I enjoyed watching ‘Stargazing Live’ on the BBC recently. Lots of fabulously mysterious and glistening information about stars and planets and the solar system etc. Especially liked it when Dr Brian Cox used items on a table in a tea shop to explain some of the details! One of Brian’s great heroes is Carl Sagan. If you haven’t seen Sagan’s wonderful video ‘Pale Blue Dot’ click here.

Podcasts.ie kindly recorded me reading from ‘The Truth Club’ a while ago. It was recorded in my sitting room by a snug turf fire. If you are in the mood for being read to click here The Truth Club.

Heard a woman on ‘The Mooney Show’ on RTE talking about how she goes to bed with her pet pig…that pig sounds so cute and apparently “smells like a baby” after she’s been washed. Didn’t catch the woman’s name. Am very fond of pigs myself. A pig called Rosie is an important character in ‘Ordinary Miracles’ and is something of a role model for some of the humans.

If I lived in London would definitely want to visit fabulous exhibition by David Hockney. Hockney seems like a very life affirming fellow. Love his use of colour and the wonderfully characterful paintings he did of his pet dachshunds. I once worked for a publishing house in London that published fabulous art books…along with other books of course. When I climbed the many stairs to my office…the building was old and pleasant and in Bloomsbury…I sometimes used to hear David Hockney’s voice drifting intriguingly from a room. Someone was transcribing a long tape-recorded interview for a book. The company was very near the British Museum and a nice little bookshop. It was there that I found and bought some of the Winnie-The-Pooh books by A. A. Milne. When I was a wee girl the only Winnie-The-Pooh book in the house had a number of its pages missing so I wasn’t that impressed by it. I understood why he was such a popular bear when I read the rest of the pages! Haven’t re-read ‘The Wind In The Willows’ by Kenneth Grahame for a while. It is still one of my favourite books.

Bright blessings,

Grace x

The Truth Club
‘…a novel which by turns had me laughing (aloud) entranced and, by the end a little bit wiser than I was at the beginning. In ‘The Truth Club’ Grace Wynne-Jones has produced a book in which the eclectic characters almost leap from the pages…the book also contains a perfect man, Nathaniel, who ‘almost always’ says the right thing….’

One of the lovely presents my niece Ruth Wynne-Jones gave me this Christmas was a very special biscuit decorated to look like the jacket of one of my novels! (The second paperback printing of ‘Ordinary Miracles’ had this sweet cover with the pink pig.) What a delight it was to receive this fabulous gift! Her very talented friend in the Kaleidoscope Bakery made it and she also created fantastic culinary art biscuits for some other family members. It is so very special I don’t want to eat it. Might even get it framed! You can learn more about the Kaleidoscope Bakery here

Happy New Year and ‘In beauty may you walk’ (Navajo prayer).

Love and sparkles,

Grace x

She’s been interviewed on Oprah and is a wise woman! I received her beautiful words in an Omega Institute newsletter and I have been given permission to include them in this blog. I have posted them on the website before…they are not ‘new’ and were written the year President Obama was elected. However they are so wise they seemed worth sharing again.

Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas!

Love and sparkles,

Grace

IT’S NEVER TOO LATE TO HAVE A HAPPY HOLIDAY by ELIZABETH LESSER

Before you continue reading this, do me a favor. Put down what you’re holding (in your hand or your head),”your shopping lists, your third cup of coffee, your date book, the phone call you should be making”and sit quietly for just 60 seconds. Take in a full breath, let it pool gently in the bottom of your lungs, and then release it slowly. Inhale deeply again, and exhale with an audible sigh. If you’re at work, don’t worry what your colleagues might think ”this time of year everyone would love to sigh deeply, and often. Inhale again; exhale with a long “aaahh”. With each exhalation, let your shoulders drop and your jaw relax. Do this a couple of times, with your eyes closed. Let the “aaahh” sound emerge from your belly, move up into your heart, and drift out into space as you exhale, slowly, smoothly, steadily. Now, open your eyes, and continue reading.

Helloooo?? Anyone there? It felt good to escape for a minute, didn’t it? But come on back ”it’s that time of year again: the modern miracle known as The Holidays, when into the dark little month of December, we squeeze Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, and a myriad of other celebrations, from ancient solstice rituals to the more contemporary rites of school plays, office parties, and community gatherings. Throw into that mix a generous dose of unrealistic expectations, budget-busting shopping, dysfunctional family feasts, airplane flights, darker days, colder weather, excessive eating and drinking, and no wonder that along with “peace on earth, goodwill toward men,” we get really stressed out.

