HOW DANGEROUS IS YOUR CHRISTMAS?

The season of goodwill comes with its toll of health hazards. Queen Victoria brought Christmas trees to this country, so it’s her fault that every year your living room becomes a right royal mess.

Tree needles really are an eyesore. Every hospital in the country sees injuries caused by Christmas trees, usually corneal abrasions from a branch or needle. Several of the 250 species of pinacea also cause allergic reactions on face and hands, and the trees with the most attractive smell tend to produce the least attractive rashes.

Traditional glass baubles originate from the storybook town of Lauscha in Germany. In the mid-19th century, their glassblowers began making fragile ornaments, silvering the inside and lacquering the outside. If you’ve had the good taste and deep pockets to buy these fragile balls for your tree, be careful. The shards can tear your skin to ribbons. Get hideous decorations from the petrol station instead.

Deck the halls with boughs of holly, but beware. Kids enjoy nibbling red berries. As few as 20 can cause a permanent silent night. Mistletoe is dangerous too. Eating more than 10 berries causes severe diarrhoea and abdominal pain. Luckily it’s usually hung out of reach. However you can catch plenty of other things from the antics beneath it.

Actually anything can happen at Christmas. It affects every organ in the body, starting in about September. The pundits agree that the brain is the first to go, helped by lashings of Christmas spirit. If one of your relatives is comatose on the couch, that’s the usual cause, although head injuries, diabetes, and TV programmes are other likely diagnoses.

Then there’s carbon monoxide poisoning, especially if you’re a Scrooge about boiler maintenance. Predisposing factors are conventional flues, high winds, double glazing, and tightly closing windows and doors to maintain a cosy fug. CO poisoning typically causes dizziness, confusion, headaches, and unconsciousness, though it can also mimic almost any condition.

It’s hard not to mention food when the average Brit puts away 7,000 Calories on Christmas Day, which is about four times more than necessary. This Christmas, especially up in western Scotland, more ulcers will burst between 5:00 and 7:00 PM than at any other time of the year.

Other parts of the alimentary tract are also at risk. Some people accidentally swallow sharp objects such as toothpicks along with their Yuletide fare. The elderly are especially prone to this, not because their faculties are impaired, but because dentures interfere with the sensation up eating something sharp.

One woman in her 80s developed peritonitis days after enjoying a traditional Christmas cake with all the trimmings. Surgeons removed a decorative plastic robin from her bowel.

Finally, here’s my Christmas cracker riddle for you.

What’s the difference between Christmas Day and Christmas Disease? Surprisingly, almost everything. Christmas disease is a form of haemophilia due to an inherited lack of factor IX. Without it, the sufferer haemorrhages repeatedly from skin, gut, joints, and muscles. Christmas Day, on the other hand, comes but once a year. There’s just one similarity. Both can bleed you to death.

Stay well and have a happy Christmas.

21Nov2023

NOVEMBER 22

Posted in Modern life, Places by carolcooper

Everyone has their own memories of that day. In this short anecdote, a girl called Catherine is twelve years old when her hero dies.

It was Friday and I didn’t want to be late for Petal. Ever since I’d started dog-walking after school, I had prided myself on being punctual as well as responsible. I rushed up to the fifth floor.

Mrs Berger trembled all over when she opened her door. ‘Oh, Catherine, it’s the most terrible thing.’

I thought Petal must have swallowed one of Mrs Berger’s pearl earrings again, but it was much worse than that.

‘The president is dead.’

My hand flew to my mouth. ‘No! What happened?’

Mrs Berger dabbed at her eyes as she told me. I could hardly believe it, but she had seen it on TV and she said that President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas around 1 P.M. DC time. I was in the refectory then, wiping down the tables. Even now, my fingers still stank of orange peel, banana skins, and vinegar.

Numb, I thought back to that morning. The geography lesson hadn’t gone too well because I’d got muddled between the St Lawrence Seaway and the Gulf Stream in front of the whole class, but I’d have given anything to be back there being laughed at, just a few hours ago when the best president ever was still alive.

‘It’s so terrible,’ said Mrs Berger.

It was way beyond terrible. And I still had to walk Petal, because dogs need to do their business no matter who got shot. I took her leash, wound my scarf around my neck, and headed out.

In the lobby, Mrs Mezzanine in her mothy coat stopped me and declared it was a dreadful tragedy. ‘America is so violent. In the old country, things like this didn’t happen. Or maybe they did, but I’m so old that I’ve forgotten.’

