Nefarious: Merchant of Souls

7 Jul

Last night I saw the multi-award winning documentary Nefarious: Merchant of Souls. Hard-hitting doesn’t cover it. I thought I knew quite a lot about prostitution and people trafficking (I even touch on it in my novel Leda), but this was an eye-opener. The statistics were truly horrifying, although of course statistics can be endlessly debated. What really got to me, though, and to the rest of the audience, was the stories of real life victims of the sex trade, in their own words. That, and the footage of happy, smiling children in South East Asia at a rescue centre – this was them leaving the sex industry at the age of ten or twelve. It’s the kind of thing that makes you shake with rage.

At times during the film I felt really hopeless, the problem seems so huge. Fortunately, as the film makes clear, there is hope. People do escape. It is even possible to combat sex trafficking as a nation. If Sweden can do it, so can we – and in fact MSP Rhoda Grant is trying to. (This fact is not in the documentary, but was mentioned afterwards by representatives of Exodus Cry.)

Exodus Cry is the organisation behind Nefarious, and they are unashamedly a Christian organisation who are doing what they do (combatting slavery) because of their Christian beliefs. They get some stick for that from people who think that if you’re doing anything because you’re a Christian then you’re insincere or have an ulterior motive. I would say, instead, that if your Christian faith doesn’t move you to help others (to “love your neighbour”, as Jesus put it) then there’s something deeply wrong.

So if you do care about sex slavery, what can you do?

1) Try and see the film Nefarious, if you can. You can buy the DVD from their website or even arrange a showing near you.

2) Write to your MSP (if in Scotland) to support Rhoda Grant’s campaign, or to your MP/ local politician to ask them to support something similar in your country.

3) Pray. I know, lots of people reading this will not be Christians and will think that praying is about as much use as thinking happy thoughts about fairies and unicorns. However, I am still going to recommend it as a course of action because in my experience, and the experience of many people I know, it’s the most useful thing you can do, especially when faced with such an overwhelming problem.

St Andrews Quotes

1 Jul

When I was a student at St Andrews I heard some very funny and bizarre things said, and indeed said some of them myself. In my last couple of years there I started taking a note of the best ones, despite mild ridicule from one of my friends. Someone has just published a book of things overheard in St Andrews, which prompted me to look again at my list – and they’re still brilliant. So here they are, for everyone to enjoy. I swear they are all genuine.

– It’s amazing how many wrong ends a stick has.

– It’s called being dead. Live with it.

– I wish you were a boy, sometimes. [By my gay friend.]

[doesn’t this sound like the opening to a novel?]
– At New Year I got drunk on champagne and told my father I was gay.
There were repercussions.

– Yes! No! What was the question?

– Always look on the bright side.
– That’s the dark side.
– I always get them mixed up – HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

– So – whose angels are you?

– No, I think that’s unjust; he would never stone anyone.

– You have a lovely house. It’s much nicer than either of mine.

– Three wrongs make – a mess.

– Well since the world is ruled by evil computers…

– Sheep still excite me.

– Oh, it’s so depressing!
– Hey! You wanna sing a song?

– Good grammar is for insecure people.

– I always wanted to be a muppet instead.

– Smile, nod, back away slowly.

– In the end I had to eat my head because nobody else would.

– They’re amazingly united. With all their divisions.

– He’s a sweet boy.
– Especially when he has half a tomato in his tea.

– You can’t insult astrophysics!
– We can, but we choose not to; we prefer a challenge.

– How romantic is it, anyway? Is is something you would do to your rabbit?

– So the moral of the story is, if you find a dead pig in a field, don’t microwave it.

– Speaking of incest, where’s Ben? [by his academic sister]

– I Can’t Believe It’s Not Offal.

– You have a mean streak.
– No, she has a nice streak.

– I had dual residence last year. I lived half in Gannochy and half in denial.
[Gannochy is a very ugly residence that was used as an overflow for the very beautiful St Salvators Hall.]

– I am married, all but legally.

– Is he smoking a Mars Bar?

– You should join SupNet [Support Network]. We want people who aren’t nice.

– I think death is the only way to approach this situation in a rational and logical manner. Whose has yet to be decided.

– So he never lost a battle. And that’s supposed to be some sort of achievement, is it? [This was a comment on Alexander the Great]

– I could die a happy man. Especially if you stabbed me.

– I need sleep. No, I mean caffeine. Sorry, I get the two mixed up.

– Darling, here’s a ring. Let’s exorcise the gift of lust.

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Too Great?

29 Jun

Some time ago I promised that I would write a post in my series “Ancient History – Just the Best Bits” on Alexander the Great. This is not it.