But this year you can do something to spin your stress into the gold that is the promise of the season. Here are three ways to light up your holidays:

1. Believe that things can change. Look what happened this year in America! What would have been impossible just 40 years ago ”an African-American president elected by a wide majority ”is now reality. If a whole society can change its heart and habits, then so too can each of us. This holiday season, make Gandhi’s motto your spiritual practice: “Be the change you want to see in the world.” Slow down for a few minutes every day and sit in silence. Perhaps down at the bottom of the quiet well of your heart, you will discover some questions brewing in the fertile darkness: Is there someone I need to forgive? Is there something I must say to a family member or a friend? Is my full aliveness being dulled by the fear of change, an old wound, addictive behavior? In the true spirit of the holidays, let the darkness show you what wants to change. The truth will lead you back up to the light, and when the New Year rolls around, your resolution will be tinged with authenticity and power.

2. Recognize that there is no such thing as a normal holiday. Let’s start with the word “normal.” I once saw a bumper sticker that read, “Normal is someone you don’t know very well.” This is a good thing to keep in mind always, but especially now, when we assume that the normal people are all having happier, healthier, and more harmonious holidays than we are. We imagine their mailboxes stuffed with Christmas cards and party invitations, their homes decorated in Martha Stewart splendor, and their intact and idyllic families primed for five full weeks of good cheer. I don’t know these people, do you? The most effective thing you can do to reduce holiday angst is to wipe the word “normal” from your vocabulary. In my work at Omega, I have met tens of thousands of people from all walks of life. I have yet to meet a normal one, if normal means consistently sane, contented, and capable. And yet most of us hold ourselves up to an unattainable standard of human perfection. The 13th-century poet Rumi called this phenomenon, the “Open Secret.” He said each one of us is trying to hide the same secret from each other”not some racy or evil secret, but rather the mere fact of our flawed humanness. We expend so much energy trying to conceal our ordinary bewilderment at being human, or our loneliness in the crowd, or that nagging sense that everyone else has it more together than we do, that we miss out on the chance to really connect, which is what we ultimately long for. Especially during the holidays.

So, here’s something you can do this holiday season: Open up your Open Secret. Overcome your embarrassment at being human. Tell a friend that you didn’t get one party invitation. Who knows? Maybe she didn’t either! Or maybe she did, and she’ll bring you along and you’ll meet new people ”the ultimate Christmas gift. Or maybe together you can go to your local homeless shelter and help the kids decorate the tree”the real spirit of the holidays….Or how about this? Don’t just say “Fine!” when a colleague asks how you are at the office party. Say, “Sometimes all this ho-ho-ho makes me feel lonely.” You’ll be surprised by the response. Suddenly a mere acquaintance will open up his secrets to you, and soon you’ll feel more connected, not only to him, but to the real meaning of the holidays.

3. Be aware that the holidays are about awakening joy in times of darkness. All of the religious parables at the heart of the holidays are about this mystery: how hope can be born out of hopelessness; how home can be found in exile; how celebration can come after grief. Joy is the gold we mine on the spiritual path, but that path traverses all sorts of uncertain and difficult terrains. For guidance along this path, turn to the spiritual teachings of Hanukkah, Christmas, winter solstice, and the lesser-known December holidays. You probably didn’t know that December 8 is Rohatsu, which commemorates the day in 566 BCE when the Buddha attained enlightenment. Like Mary and Joseph who found no welcome at the inn, and birthed the baby Jesus in a manger, and like the Maccabees who reclaimed the desecrated temple and lit the miraculous light of Hanukkah, the Buddha awakened his joy after a long struggle, under the Bodhi tree, alone and hungry. Richard Rohr, a Franciscan Father writes, “Truth and goodness are not always found at the top, but often on the edge and at the bottom. Not in the center of empire, but in the backwaters of Bethlehem.” Let the stories of the season help you find friendship, sanctuary, and light in the darkest month of the year.

We had yet another budget in Ireland this week. If you turn on the radio the odds of hearing the words “bankers”, “billions”, “debt”, “Eurozone” and “markets” are even more likely than before. Added to this, of course, is now the word “Christmas”. “It’s Christmas so…” many ads say. My favourite slogan of the year is ‘What would Jesus do?’

