We humans waste our past endeavors. Buildings in particular. In the UK, so many historic castles and grand mansions have crumbled and have been abandoned, sometimes through lack of interest, and, more recently, because the owners can't afford their repair.

When I lived in Robe, South Australia, a friend used her mansion up the road for a guest house. The whole thing had been imported from England by a former resident.

Of course, the wealthy English higher classes spared no expense on their structure. But circumstances have changed. Sometimes, the National Trust steps in to take over and finance repairs of these dilapidated buildings.

When we first moved into our flat, nestled beside Tudor-style cottages in Elstree, UK, one mansion, the former home of Lord Baden Powell (of Boy Scouts fame) was owned by an old lady who was a typical recluse. Reminding me of a witch's retreat, the house needed attention. I guess she moved on, because a local businessman bought it and began immediate reconstruction. I've used the home in my latest novel, Shattered Shells. Hehe. Couldn't resist.

But every building doesn't have a happy ending. In living memory, hundreds of railway stations have closed across the country and have since been abandoned, demolished or converted to other uses.

Many stations closed as a result of the Beeching report, which aimed to make the railways profitable.

In living memory, other lines closed as services were withdrawn, stations relocated or because of financial restraints. Today, the BBC featured an excellent article on people who remember them well. 

But what of the underground stations? About 40 abandoned or relocated stations of the Underground network remain along its entire 255 miles (408Km) of track. Some are subsurface and some above ground. Many have vanished without trace. However, some stations are almost intact, dusty time capsules of the era when they were closed. See the fascinating facts on London Underground History. 

When writing a dystopian series of novels with my German partner, Edith Parzefall, I considered a London of the future. In the novel, Long Doom Calling (named after the song: London Calling) our bunch of bumpkins from Corn World (Cornwall) reach the city. Low and behold, the underground stations are used for shelter.

Here's a short excerpt:

Boris glanced around. No fires or people in sight. “Are we the only ones still outside?”

No longer walking a step ahead, Eliza stuck close to his side. “We're getting near the Undead colony. They live underground. The place has steps and all. Even a sign above the door. They call it The Elf, Ant and Castle.”

“Funny name. Hey, you don't talk like you've got a potato in your mouth anymore.”

“Why bother without Aron or street kids around.” She smiled. “Anyway, most of the other places underground are flooded. When it's dark, the leeps spread out and scavenge whatever useful things they can find. No one in their right mind dares to stay outside and risk catching their sickness.”

Boris tried to swallow the lump in his throat but couldn't. “Makes sense, I guess. You stay back when we get to them.”

The beautiful paperback version of this novel is reduced to the amazing price of £2.44 at the moment. Although published by Double Dragon, Edith paid extra for special printing.

The past forms part of our future. Do you live close to a historic building?

I agree that some things are best left unsaid, especially certain words according to search engines, revealed later.

But some countries take their dictatorial policies to an extreme measure.

For criticizing Saudi Arabia’s powerful clerics on a liberal blog promoting freedom, a man has been convicted of insulting Islam. He received a sentence of 10 years in prison and 1,000 lashes. The first flogging took place after Friday prayers in a public square where he was flogged 50 times before hundreds of spectators.

Here in the UK and in other free countries like the USA, we can talk about whatever pleases us, up to a certain point.

A few months ago, Twitter took exception to a word I used in a novel excerpt. Bear in mind that search engines don't consider meanings. They look for words. The assembly of letters in that case started with ha … then went on ng … and finished with ing. After puzzling as to why my post was blocked as containing sensitive material, I finally worked it out and changed the word to suspended, I did so in the novel before it was published too, just in case.

Now, a similar thing has happened with Facebook. I thought the matter over all night and came up with what I hope is the solution. First thing when I opened my computer, I removed the word that starts with ex … crete … ment.

Although people could read the blog, Facebook's ban prevented anyone commenting because I'm using their comment section on my blog. Maybe that's not such a good idea, seeing what can happen.

