>Wednesday interlude

>I’m just finishing reading a novel for research purposes and I almost chucked it across the room last night in frustration and disgust – not prudish disgust, but disgust that this tripe is being published. (Note: research materials do not appear in my “currently reading” section in the sidebar, those are purely for pleasure and/or self advancement.)

There were 10 consecutive pages (apx 2,500 words) of gratuitous sex (aka “padding”), which I ended up scanning and skipping. It’s a short novel anyway (apx 50,000 words), these 10 pages did nothing to move the story forward, nor did they move the relationship along (aka “gratuitous”). Is this excessive, am I indeed being prudish, or do I suffer from sour grapes?

When the writer wrote (I kid you not) “… the floor rocked a bit beneath her feet …”, I had to cast around for the sick bucket. Why is this rubbish being published? I thought the earth-moving lark had overstayed its welcome decades ago. The author is a popular one in this particular genre, but I much preferred the one she was packaged with as that was closer to what I’d expect when I buy this particular imprint.

If I wanted to read bad porn, I’d buy another style, type and imprint altogether; if I wanted to read good erotica, I know where to go for that too. But I wanted to read about mystery, adventure, intrigue. I won’t give up on the genre as I’ve read others and they’ve come up to expectation, but I won’t pick one up by this particular author ever again.

This morning I woke with another short story almost fully formed in my head – this one is called And Then The Earth Moved … I wrote the outline earlier today. The other stories outlined this week are called: Amy’s Wedding; Cherry Blossom; Pumpkin Pie; and Bramble Jelly. (Those last 3 make up the Harvest Festival trilogy.)

The second half of day 2 of my holiday is below this one.

>Dove Cottage and Wordsworth Museum

>YESTERDAY’S REGULAR UPDATE BENEATH THIS ONE.

I’d not stopped at Grasmere before, just driven through it, so this time I pulled up to visit Dove Cottage, the home of William Wordsworth for 8 years according to the lady leading our tour today. He lived there with his sister Dorothy and their friend Mary, who was to become Wordsworth’s wife. They had 3 of their 5 children while they lived at Dove Cottage, 2 of whom were later to die in childhood.

The entry fee is quite confusing, but works out at £8.50 altogether including parking. The car park fee is a lofty £5, but they give you a refund of £4 off the admission price of £7.50.

The cottage and museum are located in the hamlet of Town End, still preserved today:

I love this house, just look at those chimney pots – it’d make a great jigsaw:

A view up the main street:

The view of the cottages from Wordsworth’s back garden:

To prove I was there:

Dove Cottage:

Wordsworth’s front garden:

Afterwards I wandered (lonely as a cloud) around the museum then stopped at the tea room for a pot of tea and a piece of “Grasmere Rush Bearing Gingerbread” (ginger cake to you and me). It was nice to look at the view while listening to Mozart here. Before I left I bought a pot of locally made pear and blueberry jam (jelly).

Back on the road I drove past Thirlmere, an almost empty reservoir, then took a turning away from Keswick to come back to the cottage.

Day 3, the Sunday, was a writing/catch up/chill day. I loaded and edited the photographs taken so far, drafted these blog notes, read a little, played a little, watched a little television, and wrote a little.