I actually started writing the piece on my nice wee smartphone. I wasn’t really happy with it. It’s near impossible to do Alexander justice in a short piece. Without me actually standing there, all flashing eyes, breathiness and enthusiastic hand gestures, it comes across as an over-abridged history lesson. Perhaps I was being too harsh or perhaps I could have improved it. It’s all moot now; my smartphone has come to a watery end, and the post with it.

It’s probably for the best. You can’t (or at least, I can’t) sum up such an amazing man in a couple of pages, or even a couple of books. I’m reminded of the verse at the end of John’s Gospel about Jesus: “[He] did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.”

So perhaps I will never write that post, or perhaps one day I’ll add to the ridiculously large number of books that have been written about Alexander. Either way, I’m going to take the smartphone incident as a sign and abandon the topic for now. If you do want to find out more about Alexander, you could do worse than read The Alexander Trilogy by Mary Renault. Those were the books that made me fall in love with Alexander originally, over the summer holidays before studying him in A-Level Classical Civilisation. They’re fiction, but the kind of really good historical fiction that tells you more about the subject, in some ways, than a pure history book would.

Anyway, in lieu of a proper post about Alexander the Great, I’ll leave you with the verdict of Arrian, my favourite of the four major historians of Alexander:

Anyone who belittles Alexander has no right to do so on the evidence only of what merits censure in him; he must base his criticism on a comprehensive view of his whole life and career. But let such a person, if blackguard Alexander he must, first compare himself with the object of his abuse: himself, so mean and obscure, and, confronting him, the great King with his unparalleled wordly success, the undisputed monarch of two continents, who spread the power of his name over all the earth. Will he dare to abuse him then, when he knows his own littleness and the triviality of his pursuits, which, even so, prove too much for his ability?

It is my belief that there was in those days no nation, no city, no single individual beyond the reach of Alexander’s name; never in all the world was there another like him.

(Quotation from the Penguin edition, 1971, translated by Aubrey de Selincourt, pp397-8)
Alexander the Great

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Office Life (and Death)

18 Jun

This is a semi-exclusive for readers of my blog. My new ebook of short stories, Office Life (and Death) is available now from Smashwords and Amazon. In due course it will be available in all ebook stores, and at that point I’ll announce it to all and sundry. For the time being, though, I’m just announcing it to some and sundry – including people who are reading this.

There are five stories plus two pieces of flash fiction, and they concern the nine-to-five grind, although taken from a bit of a strange angle. There are fatally efficient PAs and mysteriously ambiguous companies, as well as an inquiry into the Company Policy on Screaming.

It costs about £2 to download, and you can get 50% off at Smashwords until the end of July with this code: TZ56S. You can also enter a competition to win £50 (ooh!) by forwarding me your receipt. See the Office Life (and Death) page for details.

If you enjoy it (which, of course, you will), do consider writing a nice review on the site you bought it from. But more important than that, do just go and buy it. If you’ve ever worked in an office, and have a sense of humour, you’ll find it decent value for a quid or two.

“We don’t do half sizes”

9 Jun

Two pairs of shoes recently died, in that irritating way they do, so I had the chance to experience the joy that is British shoe sizing not once, but twice. I had been looking about vaguely for replacements, as I knew they were on their way out, but it wasn’t until things reached a drastic stage that I actually had to march myself into a shoe shop with instructions not to come out until I had some new footwear. (The problem, you see, was that both dead pairs were staples of my shoe wardrobe – my only pair of trainers / plimsoles, and black flats.)

The shop I went to was Deichmans, but the problem I experienced there was not confined to them. My grave crime, you see, is that my feet are size six and a half. Ah, the half! I didn’t choose my shoe size, nor did I ask Britain to size shoes in such a way that fractions are necessary, but still when I ask for a pair of shoes in my size I get that look, as if I’m a kid who thinks ‘seven and three quarters’ is a legitimate age, and the words “we don’t do half sizes”.

This used to annoy me even before I lived on the Continent. If there’s enough of a difference in size for some shops to do half sizes, why can’t I ask for my size without scorn? It’s not as if everything that’s half is a failure to reach a whole; ask a musician what would happen if we abolished semitones.

Since living in Europe, though, and encountering European sizes, I get even more annoyed by half-sizedness prejudice. I take a size 40, for goodness sake – isn’t that a round enough number for you?

Even that comforting knowledge didn’t help me in Deichmans, though. Admittedly, I sometimes take a 39, and I’ve seen both 39 and 40 marked as the equivalent of 6.5. However, in Deichmans British sizes seemed to bear no relation to European ones, and in fact British sizes didn’t seem to bear much relation to British sizes, leaving me trying on sizes more or less as random – which, coincidentally, is what I had to do in Albania at first.

