Health Update

So, I have been poked and prodded in all quarters, and the result of all this is that my health problems are not caused by anything serious or nasty, can be managed with a better diet (hello, bran flakes) and will get better. Which is nice.

My thanks to all the NHS staff who have dealt with me efficiently and cheerfully, and to Jen, the best of friends, for holding my hand and making sure I was OK.

Now to get back to writing!

Not Dead

But not very alive, either. I have not been at all well, either mentally or physically, recently, and to say this has stopped the writing is an understatement. It seems pointless and irrelevant at the moment, and never likely to lead to anything. Yes, technically I have a book written, if not absolutely finished. But I can summon up no enthusiasm for it, and, it seems by the lack of feedback I have had, neither can anyone else.

I daresay this too will pass, and eventually something will fire my enthusiasm again, but for now it is, if you will pardon the pun, shelved.

Farewell My Oofy

It is not, perhaps, widely known that both P G Wodehouse and Raymond Chandler attended Dulwich College. They were not contemporaries, and never wrote together, but imagine if they had …

Farewell my Oofy          by P G Chandler

It was one of those days you get in London towards the end of February, when the fog rolls in from the Thames and the crack houses are hidden by even more noxious vapours than usual. It was cold; so cold that even the cheap streetwalkers were wearing woollen tights. I sat in my office huddled up in my greatcoat, wishing I had enough dough to pay the gas bill. Business was slow; after I’d fingered Sir Gregory Parsloe for the pig theft at Blandings I’d been hoping for more jobs from the aristocracy, but so far nothing had come through. Lord Emsworth had handed me a generous cheque, but it was pretty much all spent, and if a good job didn’t come through soon so was I.

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