a duel there (Pitt the Younger). But the Museum was closed. I checked their website yesterday and found nothing about closure - it is normally open at weekends - but it was my fault for not checking earlier in advance. The day also served to remind me that I need to get some serious walking practice in the next few weeks. I'm walking for a week in the Rodopi Mountains in Bulgaria in early September - anything up to 15 miles a day in high temperatures. Judging by my wheezing efforts as I yomped up and down Wimbledon Hill Road, it might be a struggle...

Welcome

2009-07-04T18:51:00.001+01:00

Welcome to Journeys from Wimbledon Common, the blog of one man's travels to the places which gave their names to the Wombles.

All travel writing is, in one way or another, a quest. Some quests are more humorous than others. I hope this quest will entertain and also give food for thought - like the original Wombles themselves, created by Elisabeth Beresford.

Since last year, I've been going “underground, overground”, to the locations after which the individual Wombles were named. I'll be continuing the quest over the next 12-18 months, journeying from the Trans-Siberian Railway to a small town in Somerset, from western France to a district of a Japanese island and beyond. I've also been meeting people whose lives and even careers have been changed forever by the Wombles.

Why not join me on the journey?