It has been pretty cold here lately. Lit a big turf fire the other day. Very toasty and cosy. Have become extremely fond of watching people buy antiques on television. Big bunch of reduced price flowers on mantelpiece and large lit candle in fireplace. A smallish statue of Buddha sits nearby with a little smile.

Love, sparkles and light,

Grace

Have only made some brief visits to Paris myself. In my teens, when visiting a boyfriend in France, spent a night in the waiting room of the Gare du Nord. Was awoken by a young man saying “Give me fire”. Realised he wanted me to light his cigarette. Was catching a train very early the next day. A station official asked me and another young woman to come into his office…we were somewhat doubtful about this until he gave us both a glass of Pastis. The last time I visited France I traveled home to Ireland via England. My trip on Eurostar was vastly enlivened by getting into conversation with a very pleasant young French man who told me about his large collection of spiders…I think he even had some in his luggage!

Happy Halloween and warm wishes,

Grace

Oh yes, I could write a minor thesis on this stuff and yet there I was on Saturday night watching the thing again and knowing that I would have conversations about it. When I sat down to write this blog I felt there were so many other more worthwhile topics to explore…the important ‘We are the 99%’ demonstrations in America comes to me as a worthy example. ‘The Club Of Rome’ and their explorations into sustainability and economic growth. Since I’m a writer some ‘writing tips’ might be appropriate. I wanted the X Factor juggernaut to zoom by me. (When it comes to vehicles one of my favourites is the Morris Minor.)

But now I have some sort of opinion about the contestants and the judges seem sort of okay though Gary Barlow can be a bit snitty. Even complaining about the thing is sort of entertaining. Maybe one of the attractions of X is that it insists that it is so important but in the grand scheme of things it’s just another tv show with a very clever format. Maybe we sometimes need ‘serious’ frivolities. Compared to trying to understand what the bankers are up to it is pretty straightforward.

Thank God for less guilty pleasures! Got Jonathan Franzen’s ‘Freedom’ out of the library. Great stuff. Sometimes silence is indeed very golden.

Warm wishes,

Grace

IRISH WRITERS’ CENTRE WORKSHOPS

THE WRITING PROCESS with Grace Wynne-Jones

14th October – 18th November 2011: Fridays 11am-1pm. €165/€150 members
If you want to book a place contact the Irish Writers’ Centre,
19 Parnell Square, Dublin 1 T: 01 872 1302 E: info@writerscentre.ie W: www.writerscentre.ie

‘I am a forty eight year old woman who loves books and I have read zillions in my life. My husband has never heard me laugh out loud as much or cried as I read “Ready or not”. It was a fabulous read and I am now an avid fan of yours. So sad when the book ended but ready for the next one. Wonderful and beautifully written.’ Website Comment from ‘Therese’

When I give writing workshops I advise the participants to ‘cherish the details’. Small or large details (such as the corrugated boiler flue) can make a story seem more real.  The very things that seem too unimportant to mention may be the details that help bring a story to life. Another message in the workshops is that creative writing is an important and valid activity in itself. It can be therapeutic…a healing  ’place to go to’.  A wonderful place to explore thoughts and feelings and dreams and questions. It can also be very entertaining. An adventure. Getting published is a wonderful bonus.

Went blackberrying today. A nice little autumn ritual.

Warm wishes,

Grace

IRISH WRITERS’ CENTRE WORKSHOPS

THE WRITING PROCESS with Grace Wynne-Jones

7th October – 11th November 2011: Fridays 11am-1pm. €165/€150 members
If you want to book a place contact the Irish Writers’ Centre,
19 Parnell Square, Dublin 1 T: 01 872 1302 E: info@writerscentre.ie W: www.writerscentre.ie

These are playful, fun workshops that will empower your inner author and help you identify what furthers your own writing process. The workshops run over six weeks and include practical tips on handling your inner critic, experimenting with story ‘nudges’, plot, and character development and how not to be intimidated by technique.

Stories are also written during the sessions and shared in a supportive and encouraging atmosphere. You will also receive input on marketing your work. Writing is an adventure! If you enjoy a good story, you can write one! Whether you’ve been writing a while, or are just starting out, this course is suitable for anyone with an interest in writing fiction. Facilitator Grace Wynne-Jones.