I nodded. I felt sad too but I had to keep it together for Petal’s sake, so I pulled her away from sniffing Mrs Mezzanine’s bottom and told her, ‘Come on, Petal. Let’s find you a tree.’

As I waited at Petal’s favorite fire hydrant, my fingers knotted and unknotted in anguish. I didn’t know what to do, so I did the usual thing. I walked all the way up New Hampshire Avenue to the little grocery store. Petal sniffed at several trees on the way and tried to eat an empty pack of Lucky Strikes, but she still hadn’t done what she was supposed to do, so I took her down to Virginia Avenue where the State Department is.

This was where I’d been standing the time I saw President Kennedy. It was just one glimpse when he was in his limo on his way to the State Department for a press conference, but from then on it was like I had known him forever. And now he was gone.

Mommy had heard the news too by the time I returned Petal and got to our apartment. She gave me a big hug. For dinner, she made hamburger out of ground round and then she broiled it just how I like it.

I cut into the meat and stared at it. Instead of hunger growling in my stomach, I had a hard knot inside like when I hadn’t done my homework, only much worse. Even thinking of a Hostess chocolate cupcake didn’t help. The hurt from the knot went right through my heart and out the other side.

The TV was on. I couldn’t bear to watch, but I couldn’t bear not to watch, either.

‘His poor family.’ Mom sat there on the couch looking hopeless.

I nodded sickly. The only thing on TV was the same news over and over, and we already knew that Kennedy was dead and that Lyndon Johnson had been sworn in as President on Air Force One. You didn’t need to see Mrs Kennedy in her pink suit stained with blood and brains down the front to know how awful it was.

It’s almost incredible that, even sixty years on, we still don’t know exactly what happened on that day. Let me know what you think.

14Jan2022

THE BEST LAID PLANS

Posted in Family life, Modern life, Writing by carolcooper

Did you start the New Year full of plans and resolutions? I know many did. Yet, nearly halfway through January, they find themselves unable to progress with new activities. It’s not necessarily lack of drive. Author Ann Richardson shares her thoughts on lack of energy.

All my life, I have felt out of sync with many assumptions of popular culture. One of these concerns leisure, such as finishing work for the day and going to a wine bar. The high point of the year is the summer holiday when you can finally lie down at the beach and avoid anything like ‘work’.

But a lot of people – like me – are more driven by the desire to do something, preferably something of value. To someone with this mind-set, the main use of doing nothing is to rest the brain and body, so as to fire on all cylinders for purposeful activities. Lazing around is not an end in itself.

There are many ways to be ‘useful’ – caring for others, building things from scratch, getting things done around the house, or doing something more creative.

We may not do these things well or be happy with the result. The key point is that the activity is important to us and helps us feel that time was well spent.

What makes us so clearly one way or the other? It could be nature, nurture, or a combination of the two. My mother had a professional job while she raised three children, and I also attended a school whose motto was In truth and toil.

Whatever the cause, one sad discovery about growing older is that we get tired more easily. We lose our youthful resilience and our batteries run down faster. This starts at different ages for different people. It seems to creep up when we’re not looking and, as far as I can see, it worsens each year and saps our energy for getting things done.

For those eager to be active, lack of energy is incredibly annoying. It means we can’t work for long periods without becoming tired. And the definition of that long period slowly shortens from a day to half a day to even an hour.

The body becomes a battleground – our head wants to get something done, but our body rebels. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, as the saying goes. At the end of a day, we find ourselves disappointed with the paltry amount accomplished. And we had such great plans.

It’s not so different from the Covid-related lockdowns people have suffered in the UK and elsewhere. They are a kind of imprisonment that stops us doing what we want. One of my grandsons called it ‘being under house arrest’.

Lack of energy is close to house arrest too.

Ann Richardson

There are many causes of energy loss so I won’t offer any advice on what to do about it. But, if you enjoyed this post, I can recommend Ann Richardson’s latest book The Granny who Stands on Her Head.

18Dec2021

TAKING PHOTOS THAT CAPTURE THE HOLIDAY MOOD

Posted in Family life, Modern life by carolcooper

Chances are you’ve already seen the photo of an alleged party that took place last Christmas.

