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All Our Pomp of Yesterday, As One With Nineveh and Tyre! (part two)

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Dear Juliet Damp dawn gave way to the azure opalescence of a mid-May London day. I reluctantly swapped the rugby shirt for a blue cotton top and cream jeans, made my way to the Society of Authors in Bloomsbury and after Harriet Tyce 's talk, began trying to find ways of creating a photographic memento for you. Anna Ganley (SoA chief executive) gave me a good bit of help and here's the other result: With that, I headed back to my usual haunts on Charing Cross Road and I noticed a first edition of Donna Tartt's The Little Friend in Henry Pordes. I'm back in London 15th-19th June so, if it's still there, I can pick it up if you'd like me to. Yes, I used to love doing this sort of thing for you. Seriously considered going to a showing of The Producers at the Garrick Theatre, but decided it was just too nice a day to stay inside so I wandered round Leicester Square, saw Gene Kelly and bumped into this piece of street graffiti: Also got this shot of The Mousetrap f...
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All Our Pomp of Yesterday, As One With Nineveh and Tyre! (part one)

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Dear Juliet You're just not going to believe this... Anyway, it was nice to see Heathrow again. Not a lot of people say that, but I suppose for me it's like visiting Spacedock and Dear Miss Landau  (DML) kickstarted a liking for aviation. My father also once told me that there's nothing, absolutely nothing , on Earth as exciting as an operational take-off and it all captures some essence of that time I stole the Enterprise ... I remember bringing her in on a wing and a prayer ... All for the best gal in all the world. Sorry, got a bit emotional there... So, first day in London and don't think I just forgot about you and enjoyed myself. It's like that bit of poetry on p. 148 of DML, the sort of thing sailors read in the long hours of the off-watches, thinking of the girl sitting by the shore while they themselves were far away at sea. I hung about Parliament Square for a while, seeing if I could get the British government to collapse for you, but I'm afraid it a...
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The Fat Lady Singing In the Rain...

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Dear Juliet Wildly to paraphrase Oppenheimer, "I am come back, but I am not the destroyer of worlds..." A very quick check with AI confirms that the week 11th-15th May "has been one of the most severe peacetime political crises for an incumbent modern government in modern British history ... and stands as the most rapid loss of authority for a landslide majority government in the democratic era ... The combination of a massive parliamentary rebellion, high-profile Cabinet walkouts, and borrowing costs spiking to a 28-year high for 30-year gilts solidifies this week as a historically disastrous moment for British governance. " Can I cook or can't I? Maybe a few rebellious Democrats could club together for the airfare to bring me over so I can walk around in front of the White House for a couple of days? Who knows might happen? And I also had my bit of luck (more about that later), and I wish you could have been there. And for all I know, our glorious government ...
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The Luck of the Devil...

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Dear Juliet Do you remember I mentioned that I seem to have inherited the luck of the devil ( Alhambra to America )? That I go somewhere, see something exciting, then exit without a scratch while the whole thing blows up behind me? Well, I just realised I'll be at Heathrow by Tuesday evening and as I write, prime minister Kier Starmer is hanging on to his job by his fingernails . So let's test this luck of mine. I think I'll hop the Tube into London Town, walk round Westminster and see if I can set off another cataclysm! And the thing is, it's happened to me before . I was hanging around the corridors of power the very night David Cameron jacked it in and handed over the reins to Theresa May. It wasn't even supposed to happen that day but I turned up and, as Spike would say, wackiness ensued... This old article of mine explains everything . I'm not taking all this too seriously, but keep an eye on the news and if Britain has yet another political crisis tomorrow...
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Sewing Starfleet Command's Red Shirts!

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Dear Juliet Just a routine check-in while I tidy up around the house. I'm actually sewing on two jeans patches, giving the finger to the late and utterly unlamented British Telecom (BT) and making sure I don't beam down to London in a red shirt! Please always remember that I get very tetchy fiddling around with tech, which is why I haven't tried to transmogrify this blog onto an app. However, I rechecked my smartphone number and it's definitely: 07572 889840 And from America: Hmm, AI is giving me options. Great. Either, it seems: +44 7572 889840 (holding the 0 on a mobile keypad apparently produces +) Or, from a landline: 011 44 7572 889840 Apart from not beaming down in a red shirt, I do feel a bit like I'm still in my "Jim, you used to call me Jim" mode. You used to do it without batting an eyelid. Lots of cute exclamation marks and quite a few emojis, if I recall. No worries, though. Just please note the ringer on my Apple doesn't always seem to w...
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Blue As Juliet's Eyes...

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Dear Juliet While I was copying and pasting the last couple of posts, I came across an old sentence: "The blue Pacific was to my right, blue as it had been in my dreams, blue as Juliet's eyes." I don't think I ever wrote anything as true as that. Thought I ought to say so. Love, James
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Drusilla's Roses (chapter eight)

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Now, two days later, Drusilla was awake.   Her eyes snapped open and she shot bolt upright in bed, her head whipping from side to side as she tried to work out where she was. It was dark, thank goodness, except for the electric light coming from an art deco lamp on her bedside cabinet. She was hungry, desperate for blood, and there was Xander not four feet away, dozing in an easy chair. Feed, I need to feed! And my white knight is here! She looked at him, knowing that not long ago, with any other human, she would have fallen on them and drained them dry without a moment’s hesitation. But not this one.   Her head was clear as a bell for the first time in decades.   She could not hear the stars and Miss Edith was long gone, left in one of the slimy nests she'd drifted through over the past two years.   Heartbroken about losing her William to the slayer and lost without her vampire family’s protection, she had gone from prized jewel to pariah.   She'd bee...
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