Warm wishes,

Grace

If all this sounds somewhat mysterious you’re right. It is. But I do know that Jasmine arrived in my life because, on some level, I felt ready to be more courageous with my writing. I wanted to share the details, warts and all, just like she did. If I summed it up in a sentence I would say I wanted to write the kind of book I longed to read. I have always loved books with highly intimate details that feel like friends. ‘Ordinary Miracles’ was informed by my own disappointments and questions and longings. It also contained a number of my bewilderments and my love of a good giggle. It seemed a case of ‘write what you know’ and ‘write what you want to know’. “I work on a picture and then it guides me” Fellini once remarked. The same can happen with a book.

I didn’t even think about publication and what others would make of it. I simply wanted it to feel true. Now, when I give writing workshops, I sometimes encourage participants to recall what it is like to listen to a song they love. How they are not just listening to it but somehow ‘in’ it too…aware of its shape, its tone, its ‘character’. They can know these same things about their own stories, but only if they are truly ‘in’ them as they are writing. To do this they need to bypass the inner critic who will have many opinions about every sentence. The inner critic is frightened that we may appear foolish, but is open to negotiation and can be an ally. I advise students to tell it can take “a nice break” during the first draft, but that it is very welcome to come and offer its expertise during editing.

Here’s a great quote:

‘There is only one trait that writers have in common….They watch for the extraordinary magic that lies in the everyday….Not willing inspiration but just being open to the world. This quiet looking and thinking is the imagination. It’s letting in ideas. It’s trying, I suppose, to make some sense of things.’ Joseph O’Connor

I hope to give some workshops at the lovely Irish Writers’ Centre in the autumn. They are called ‘The Writing Process’ and I gave similar workshops at the Centre some years ago. You can read more about them by clicking the ‘Workshops’ icon at the top of this page.

Warm wishes,

Grace

Roderick Organza Treadmull, my boss (I’m his Editorial Assistant) has become obsessed by Twitter recently. He keeps asking me to talk up books using the hash tag thingy (still don’t really understand it). And what does it mean when someone uses loads of @ s? He has also become extraordinarily finicky about his cappuccinos. I have to get them from an Italian deli three streets away and tell them he only wants one shot and extra foam. He demands nutmeg with his chocolate topping. He sometimes actually sits on my desk (it is fairly large) and tells me about the time when publishing was oh so much more civilised and not mainly run by conglomerates. He adored the first place he worked in. Apparently there was a wooden prosthetic leg in the corner of the office…no-one knew why it was there and didn’t bother to ask. He was an editorial assistant back then himself, but he still regularly gallivanted off to wine bars for lunch…he had to sober up pretty fast if he had to proof read indexes afterwards. Proof reading indexes is not much fun. I have to do it without the benefit to Cabernet Sauvignon.

Roderick hopes that any day now we’ll hit the big time with some hot new author…we’ve recently churned out memoirs from retired generals (long complicated indexes, fussy photo captions and long discussions re. sepia tones on jacket), some stuff about dog obedience training etc and a nice perky book about the importance of preserving frog habitats. The author was going to bring a frog to the launch only it escaped from its container in the swanky hotel foyer and was found afterwards by some amazed Americans. It had been sulking behind a Kentia Palm. “So frogs sometimes come indoors over here do they?” one of the women asked. “Like sort of geckos in hotter climes?” We didn’t have time to explain the situation because Hubert (that’s what I called him) was already hopping towards a table laden with dry Martinis. I took a picture of Hubert. ‘Frog flees literary gathering’ caused a bit of interest on Twitter especially since the accompanying link to Hubert’s photo was incorrect and featured one of the retired Generals I’d been publicising. Thank goodness the guy shuns social media.

Have been in sporadic email contact with Scott, that American poet guy I mentioned a while back…the author of an as yet unpublished book of poems called ‘The Quiet Fig’. I naturally haven’t asked him why the figs are quiet, though I’d like to. In fact I try to avoid any mention of poetic matters in our correspondence (he still has a slight hope that Roderick may take an interest in the stuff since their brief chat about a shared interest in motorbikes in Manhattan). When I told Scott about the frog fiasco he thought it was hilarious. ‘Geez Honey’ he wrote ‘What if the frog’s a pacifist?’ We’ve had long email discussions about what sort of creatures I should sneak into book launches…. ‘Snake scoffs canapes at military history luncheon’…’Wolf teaches dog obedience author manners at book launch’. He’s currently working as a PA on some American talk show.and really understands my cappuccino situation with Roderick. One of his bosses is so fussy about sushi that the list of requirements runs to an A4 page.