I have yet to see if the embargo has been lifted. Here's the link if you want to try commenting. You'll see the blog is harmless. Called The difference between Pooh and Poo, it's about nicknames and games. http://bit.ly/1Hl6T3G

What do you think about the power of search engines dictating our words?

No. I'm not talking about anything to do with body wastes. I'll get to why the two names link to me as a person later. First: the news.

Organizers of the World Pooh Sticks Championships in Oxfordshire, UK are looking for a new place to hold their competition. That's north of where I live in Hertfordshire. I hadn't heard of this game, but it sounds a bit daft. However, dropping sticks into a running stream from a bridge doesn't need much physical prowess so it's open to all.

The game originates from author AA Milne's Winnie the Pooh novel, The House At Pooh Corner.

Pooh sticks game rules:

Select a stick, face upstream, side by side with fellow competitors

Choose either the oldest or the youngest competitor as a "starter"

Competitors must holds their stick at arms length over the stream, usually from a bridge, at the same height as the shortest competitor's stick

All competitors must drop, and not throw, their sticks into the water at the same time, on the starter's call

The players must then cross to the downstream side of the bridge and wait for the sticks to emerge

The owner of the first stick to float from under the bridge is the winner

Source:Rotary Club of Oxford Spires.

When I was a youngster, well, young enough to not understand why parents called you different names sometimes, my father referred to me as Poo as an endearment. I loved the name, considering that he thought of me as the cuddly bear in the children's story. Much later, I asked him about it.

The sophisticated older gentleman he'd become laughed and a twinkle came from his eyes. He'd named me after Nanky-Poo in an opera.

Apparently, the story of The Mikado revolves around a young wandering minstrel named Nanki-Poo, who banished himself from the little Japanese town of Titipu.

Um. Well, no. How did that relate to me? He never told me, but I assumed he liked the twist of the name on the tongue. I hope he wasn't remembering the whiff of baby nappies. The only thing I knew about Mikado is the famous song Three Little Maids.

Perhaps he wasn't so wrong after all, because I went on to develop a passion for writing songs, poems and then novels. Maybe I am a minstrel, wandering around the world wide web.

21/09/2005 ©


UNGRASPED MELODY

The sound tickling my brain
Releasing remembered pain
With ungrasped melody there
At the back, under my hair.


Music made by nearby birds
Although by my ears it's heard
It strokes parts contained within
Tweaking inside with a pin.


Ecstasy for all to feel
Not through chemicals, but real
Pay attention and you'll hear
Every birdsong that is near.


So many different notes
All put forth from tiny throats
Composed in alien ways
Seem to burst forth in relays.


The birdsong lulls me to relax
Pushing out all thoughts that tax
Snatches of memory drift
Other patterns of time shift.

And so, you have the full story on why I was called Poo. My younger sisters were referred to as Sloppy Bob and Ginger Pops. Did you have a nickname?

No matter what the species, a mother will always love and care for her babies. See 14 wonderful examples at Buzzfeed.

In some species, the father also cares for the young. Take the swan for example.

Out for a walk on Sunday beside a lock in Leicester, photographer Nigel Kibble spotted a cygnet in distress with the swan's parents desperately trying to rescue their youngster. In must have crawled through a gap in the wooden structure and fallen into the lower water. The adult birds were cooing as if trying to comfort their offspring. The water level was not high enough for it to climb out, and the short stretch of water wouldn't allow it to build up speed to take off.

He phoned the Canal and River Trust, the department responsible for the nation's waterways, but no-one was on hand to open the lock at that time.

When he returned on Monday the cygnet was still there, along with the anxious parents trying to coax and pull it out without success. He called the Trust again for assistance.

On Wednesday the juvenile had been released and was swimming free with its parents again.

A spokesman for the Trust reported that when a member of staff arrived, the lock had already been opened to allow the birds to move on. See Telegraph story. 

Of course, exceptions occur just as they do in humans, but every species exhibits this loving, caring nature, which must be built in as part of the reproduction cycle.

