Blog

Rogue Hour

I wish someone could explain why I never seem to realise the clocks have gone back, or forwards, until two days after the event? It’s made me an hour late on a St Moritz ski-slope and yesterday an hour early outside Waitrose. Which I loath anyway. Waitrose, that is. The trouble is I can’t blame them for me…

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I’ve Been Busy…

Last year I inherited some money from an old friend, someone who wouldn’t have wanted me to stick it in the family pot and watch it disappear into thin air. So, I decided to ‘do something’ with it… That ‘something’ was to revamp all my novels.  Under the careful eye of Quartermain Press I asked Spiffing Covers to…

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Call that a summer?

I never thought I’d be someone who groaned about the weather. It is, after all, inevitable and, yes, there’s no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothes. Even so, here I am on the last day of August and it’s grey, cold and has been so for a month or more. The swimming pool has been…

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‘Paraprosdokians’

Yes, I know. A word you use every day. “How are the paraprosdokians doing, Mrs Jones?” (At school, on the stock market, in the election, etc) Just to remind you, they are actually figures of speech in which the latter part of a sentence or phrase is surprising or unexpected and is frequently humorous. They’re all attributed to…

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A long way from Brixton…

…by which I mean Brixton register office where The Muse and I were married, sometime in the last century. There have been two weddings in my life recently. The first was just before so-called ‘freedom day’ and took place in Felixstowe. For a year I’ve thought the venue was Folkestone, probably because Felixstowe conjures up ferries, container ships,…

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Apology to Friends and Neighbours

I’ve always felt guilty about exploiting my friends when it comes to story ideas but it has never stopped me doing so! Whatever I learn from, or merely sense about an acquaintance or neighbour is all too often primped and twisted into a story thread. I can’t help it. I blithely tell people there’s a man in my…

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The Muse Steps In…

I finished White Crane (the latest in the Nathan Hawk Murder Mysteries) and dead pleased with myself I rolled it off and gave it to The Muse to have a read. It took her two days of intense work, interrupted by the demands of her own business, and I did my usual thing of “popping in” to see…

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Last Train Home movie poster

Here’s to the Pig…

Going Home No, not me, in any sense of the phrase, but my future daughter-in-law. She and my son are off to Lanzhou for Chinese New Year. It’s the year of the pig, fyi. I thought getting around Shanghai last year was pretty tough, given that we did so in a week of national holidays, but… There’s a…

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Douglas Watkinson author of The Fire Pit Book

Real Hawks and the Spy

This week I’m abandoning Nathan Hawk, whose latest appearance on BookBub (Haggard Hawk, the first I ever wrote) brought a staggering 60 odd thousand downloads, and many requests to follow it up with another gruesome crime to solve. Which I will do, just as soon as I’ve finished The Fire Pit. Meantime, at least for a day while…

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So What?

Two little words, sit by my doorstep…

I’ve grown to loath and avoid two small words in the last few months, largely because of their hidden purpose. They’ve never offended me before, in fact both are remarkable by their insignificance, but now they can be heard daily, hourly, on television and radio interviews and have a far greater meaning than they deserve. This morning, for…

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