Tanbo, my occasional boyfriend, has just phoned. He wanted to know if I’ve done anything about getting a ‘decent’ job and have told Roderick to get his own cappuccinos. He also wanted to know if I’ve signed the petition he forwarded. It is, apparently, very worthy and important. I get so many petitions to sign I sort of lose track of them. It started off in a small virtuous way but now I sometimes feel like a member of the U.N. Tanbo has a fabulous social conscience. We marched out of a very nicely decorated cafe the other day because it didn’t stock Fairtrade coffee. We are going to a talk tonight about how to avoid wheat.

Roderick has just come in with some photocopying machine issue. He says that it says it’s out of paper when it isn’t. He seems to take it personally. I’d better go and turn the thing off and on again.

Toodlepip!

Honey

Each outing to Limerick ended up with a family assemblage in that august hotel which, as far as I knew, was not unlike the Ritz. My maternal grandmother, a Mrs de Vere who had lived in a grand house called Curragh Chase outside Adare, had also used the hotel in similar circumstances. So my mother had a somewhat proprietorial attitude towards its lounge and often loudly called out things like “did you get the bones for the dogs?” to my Dad as he stepped through the hotel’s front door. Yes, we almost regarded the lounge of the hotel as an urban extension of our sitting room and we very much needed its shelter. Our trips to Limerick tended to be packed with activity. Mum often went off shopping on her own. And Dad and I…well we got up to stuff. We had places to go people to meet and bones to acquire.

I was very keen to get to the SPCK bookshop which, along with worthy religious books, stocked fabulous reads such as ‘Wish For A Pony’ by Ruby Ferguson. But Dad was a Co. Limerick clergyman and sometimes met acquaintances as we strolled, like boulevardiers, along the great Limerick streets. His chats with these adults seemed to go on for ages. Sometimes I gave him a very light kick on the shin to hurry him up, but he just replied calmly “Grace, why are you kicking me?” This was a very canny adult manoeuvre and showed he had learned much from his years as a teacher. Thankfully the conversations couldn’t go on for too long because we had to do our errands and get back to the Royal George Hotel at the appointed time. We had to return big hardbound books the library and select new ones and linger in the SPCK bookshop and do stuff on the list.The list was an important part of our trips to Limerick.

I knew that out there in the teaming streets my mother would, at some stage, buy her favourite cake which was square and covered in white icing and brown iced boxes, each containing a glace cherry or a walnut. It would be placed in a cardboard cake box and eaten when we got home. This was another Limerick ritual though I don’t seem to remember where the cake came from. Was I ever with her when she bought it? It is a mystery that adds to the allure of those long ago afternoons.

Bolgers, Nesbitts tobacconists, the Savoy Cinema…these were all great names in the Limerick pantheon. And of course there was Cruises Hotel too but that wasn’t our hotel. In fact as far as I recall I didn’t enter it until I was in my late teens and looked around it as if it had once been forbidden territory. Of course there was also Jurys but that had a transatlantic feel about it and looked very modern…as though it could be anywhere. No, it was the Royal George that played a pivotal part in our Limerick afternoons and we were loyal to it. It had impressive revolving doors, the waiters were attentive and the tea cups clinked daintily. My father could not do without tea for extended periods, so in some ways our relieved sprawls on its capacious seats were not just pleasant but necessary.

For soon we would have to gather ourselves to make the careful car trip home with cake, books and bones stored in bags on the back seat. Leaving the bright lights big city afternoon for a small rural village. Feeling satisfied and tired and strangely replete.

Warm wishes,

Grace

Wrote an article about the joys of crafting quite a while ago and the other day remembered how I did quite a bit of knitting when I was younger. I remember bringing a large partly knitted sleeveless jacket kind of thing with me when I traveled to Africa. It required a complicated stitch and vaguely resembled a sheepskin rug (the wool was cream coloured). I nearly finished it and then realised I would never wear it. It was strange enough to fit quite nicely into a modern art installation. Still, I probably enjoyed the click click click of those needles. Heaven knows where I found the pattern.