In 1971, my family and I lived in the little lobster-fishing town of Robe in South Australia. We bought a historic property, built during the gold rush 150 years before, in the isolated town with a huge pine tree dominating the back yard. Must have been 150 feet high although we never measured it. The ground underneath, saturated by pine needles for over one hundred years, didn't grow much. We used the space for our birds, allowing them to roam free during the day but giving them security from foxes at night.

When my son was about 10 yrs, he hit his head with a backward swing while attempting to build a tree house. Luckily, he was able to scramble down. Head wounds require assistance, so we took him to the closest hospital which was an hour's drive away. I worried all the way there, so I know how the swans must have felt for their cygnet. My son didn't suffer any consequences for his escapade either.

Do you have a similar tale?

Now people are making up false stories of celebrity deaths. What's their problem? Not enough happening to keep their interest in the beginning of the year 2015?

In the latest run of hoaxes, the death of four 73 year-old celebrities has been announced, sending fans to their Facebook page to pay tribute.

Singer/songwriter Roberto Carlos dead 2015, singer and conductor Plácido Domingo, actor and producer Nick Nolte and 73-year-old singer, songwriter, musician and poet Bob Dylan.

News of singer Bob Dylan’s death spread quickly earlier this week causing concern among fans across the world. However the January 2015 report has now been confirmed as a complete hoax to join the latest in a string of fake celebrity death reports. Thankfully, the singer, best known for his hits Blowin' in the Wind (1963), Like a Rolling Stone (1965), or Knockin' on Heaven's Door (1973), is alive and well. He has been influential in popular music and culture for more than five decades.

Recently, the 73-year-old American folk singer announced that his new album will be released on 2nd February 2015.

You might wonder what perked my interest in looking up who had died recently. Answer: my age. You see, I'll be 73 tomorrow. And I consider reaching this age, whole of body (discounting artificial hips) and mind, as a triumph. 

I've survived childhood illness. You see, in the early forties, a huge percentage of youngsters succumbed to polio in Australia.

I've lived through the determination to take risks in my teenage years by riding pillion with no protective gear on a fast motorbike. When I graduated as top of the class in a Melbourne modeling school at the age of 16, I didn't get sucked into the hopeless life of advancement via casting couches (thanks to my father's intervention).

As a young adult I gave birth to three children and survived toxemia. I've weathered the storm of my first husband's nervous breakdown, and the trauma of my children's teenage years.

As an adult, I barely survived a traumatic marriage break-up and moved to England all alone to find a job within a week. I met my present husband in the UK, and have made a new life for last 26 years, during which I learned of two of my children's deaths ten years apart.

Now, at 73 tomorrow, I'm old. Who knows what will come in the future? 'The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind'. My husband might survive the cancer wracking his body and we will live together for many years to come. If not, I face another upheaval, hoping with all my heart I'll continue to adapt.

I think that's what life is all about: being able to bend before the wind rather than remain rigid and snap.

If you learn anything from this article, let it be to accept what comes, learn, and move on, always believing in your ability to see the positive side of any challenge.

A mystery about the ending of Charles Dickens' last book has long baffled fans, and caused arguments in literary circles.

In 1870, Dickens was publishing monthly installments of his manuscript The Mystery of Edwin Drood. The Mystery of Edwin Drood was scheduled to be published in twelve episodes (shorter than Dickens's usual twenty) from April to February 1871, each costing one shilling. Only six of the installments were completed before the famous author's death—making it approximately half finished.

After the main character disappeared, fans were kept on tenterhooks by the plot.

Now, a group of academics hope to solve the 150-year-old mystery of what actually happened to Edwin Drood by allowing readers to vote online for their preferred ending. People visiting the website called the Drood Inquiry http://www.droodinquiry.com/home are asked to vote anonymously on various aspects of the ending such as whether he is dead or alive, where his body is and who killed or attempted to kill the student.

You are presented with a case review, character profiles, witness statements, clues and red herrings etc before making your decision.

The project launcher, an expert in Dickens at the University of Buckingham, says people are fascinated with the book and have been trying to work out the ending for almost 150 years.