The end result is that I’ve got one pair in a 37 and the other in a 35 (!) – but not a 35 and a half, of course. That would just be silly.

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Balkansickness

28 May

The combination of the unusually hot weather and the Eurovision Song Contest are having an unlooked-for effect on me. I had hoped that the sun would cure me of my longing to go somewhere hot this year, but in fact I’m having the opposite reaction. All these experiences and sensations that I associate with Albania and Greece, rather than rainy Britain, are giving me a gut-deep yearning to be in the Balkans.

Walking down a street with the sun scorching my bare shoulders and the hot pavement cooking my feet takes me back to Lushnje. Iced coffee will always mean Greece to me. I can even order it in Greek, just the way I like it. The opening strains of the Greek Eurovision entry made me long for outdoor cafes with jangly music playing in the background. It wasn’t even a good song! Today I’m going to the beach (wearing shorts!), something I usually only do in Albania or Greece, either romantically with my husband, or chaotically with some of his millions of nieces and nephews.

It doesn’t help that hubbie is currently abroad due to a death in the family. This means a) that we won’t be able to go on holiday to Albania this year and b) that part of this yen for the Balkans is really a longing for him.

The Balkans aren’t heaven on earth, and there’s plenty I don’t like about Albania, Greece, Macedonia etc. When we move back there (as I hope we will) there will be plenty I’ll miss about the UK, too. So what I ought to do is appreciate Britain while I’ve got it – beach, shorts and all. Albania will still be there, and still be hot, next year.

Fancy a virtual trip to Albania? Try Leda, my novel set there.

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Happy 600th Birthday

19 May

Next month I will be going to a university reunion in St Andrews, so I’m in a bit of a state of nervous anticipation. It will probably be great fun but will certainly be a bit strange. I’m hoping that there are plenty of people I know, and worried that there won’t be, but the likelihood is that there will since you have literally scores of friends when you’re at uni.

I won’t tell you how many years it is since I graduated because it makes me feel old (I can still pass for 25 if you squint), but the University of St Andrews itself is 600 years old! Or 601, 0r 602, or 603, depending on how you count it. Things were a bit complicated at that point in the middle ages. Anyway, it’s been celebrating its 600th birthday over the last couple of years, and the culmination is this year, coinciding with my reunion and making me feel comparatively young.

One of the wonderful things about St Andrews, though (and I could write you a very long list) is that nothing really seems to change. A few months ago I saw a video by the St Andrews Christian Union and it looked so like the time that I was there, and all the people looked so similar, that I found myself expecting someone I knew to wander into shot. Then this week I discovered The Other Guys, a male voice choir, and their mash-up St Andrews Girls (based largely on California Girls by Katy Perry). There was one piece of slang that wasn’t around when I was there (“schweffing”), they seem to drink gin and juice rather than G&T (unless gin and juice just scanned better) and obviously the names of the bars have changed, but otherwise everything was exactly the same. Of course, the normal laws of physics don’t apply in the Bubble, so I shouldn’t really be surprised.

Anyway, I would invite you to have a look at St Andrews Girls by the Other Guys because

1) you can download it to support breast cancer charities

2) it’s hilarious if you know anything about St A’s – and pretty funny even if you don’t

3) these boys can really sing. Really. Some of them could, and should, go professional. You saw them here (or rather, on YouTube) first.

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Eleven Questions

4 May

I was looking at Peggy Strack’s blog and saw this “chain letter” style set of questions. I decided to copy, paste and answer them myself since I enjoy these things and they can be very revealing (in a good way, usually). Nothing is as revealing as “Do You Really Know Me?”, the very long and involved one that was circulating when I was a student (and had more time), but eleven questions is a manageable number, so feel free to copy, paste and join in.

1. What is your favorite color?
Blue. A boring answer, but not a boring colour. I particularly like the sky above North Street in St Andrews at near dusk when you can look from the pale, pale blue – almost white – where the light lingers in the west, right down the spectrum to the deep, inky blue above the ruined cathedral in the east.

2. If you got a plane ticket – for free – to go anywhere you’d like – where would you go?
Cuba. Sizzling hot, beautiful buildings, great cocktails, the best dancing in the world.

3. Is there anything in your life you always wanted to do and never had a chance to?
I have a strange desire to travel the length of Italy on a motorbike, with my husband, stopping whenever we feel like it and discovering places to eat and stay by pure chance. We don’t have the money, and by the time we do we’ll probably have kids or be too old and creaky to do it anyway.

4. Which is your favorite old movie (let’s say older than 20 years)?
I love old films. There are too many to list so I’ll just mention a couple of overlooked ones. The Incredible Shrinking Man (does what it says on the tin, basically, but has real pathos, a great leading man and a scary fight scene with a spider) and Q Planes, a thriller with Laurence Olivier. I LOVE this film, but no-one has seen it! It’s Olivier in one of his more light-hearted roles, and it’s all terribly, terribly British. “Goodbye, darling.”