When I was an au pair in Switzerland in my mid teens the nice lady I was staying with was a very keen knitter. We spent loads of time by Lake Geneva with her kids and she often brought her knitting with her. I seem to recall she was constructing some kind of poncho and it looked fab. She whizzed through those stitches like a pro. Because of this I decided I would knit a jumper. It was to be long and black and sophisticated. Sitting by Lake Geneva for many hours most days was very nice but the lovely weather did not seem to induce a wish to knit…in me anyway. Madame P.’s poncho grew at a great rate. I decided that my jumper didn’t have to be that long…and then I decided it didn’t require sleeves either. I added a purple edge to parts of it and it was actually quite nice. I had it for years and enjoyed saying “Yes, I knitted this myself”.

When staying with relatives in Swaziland I got into crochet. I don’t think I crocheted anything in particular. One of the nice things about crochet is that you can make little coloured squares very quickly, even if you don’t know what you’re going to do with them.

In some ways it’s amazing I wasn’t put off knitting completely at primary school. Us kids were asked to knit…socks. Even at that tender age I presumed that socks would be things I would buy. The teacher was critical of the heel I’d knitted. I had to rip it up and start again. This may have happened more than once. The demoralised sock remained unfinished. It was a pleasant blue colour. (That seemingly pointless sock knitting experience snuck into ‘Ordinary Miracles’. Yippee. I found a use for that sock after all.)

As a wee girl I had a nice little knitting set. I think it was in some kind of basket. I may have tried to knit stuff for dolls and teddies but I was far more interested in scampering around outside and playing in the river and climbing the big old oak tree. I liked the look of the knitting set though. And later, when I got into ponies in a huge way, I was thrilled when my Mum knitted me a thick cerise coloured jumper with a horseshoe on the front.

The other day I visited a local arts centre and found they’d just had a knitathon. I was, in truth, rather glad I’d missed it. I know that knitting can be a huge pleasure. Ava, in ‘Ready Or Not?’ makes wonderful jumpers and finds it very therapeutic. I have written about its pleasures in articles. I once even borrowed a book by Kaffe Fassett from the library. I love the idea of knitting. Yes, it would be really nice to knit a sweater one day…maybe. I’ll leave the knitted socks to the experts.

Warm wishes,

Grace

Ordinary Miracles review:

‘Since Rosie [the pig] is not around, I’ve taken to talking to Teddy. My husband’s a liar and my daughter thinks she may be a lesbian, I tell him. My marriage is over and I’m too scared to get involved with anyone else – even though there’s another man who’s probably perfect for me.’

‘Wynne-Jones’s novel gives us a hilarious, exhilarating and sometimes poignant insight into the life of Jasmine Smith in her forty-first year, whose husband Bruce satisfies his lust in the marital bed with a family friend, and then begs forgiveness. Jasmine moves out of the family home into lodgings, where she finds a sympathetic ear in Charlie, her new landlord, and a pig called Rosie. Supported by her friend Susan, Jasmine experiments in widening what she feels was her mundane lifestyle. Daughter Katie, who has left home to study and do voluntary work in a dog’s home, gives Jasmine further problems to consider. Susan and Jasmine take an ‘alternative holiday’ to Ibiza. On their return home, Jasmine at last realises what and who she wants to share her life with, and it is certainly not Bruce. There are few who will not empathise with the characters within Ordinary Miracles; an excellent read and eloquently written. Norma Penfold A review from www.gwales.com, with the permission of the Welsh Books Council.

I lived near The All England Lawn Tennis Club for some years though I only visited Centre Court once…a friend and I went there one evening during the first week of the tournament and got cheap resold tickets. (The people who had been using the seats had left.) It was a huge thrill to actually be in the place I had seen on telly…the place where sporting legends almost seemed to inhabit their own special Wimbledon world.

When I lived in a rectory in rural Ireland Wimbledon had been a black and white place (we didn’t have a colour telly). This did not lessen its magnificence in any way. Wimbledon made me far more interested in tennis for a few weeks. I’d go out with my tennis racket and hit balls against a wall for a while spurred on by memories of gorgeously dexterous men in short shorts (the longer shorts are more flattering somehow) and the agility of female stars such as Evonne Goolagong (such a wonderful name). I saw Evonne and Billie Jean King playing when my dear Dad and I went to an impressive tennis gathering in Dublin many years ago. It was wonderful and a long drive from County Limerick. I think there was ice cream too.