I can’t reproduce the photo here but, if you take a moment to check out this date online, you’ll find a jolly image of 24 people and a tempting buffet. Many of the group are wearing paper hats, and one even has on a House of Commons Christmas jumper (allegedly). Given Covid restrictions, such an event shouldn’t have taken place at the time, but I can only admire the photographic skills involved. Everyone is smiling at the camera, the food is still appetizing, and it’s all in focus. That’s a full house in my book.

I usually get pictures exhibiting canapé debris or dismembered turkey because I didn’t think to take a snapshot until late on. And someone is always blinking or playing the fool.

In the harsh light of experience, I offer you a selection of images that perfectly capture the holiday spirit and say a lot about how to take pictures. Or not. Let’s kick off with Thanksgiving when I met my brother’s adorable new puppy.

But which end of Althea is which? With the benefit of hindsight and a full SD card, I can tell you that it’s almost impossible to do justice to such a furry dog.

A professional photographer once told me that one important thing to ask yourself about a picture is “What does it say?”

This one says that my stepdaughter is stunning, even with a light fitting sticking out of her head.

And this snapshot from Arlington Cemetery says that it’s best if your other half isn’t waving his umbrella or making hand signals.

It’s also good advice to get as close as you can to your subject. Abraham Lincoln was obliging. It helps that he’s been sitting still for over 100 years.

I was so pleased this juvenile swan let me approach that I forgot to take my thumb off the lens.

What does this next effort say? It says wait till the swan finishes toileting.

As Christmas trees go up, so do energy prices. Now this photo is in focus, perfectly lit, and taken at a jaunty angle. I’m rather proud of it. Shame it’s only a gas meter.

Nowadays, seasonal photos tend to include lots of Covid tests. For a festive effect, you could place your test cartridge on champagne boxes (see left). It may be the closest you get to a party this Christmas.

I don’t normally take many pictures of liquor stores unless they’re rather special. Whether open or closed, this one in Washington, DC is redolent of atmosphere. It’s also right next to where I lived nearly 60 years ago and it remains practically unchanged, making it a period piece. Historical and in focus. What a result.

Cheers! Have a wonderful Christmas, one and all, and do take lots of photos.

13Sep2021

WHY WORRY ABOUT SEPSIS?

Posted in Modern life, Pills by carolcooper

If you know much about sepsis, chances are the condition has affected your family.

I’ve blogged about sepsis before, but the condition is still with us and has a high mortality. It kills about 48,000 people a year in the UK. Worldwide, someone dies of sepsis every 3 seconds. Survivors have a high chance of serious long-term effects.

Today being World Sepsis Day, I’m parking the levity once again and using this post to sum up – or update – what you need to know about sepsis.

Understand what it is.

Sepsis is when the body responds to severe infection in such a way that it attacks its own organs and tissues. Without treatment, this quickly leads to organ failure and death.

Most people have heard of blood poisoning (septicaemia) which is much the same thing. But doctors now prefer the term sepsis because there isn’t always blood poisoning in this condition.

Sepsis isn’t exactly a household name – yet. Personally I still think ‘sepsis’ sounds weaker than either septicaemia or blood poisoning, but we’re stuck with the term that scientists agree on.

Know the warning signs.

The symptoms depend on age, but the main point is that there isn’t any one specific sign like, say a swollen jaw with mumps. A child with sepsis can have a high fever, or an abnormally low one. The younger the child, the vaguer the symptoms.

Here are some signs to look out for in children (from the UK Sepsis Trust website):

In under-fives the symptoms can be particularly vague:

And here are some signs to watch out for in adults (again from the excellent UK Sepsis Trust):

If you just remember two things about sepsis, remember this:

You or your youngster will be more unwell than expected.

Things get rapidly worse, especially in children.

Understand who gets it.

Anyone can develop sepsis from a bacterial infection (or sometimes a virus or fungus). But some are more at risk, like the very young, very old, pregnant women, diabetics, and people on long-term steroids.

The initial infection can be a serious one like meningitis, or seemingly trivial, like a horse-fly bite.

Surgery can be linked with sepsis, especially emergency operations on those in poor health, or with peritonitis or bladder infections.

And yes, Covid-19 can sometimes lead to sepsis too.

Know what to do.

Sepsis is a medical emergency and needs urgent hospital care. Don’t waste a single moment.

Sepsis isn’t one disease, but rather a syndrome that cuts across almost every medical speciality. The first doctor you see could be a paediatrician, a gynaecologist, an orthopaedic surgeon, or your GP, and sepsis may not feature at the top of their list. That’s why it’s so important for you to mention it. When you see the doctor or nurse, or speak to 111, make sure you say, “I’m worried about sepsis.”