Some of Charles Dickens plays: A Tale of Two Cities, The Frozen Deep, No Thoroughfare, The Goblins.

To refresh your memory, here's the beginning of A Tale of Two Cities: IT WAS the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way- in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

So how about you? Are you keen enough on Charles Dickens to make a contribution.

As an aside, last year I offered a chance for a reader to become a character in my novel, Shattered Shells by using an online entry form. The plot had already been worked out. All I needed was a person with unique attributes. My winner, Alana Mautone, now graces the newly published novel.

What do you think about using public participation in this way?

Take this test:

1. Can you walk past a sugary treat without taking one?
2. Do you have routines like always having pudding, or needing a piece of chocolate to relax in front of the television?
3. Are there times when you cannot go on without a sugar hit?
4. If you are forced to go without sugar for 24 hours, do you develop headaches and mood swings?

If you answered 'yes’ to one of the questions above, you are addicted. See full Telegraph article.

You might ask why you should give up your normal sugar intake, be it hidden in foods, in fruit juice, in honey and in syrup.

Sugar is one of the key causes of obesity, associated with cardiovascular risk and with cancer, disability during old age, decreased life expectancy and serious chronic conditions such as type 2 diabetes, osteoarthritis and hypertension.

Some scientists believe that fructose fools our brains into thinking we are not full, so we overeat.

The latest advice is to swap just one snack a day for a healthier alternative to cut your sugar intake by almost half.

A heavy reliance on fizzy and soft drinks means children are overindulging. Families were urged to choose from simple alternatives such as replacing sugary cereal with a plain wholewheat biscuit, eating yoghurt instead of ice cream for dessert, and swapping sweet drinks to those with no sugar in them.

Fruit juice should be limited to one glass a day. Analysis of children's diets during a one month pilot study found those following the advice reduced their sugar intake by 40 per cent.

Here's a shock. In a paper published in 2007, French scientists reported that in animal trials, rats chose sugar over cocaine (which they were addicted to), and speculated that no mammals’ sweet receptors are naturally adapted to the high concentrations of sweet tastes on offer in modern times.  

So if you long for a chocolatey treat, that craving is more than just a figure of speech. You may be one of the world’s most common dependents: a sugar addict.

Okay, this is going to sound weird, but in the past, I read some spiritual advice, reportedly from an angel. 'Salt is not as bad for the body as sugar.' Take from that what you will, but I agree.

I've not voluntarily eaten sugar for about ten years, apart from one dessertspoon of honey on my morning porridge. I don't need extra calories, in fact my stomach is expanding despite cutting back on food, much to my horror. My husband loves sweet treats and pesters me every night to join him in eating a dessert after the meal. Not only am I full, but I don't like the taste of sweet things. He needs to eat as much as he can to gain the weight he's lost due to illness, so I wouldn't turn him away from indulging.

Reminds me of the old nursery rhyme: 'Jack sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean', but, in our case, the reverse.

Imagine being struck by a medical emergency in another country that your insurance won't cover. What a nightmare. But that's what happened to a British couple.

On a five-day holiday in the New York, they were walking through Central Park as part of a movie tour when the woman went into labour 11 weeks early. Their 3lb. premature baby son was born at Lenox Hill Hospital on December 28, running up a £130,000 (US $199,255) medical bill.

Although delighted to welcome their baby, the couple worried about how they could pay the bill.

Not only that, but they had been told their tiny baby may not be able to fly until March 10. How could they fund their unexpected stay?

A friend back in the UK set up a Facebook campaign on New Year’s Day. By Friday afternoon the fundraising page entitled “Dax’s Tale of New York” had raised $9,577.68. Nowhere near the amount needed.

But, surprise, surprise, the hospital caring for their son has now promised “there will be no financial impact to the family”.

The father announced on a fundraising Facebook page: "Great news! I believe I can confirm that all medical bills will be covered! It's been a long wait but well worth it!

"Due to the publicity that has gone on around the whole story, it has forced them to pay!"