I am not that great at tennis. Haven’t played it for ages. And when I did I spent a lot of time saying “I’ll get it” before I went of to try to find the ball. There were some matches where this happened less often and they were very gratifying. There is something very nice about sending a white ball sailing over a net with a sonorous ‘thud’.

The first articles I wrote for The Irish Times were about tennis and its competitive status in Ireland (this was a long time ago). I wrote two articles about this and got to interview a couple of hunky men who were very good at tennis and some other experts I also had a pleasant chat with John McEnroe’s brother.

And now this exhilarating sport is back on our screens. Wimbledon! For a while it seems extraordinarily glamorous. And hard work of course. Anyone who even manages to participate in the event has played a huge amount of tennis from an early age and sometimes when they didn’t want to. They didn’t get that sleek and toned watching it on the telly. Many of us love watching their agility, apart from the goat of course. He just didn’t seem that into it.

Warm wishes,

Grace.

Catalogues for sheds now frequently refer to them as ‘garden buildings’ and some offer special features to make them a home from home. Naturally the subject of shed security has become an issue as more men install DVD players and computers into their favoured refuge. Many insurers now remind homeowners to lock their sheds and some shed aficionados, such as comedian Ross Noble, have installed complex security systems. I discovered this when I met Ross some years ago. We were both waiting in reception in BBC Broadcasting House and I asked him if he had a shed…I was doing some research into the topic at the time. As a conversational opener it sounds like his own often surreal humour. But it turned out he did indeed have a shed and he was very fond of it.

I was alerted to the importance of garden sheds when Jim, a character in my novel ‘Ready Or Not?’, decided he was going to move into his. I hadn’t expected him to do this but he was absolutely firm on the matter. He said he needed some space to himself and it was pointless remonstrating with him. People in novels can sometimes be very stubborn. His wife, Ava, was naturally almost overcome with curiosity about what he was getting up to. Because men do sometimes get up to very strange things in those innocent looking wooden buildings. It is part of the whole shed mystique.

An Australian documentary called Men And Their Sheds claims to have “uncovered the extraordinary world of sheds, from which the four main characters have been drawn”. Apparently one man spends loads of time in the shed with his beloved antique phone collection, while another “finds salvation from depression through creating a nativity display for his front yard at Christmas”. Then there’s the former teacher who “finds inspiration in sculpting gothic clay figurines spouting shed philosophy”. Ultimately “it’s a film about solitude, masculinity and creativity” the film’s producers conclude.

The book ‘Men And Sheds’ contains photos of ‘sheddists’ involved in a vast range of activities including collecting milk bottles, inventing the clockwork radio and breeding pythons. ‘Some men are obsessed with the unusual items they put in their sheds’ explains author Gordon Thorburn. ‘Some have made their sheds their social hub, inviting the like-minded inside to share that certain whatever-it-is…For many, though, it’s the escape thing. They admit it. A hobby might be the raison d’etre on the surface.’

Paul Gilbert, a psychologist, believes the potent lure of the garden shed is “about control and space. Generally speaking men like space and privacy. Men are more likely to go off on their own hunting, for example. And the concept of being a hermit seems to be more appealing to men. Women are more involved in kinship and networks.” But there are probably many women who like sheds too! Would rather like one myself!

Though I don’t have a shed in my wee patio garden there is a large honeysuckle bush and it is attracting lots of bumble bees now that it’s in flower. That hum is such a lovely summery sound.

Warm wishes,

Grace

The kitchen was also home to an enormous radio which sat on the fridge. When I was very little I liked to believe that musicians, actors, presenters and a whole array of colourful folk lived in it. It was a small world in itself. The gramophone sat on top of the radio. Given today’s sleek stereo standards it was very basic but it happily played the first single I ever purchased ‘Morningtown Ride’ by The Seekers and also tunefully blasted songs by The Beach Boys, James Taylor and others around the kitchen cocoon.

These days we often toss out old appliances and replace them with a startling lack of sentimentality. So I’m glad that my childhood memories include recollections of cherished objects with whims and inconveniences and eccentricities all their own.

Warm wishes,

Grace

“I was the biggest failure I knew.” However, she added: “Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged.”

This is an extract from an article I wrote a while ago and it contains advice that may be particularly helpful to anyone who is worried about exams etc.

The full article is available here.

Warm wishes,

Grace