5. If you were a blonde – would blonde jokes bother you (and, of course, if you are a blonde, do you mind them? )

I’m an ex-blonde, and I am still  blonde in my mind. Blonde jokes don’t bother me. I particularly like the one about the river:

Two blondes, one on either side of the river. The first blonde spots the other and calls out, “How do I get to the other side?” The second blonde looks puzzled and then replies, “You’re on the other side.”

6. What is it that always and with 100% certainty makes you laugh?
The Four Yorkshiremen sketch from Monty Python. It literally makes the tears roll down my cheeks.

7. Where do you usually put your clothes?
If I’m wearing them tomorrow, on a chair. If they’re dirty, in the washing basket. If I’m not wearing them tomorrow and they don’t need washed, in the drawer or wardrobe. Where does my husband leave his clothes? Everywhere!

8. Does wind bother you or do you like it?
Usually I like it and find it exhilarating, but I do hate what it does to my hair, and I particularly hate it when it blows the hair into my eyes and mouth, making me blind and unable to breathe. We had a couple of really bad storms in Scotland this year. One of them, Hurricane Bawbag, trended on Twitter. I was safe and warm indoors for most of it and I have to admit that I actually quite enjoyed them!

9. What is it that you hate most about high school reunions?
I’ve never been to one. I’ve got my university reunion coming up (St Andrews). I’m a wee bit nervous but I think it will be fun. It will also be my last chance in a while to wear a ball dress!

10. Are you a cat or a dog person?
Cat. Don’t like dogs.

11. Can movies/TV make you cry easily? When was the last time?
Oh yes. It’s quite embarrassing. My husband loves making fun of me as I blub away. I even cry at books.

An example: I was once reading a library copy of Gone With the Wind and noticed little roughnesses on the final pages. I didn’t know what they were, until I read a bit further. Then my tears started dripping on the page, too, and I understood. It was lovely to have that weird, distant sort of communion with other readers of that fantastic book.

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Happy

3 May

It’s now three months that I’ve been ‘living the dream’, as my ex-colleague Mark would put it, by which I mean I’ve ditched the office job and I am splitting my time between writing and looking after my baby niece. I realised from the start that it’s a great change, but I hadn’t realised quite how great until I met up with my friend Andy in Edinburgh.

I was in the capital to do a bit of interpreting, which I do very occasionally, and arranged to meet Andy on the way home, since it had been a while – such a while, in fact, that I hadn’t seen him since he got married, and he hadn’t heard about my book. We had a nice wee ice creamwith his new wife, sitting in Princes St Gardens  (my knowledge of Edinburgh isn’t great so I have to meet people in obvious places), and afterwards Andy commented on how happy I seemed. It took me a moment to work out what he meant.

The thing is, you see, that I used to meet Andy for a coffee after meetings in Edinburgh that were part of my office job, so I would spend the entire time moaning about my job, and he would spend far less time moaning about his job, because he is a kind and patient person. This time, we talked about books and theology and Andy’s job, but the usual topic of conversation was completely absent. I hadn’t noticed, but Andy had.

My current job is not all fun. The niece can be hard work, deadlines are stressful, there are a lot of things to juggle, and sometimes it’s a real chore to make myself sit in front of the computer and write. But these are legitimate challenges of an occupation – a career – I actually enjoy. I can contemplate the future with optimism rather than dread. I am, in short, happy.

 

You can buy Leda and (Office Life and Death) on Amazon – or wherever else you choose.

Albanian Approbation

20 Apr

It is with some relief that I have received the first responses to Leda from Albania, one from an Albanian and one from an American living there. The American lady thought it captured life in Albania, while the Albanian lady mistakenly thought it was a true story, which certainly seems to confirm its realism. They also both liked the book.

It’s reassuring because, for one reason and another, I wasn’t able to have the manuscript read before it went to press by anyone who knew Albania intimately. This left me with the lingering dread that, even though I wrote most of Leda while living in Albania, there would be something in the novel so outrageously wrong that Albanians would find it ridiculous – which would rather undermine a novel that purports to inform the reader about Albania. That dread is now put to rest.

An aside: If you think “approbation” in the title is an inappropriate word for a post about people approving of my book, you probably need to look up the definition. It’s a word that’s more misused than used correctly, to the extent that I think it is doomed to change its definition and mean exactly the same as “opprobrium” (with which it is confused). In that case, this post may have historical value; it may be the final place on the internet where it is used to mean approval rather than disapproval. You read it here last!

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