On Friday a hospital statement said: “Lenox Hill Hospital continues to work with the insurance carrier regarding payment approvals for all services rendered by the hospital, anesthesia and physician services from their insurance carrier. We will ensure that there will be no financial impact to the family.

“In addition, our staff has been going above and beyond to ease the overall experience for the family, from arranging a place to live for the duration of their stay to helping them communicate with their family in the UK.”         See full Telegraph story. 

How social pressure has changed over the years. Once, the couple might have needed to call on diplomats to handle their situation. But now a social site can bring a hospital to its knees by waiving the fees.

Have you heard of another story about a social site creating change?

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A diamond is one of the most precious materials in the world, sought after for thousands of years because of its beauty and rarity.

But a flower is beautiful, and the bloom doesn't bring high prices. Although, as an aside, I remember a story filled with intrigue and subterfuge from a radio play back when I was a child in the 50s about The Black Tulip. Maybe we should add endurance to the list of qualities that make an item valuable.

For the last couple of days, news items have reported the biggest discovery ever of old coins in Britain. On Dec. 21st, one of the members of the Weekend Wanderers Detecting Club lifted a piece of metal and found coins underneath. He didn't disturb them, knowing the find was important. Metal detector enthusiasts in Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire, close to where I live, went on to uncover what is thought to be one of biggest hoards of ancient coins ever found in Britain, some dating back to the 11th Century. More than 5,000 coins were unearthed inside a lead bucket two feet under the field. Some depict the heads of king Ethelred the Unready (love that name), and king Canute.

The hoard, which contains will be examined by the British Museum. A coroner will rule if they are "treasure" under the Treasure Act. A museum could then buy them with the proceeds being split between the landowner and the finder. See the full BBC story.

What makes them treasure? Their rarity and their endurance, I guess. The coins don't appeal to me.

I love watching television shows about auctions to find out what makes the highest price among the assortment of articles people present. In England, fads come and go. What people desired 10 years ago are no longer desired. And the British insist on having the assay mark denoting sterling silver. Anything else is classed as white metal. How arrogant we English people are.

A US study has concluded that most types of cancer can be put down to bad luck rather than risk factors such as smoking.

EEEk! The word cancer is so feared that many people simply mouth 'C' rather than say the word which is linked with a life sentence. But maybe the condition shouldn't be so feared. In the UK, television commercials are running at the moment with a message that fewer people die from cancer than ever before. Well, my husband's diagnosis of multiple cancers in the prostate and abdominal area was given six months ago and he's still here beside me, albeit rake thin and in pain.

But let's look further into the news.

The results of the study, published in the journal Science, showed two thirds of the cancer types analyzed were caused by chance mutations rather than lifestyle.

Okay, this doesn't mean you can pig out on cream cakes and turn your nose up at fruit and vegetables. Nor should you smoke or overindulge in alcohol. To do so would be tempting fate to the extreme.

In another story, a leading UK doctor and former editor of the prestigious British Medical Journal (BMJ) has claimed cancer is the best way to die. His reasons: a quick death is preferable than a lingering one due to dementia or organ failure. It also gives the affected person an opportunity to reflect on their life, say goodbye, and enjoy what pleases them most like listening to music.

Well, my experience has not been this way. On the plus side, my husband and I are closer than ever before, but this is balanced against financial worry and a feeling of helplessness.

He's receiving treatment but the result is in doubt. Many different doctors at our local surgery are dealing with him, as are various departments at the hospital. None work together. He has to explain what's happening each time he presents himself, and the stress is killing him. (We all know what stress can do to the body.) So far, nobody can work out why he's lost so much weight (about two and a half stone) but they say he's unlikely to regain the weight at the age of 75 years.

When he shouted with pain last night, I reached out and held his wrist to give comfort. What I felt might have belonged to a sickly child, and my fingers could have wrapped around the bone twice.

It's accepted that people die when they age. The body wears out and sometimes the mind retreats to earlier times. But this doesn't make it easier to bear when you rely on that person the way I do.

I'm sure you know someone who has died of cancer. Would you agree that it's a good way to die?
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