Thanks for bearing with me. Hope you stay healthy.

The UK Sepsis Trust is a wonderful charity founded to save lives and improve outcomes for survivors of sepsis – by instigating political change, educating healthcare professionals, raising public awareness and providing support for those affected. For their general info on sepsis, click here.

12Aug2021

WHOSE STORY IS IT ANYWAY?

Posted in Modern life, Writing by carolcooper

Most of the time, this blog has a jovial slant. This week, I asked my friend and thriller writer JJ Marsh for a more reflective piece on aspects of control. Here’s what she has to say.

Arguments often explode on Twitter (#notnews) and some issues surface again and again. In the book world, the question of cultural appropriation sets author against author, publisher against reviewer, and generates hours of heated discussion. As I write, a debate rages about a writer’s use of clichéd terminology to refer to people of colour.

The problem comes down to an old adage: Write what you know.

The writer did indeed write what she knew, about real children, but applied her own cultural lens. This upset many people devoted to shining a light on intrinsic racism.

Write what you know.

That advice carries a whole host of issues. Do we police our imaginations and stick to our own lived experience? Or are we able to step into other worlds with ethics and empathy?

It’s a topic I brood over often.

Not ‘just’ the race or gender discussion, but the topic of mental health. I’ve written characters of various nationalities, ethnicities and sexuality, but the area I feared to broach was the characters’ inner world.

When choosing to create a protagonist with bipolar disorder, I knew I was on shaky ground. I researched, learnt about how the condition can vary and/or develop, checked chapters with psychologists and those with experience to ensure my representation was authentic. The greatest feedback was from readers who recognised and appreciated a sympathetic approach to a condition that touched their lives.

Then I embarked on Wolf Tones, a novel about coercive control from the perspective of a vulnerable male. Abusive relationships take many forms, as I know from my sister’s role as a support worker. Most victims are women, but some are men. So how to tackle such an issue without diminishing the female experience, acknowledging how it affects men and shining a light on how coercion works?

After two years of research, I came to a conclusion.

It’s all about the narrative.

Every relationship is a story, told by the players themselves. To outsiders, the reality of fraying tempers or bad behaviour might be polished, even exaggerated, for comic effect. Within the relationship, people make up their own journey as they go along – negotiating problems, harmonising habits, confronting obstacles and adjusting their own happy ending.

What about coercion? That’s when one party wrests control and becomes the director, casting a partner or family member in a role they may not want to play.

The first element of redefining roles is by eroding their confidence. Psychologists and therapists point to several techniques by which the director destabilises the victim and convinces them to give up independence. These include criticism, gas-lighting (making one believe something has/hasn’t happened) and micro-managing everything that person does.

Doubt and dependence are harder to introduce when a person has a network of friends, fulfilling job ,and supportive family. That’s why a coercive abuser begins to isolate the victim from any means of emotional outlet. Friends pushed away, families distanced or even rejected outright – the abuser paints them all as the bad guys.

This last is a common occurrence – the abuser claims the status of victim, reversing the roles in order to destabilise and gain sympathy from the person or persons they attempt to control.

Once the manipulator has command of the console, the victim is reduced to no more than an avatar; allowed no choice over money, clothes, activity, or behaviour.

This pattern of behaviour is at the heart of my psychological thriller Wolf Tones. It’s not a puppet show portraying the above because each character has a history (good and bad), ambitions, connections, a sense of loyalty and the issue of class to navigate in a professional environment.

The setting is a classical European orchestra, but the story could happen to any of us. It all depends on the narrator.

If any of the themes in this piece affects you, here are two places where you can find out more: Women’s Aid and ManKind.

Wolf Tones is a work of fiction. This story belongs to Rolf.

Fifteen years ago, Rolf was destined for the gutter.

His luck changed. Now a cellist with the Salzburg City Orchestra, he has his dream job and dizzying prospects. All because of her.

Smart, sexy, well-connected, and crazy about him, Leonor is his fantasy woman. She made him and he’ll never forget it.

Neither will she.

Read the first chapter here.

A big thank you to JJ Marsh for her thought-provoking post. If you have any comments, I’d love to hear them.

Wolf Tones is out on August 19. You can pre-order it here.

