Dru, Steinbeck and the Book of Deer

Dear Juliet Sorry, I was out rolling around amidst beer and skittles , only to return to learn that someone's seemingly read The Glorious 14th eight times? Well, if that was you, what do you want to know? Okay, I'm here. Probably fairly near the floor, but here! If you've contacted James and another couple of cast members have also read it (!), good. If you'd like any further clarification and/or the updated 2023 editions, please notify me. Graveyard did need a little work, but the only vital thing to do is see if the lost story arc works and captivates anyone. Then maybe there'll be a way to take the long road back... As you know: Timshel. In other news, I'm trying to get an extra weekend off early April in order to have more time to play with in Seattle, Chicago and its environs. I've also booked one last trip to London this year, 3rd-6th November. I wish you could come to the Society of Authors get-together on the 5th, but come what may I'll get you...

Dear Juliet There is a hill far away, where men still dream of those they lost. There is a hill far away, where no one counts the cost. The winds may ravage and make you weep, but my counsel I hope you'll keep. There's never a hole into which you'll fall too deep. Don't let Toronto make you weep. There is a future far away, waiting for you, the princess in her castle or her keep. Love, James

Dear Juliet One thought about British bloody Telecom (BT). They actually saved everything. After losing my order three times, billing me wrongly and leaving me hanging on the telephone longer than Blondie , BT finally delivered broadband unto me. For them, that was quite efficient. For me, it was the kind of options-riddled neuro-typical nonsense which makes many Autists want to go hide in a corner. It is difficult enough for us to make sense of the world when things are clear, consistent and transparent; damnable when the world is unclear, inconsistent and opaque. It is no fun for neuro-typicals either, but for Autists it is even worse. Finally, though, I was hooked up to the wired world, and as the BT engineer was leaving, he mentioned he’d been able to give me access to my old dial-up email account. I am glad he did. Events might have turned out a little differently otherwise. ( Dear Miss Landau ) If I hadn't been given access to my old account, I'd never have found ...

Dear Juliet Of no great import, but an actual photo of the Crown, Albrighton, as opposed to the earlier stock shot. Taken by me while I was trudging gaily round the town tonight... I couldn't find much of historical importance related to Albrighton, except the date of it's founding: AD 591, by a Saxon leader called Albric or Alberic, after the Battle of Wednesbury. It's actually older than the Book of Deer, which is saying something. Well, best I can do for tonight. I'll try to find a spear tomorrow, for to stick right up British Telecom's... Love, James

Dear Juliet Yes, okay, I'm flattened today. Fighting with BT and five too many cups of coffee at lunch. Quite the sugar punch... So I'm as flattened as the Scoobies were in "Smashed" , so I'll just write down anything I can think of because you're worth writing to every day. Five calls tonight, Albrighton near Shifnal. I'll probably park in the middle of town and walk to them. Unfortunately, the rain is on and it's cold. I guess I'll survive, though. Got my 'flu jab yesterday, too, and I'd recommend you get yours if you can. I know the 30th in Toronto is coming. I hope you'll enjoy it. If nothing else, you'll be on my mind all evening. That's a comfort. I always said I liked having you around, and that wasn't an offhand comment but an honest one. You were always worth it. I guess that'll have to do for today, but please remember I made myself say everything I could say. Love, James

Dear Juliet Dru does still sing Scarborough Fair ... She walked up the stone steps to his grave every day, softly singing Scarborough Fair as she went on her way. Sometimes she took daisies, often she made posies, but most times she took roses and laid them gently on the cairn as tears scalded her eyes. She’d look down the long valley and out at the pale blue sea.   Ocean and heaven met in   a blessed shimmer, and if the ravens were flying she could hear them no more. She supposed the scene could be called beautiful, but the sun stirred no more passion in her breast.   Her love was bones beneath the earth and Avalon, the little town by the shore, more prison camp than paradise and idyll. ( Spike & Dru : the Graveyard of Empires ) I actually had a look at Avalon's cemetery and found a cinematic grave for Xander. The description of the long valley is completely inaccurate, but it sounded great so I left it like that. But tomorrow is another day, and while the har...