31May2021

DO YOU SUFFER FROM LOCKDOWN MEMORY LOSS?

Posted in Modern life by carolcooper

What have you lost during lockdowns 1, 2 and 3? Apart from such things as evenings with friends or outings to the pub, I mean. You’ve gained the ability to bake sourdough bread but, if you’re like a lot of people, other skills may have gone AWOL.

Take driving. Now that freedom of movement is returning, many find themselves flustered behind the wheel. In a snap poll conducted by CarWow, three-fifths of Brits surveyed felt anxious about post-lockdown driving.

Motorway driving seems the most challenging, along with parking especially if, like a lot of people, you never quite got the hang of it in the first place. With my living-room window giving directly onto the street, the evidence is right in front of me.

You think driving should be like proverbial bike-riding? Maybe it is. But let me tell you that, when I tried to cycle after some decades, I’d lost all sense of balance and toppled over for no reason on a perfectly smooth road.

Why does that happen? It’s that old use-it-or-lose-it. No wonder going back to normal can feel like an alien world.

Even using your own feet can seem a trial. Neither my friends nor I can tolerate heels any more. It’s as if our feet have someone got wider after slopping around in slippers for months. Who knew?

Waistlines have inexplicably spread out too. I blame jogging bottoms, especially since the only jogging I’ve done is to the kitchen.

To combat post-lockdown sluggishness and avoirdupois, David Lloyd Clubs are running a six-week programme with volunteers working towards their health goals with personal trainers, nutritionists and psychologists. It’s called Team PB. PB for Pot Belly, perhaps?

As for libido, that too seems to have gone south for many. It’s difficult to prioritise intimacy when you’re stressed and the future looks uncertain. Watching the box is far simpler.

Here’s another reason why brain function may have suffered. Research from Johns Hopkins shows that, for those between 30 and 50, every extra hour of TV time daily translates into a 0.5% reduction in the volume of grey matter in the brain – in other words, the volume of nerve cells.

The road back to normal may prove long and winding, and I won’t be making the journey in high heels, but there’s a lot to look forward to. I might even want to travel again. Now where the heck is my passport? Bet it’s expired.

What do you think will prove hardest for you in the weeks and months to come? I’d love to hear.

24Feb2021

HOW DOES YOUR GARDEN GROW?

Posted in Modern life by carolcooper

No point telling me it’s not spring yet. Not when those crocuses of hope are pushing up all over the place.

It feels like spring outside and it looks like it too. I went out to the wheelie bin and got rain and sunshine at the same time, which pretty much clinched the diagnosis.

The snowdrops have been. So too have aconites and iris reticulata.

Someone’s camellia is busy doing its thing, though its neighbour is less lush.

Looks like my cotoneaster is playing dead again, and one of hydrangeas has copped it. A couple of salvias were meant to disguise a missing chunk of the pot, but that didn’t quite work out.

On the plus side, I now know what slugs do all winter.

As a young child, I thought gardens were a place of wonder, and almost infinite in size. Snails fascinated me. So did the loofah plants that grew alongside the house in Alexandria. Snapdragons were called gueule de loup, made for opening and shutting like a wolf’s mouth. The gardener swept the path with a palm leaf, and watered when the weather was especially dry, though, as every Alexandrian will tell you, the weather is absolutely perfect in Alex.

As an adult, I’m a fairly lazy gardener and anyway the patio isn’t infinitely large. At the moment it’s not so much a riot of colour as someplace to go to between Zoom meetings. But you’ve got to stop and smell the roses, as they say.

The roses aren’t out yet, the honeysuckle is barely visible, and I’ve no idea who ‘they’ are, but even so I did that smelling thing today. And yes, I’ve now figured out what the neighbour’s cat has been doing all winter.

How is your garden doing this month? Is it bursting into life, or haven’t you got around to checking?

25Jan2021

A FACE FOR RADIO

Posted in Modern life by carolcooper

“An author should always make an effort to look good,” a novelist once told me. Her name was Sally and she was a tutor on a writing course. I’ve forgotten her surname as well as everything else she said, but I do remember her advice to put on your best face, even just for a radio interview.

With this in mind, I slipped into the habit of putting on lipstick even if I was only popping down to the cash machine. My three boys hooted with laughter because it was the kind of thing their grandmother did. Not their mother.

Of course, it’s impossible to look your best all the time. On the school run, mascara inevitably takes second place to lost gym kit, and, in my other life as a GP, I was often bedraggled from visiting patient after patient in the rain.

To be fair, I reckon few people expect their doctor to step out of the pages of a fashion mag. Tidy and clean are usually enough. The occasional patient, however, has a keen eye. “Bed 3 wants to see you,” said the nurse on the ward.

‘Bed 3’ – who happened to be from Tunbridge Wells – didn’t just tell me about her cystitis symptoms. She also pointed out that the hem of my dress was uneven.

I prescribed some treatment, and, when I next checked in on her, she said she was better. Then she asked when I was going to fix that dress.

I didn’t exactly follow author Sally’s advice for my first ever radio interview. It was at the end of a busy week and it was down the line so, come 6pm, I was lying in bed on the phone to the presenter. I took the precaution of using an extra pillow, though. It’s best not to sound completely dead even if you look it.

The following interview was in the radio studio. Sally what’s-her-name would have been so proud to see me arrive with full makeup and shiny hair. The listeners might not be able to see me, but the team at the station would.

As it turned out, the presenter and I never met. I was taken to sit on my own in a separate little studio.

What about the producer? Well, his guide dog thought I looked OK.

***

You may also like My Fabulous Life on TV.

1Dec2020

THE TRUTH ABOUT BOOK CLUBS

Posted in Modern life by carolcooper

Without serious preparation, a book club meeting is nothing. Which explains why, for the previous half hour, I had been fashioning little flags out of sticky labels and toothpicks to poke into various cheeses. Of course, an elaborate cheeseboard was not the only fare that evening. There was plenty of wine as well. This particular club, like so many other suburban book gatherings, could be described as a drinking club with a reading problem.

The venue may be a local pub, a bookshop, someone’s front room, or, especially this year, a room on Zoom. While the surroundings may vary, I have discovered some universal truths about book clubs.

#1 Like books themselves, book clubs come in all shapes, sizes, and genres. Some are highbrow, others less so. Before setting off with a tome tucked under your arm, it’s as well to know which sort you’re heading for. Get it wrong, and it’s like turning up at a funeral dressed for a tarts ‘n vicars party.

#2 There’s always a troublemaker, and the reason for the trouble is ostensibly to do with the book. The end is too rushed or too vague, there are too many foreign words or too little sex, and since when did dove get to be the past tense of dive?

“Since about 1855, that’s when,” a smart-arse will pipe up, citing the OED or an obscure poem by Longfellow.

#3 Someone will try to restore the peace. It’s either an amateur referee, a retired librarian with world-class shushing skills, or the home-owner who fears waking the kids.

#4 That’s why it’s a relief to move on to the choice for next meeting, though a consensus may be elusive. The chosen book is most often a novel, but could it be a biography for a change? The next book has to be well-thought of, or else controversial. Must triggers be avoided? Discuss. And they do.

Recent or topical is good, as long as the book is affordable. If not, some will only study the free sample on Amazon.

The book can’t be too long, because some of us work, you know. Here someone may bring up past choices. “Remember the time we chose English Passengers? I couldn’t be doing with nearly 500 pages.”

“Why not? English Passengers was hilarious.” Which may have been true, in parts. But then this came from the same person who thought of Titanic as a rom-com.

#5 Sometimes the club invites an author as guest speaker. Authors are only too glad to talk about their book and quaff wine, until such time as they are allowed to leave with the gift of a potted plant and the remains of the Roquefort. Just don’t say, “I’ve written a novel. Could you have a look at my manuscript?”

#6 Virtual meetings, being easier to attend and free of location restraints, often increase the number of participants, but Zoom and the like can decrease interaction. That doesn’t necessarily make the club run more harmoniously, though. See #2 above.

#7 It’s easy to dip into a book club and there’s no need to commit to every meeting, especially online. Just Google and you’re bound to find clubs for every possible genre, whether you enjoy sci-fi, feminist literature, translated books, historical fiction, or zombie apocalypse novels. Since the advent of Covid-19, escapism is the order of the day.

Do you go to a book club? I’d love to hear about yours, so please let me know its highs and its lows.

Next week, you can join award-winning author Jane Davis for a lockdown book club meeting via Zoom. On 12 Dec at 6.00pm, she’ll be answering questions about her latest release, At the Stroke of Nine O’Clock, a gripping novel set in the 1950s. The event is free but you need to register. Zoom meeting ID: 848 7601 7328 https://buff.ly/3miipHf