A million thanks to my lovely daughter Meriel for filling this space two weeks out of the last four; she does such a great job that I sometimes think I should ask her to take it on full time. What's the old saying? If you want a job done on time, ask a busy woman... Which takes nothing away from my other regular deputy, Chris Nickson, who isn't a woman but is still busy, and yet finds time to give me a week off now and again. I love you both. In different ways, of course.
While Meriel was deputizing last week, I was enjoying a little self-indulgence. Just for the record, the previous time she took it on was less conducive to high spirits; my husband had a hospital appointment. But last week I was on my way to London for the most brilliant show I've seen in years. It's called The Girls, and it's a fictionalized musical version of a real-life event that took place a few years ago. For the benefit of American blog-followers (other non-UK dippers-in are probably available), here's potted edition.
Here in the UK we have an organization called the Women's Institute, popularly known as the WI. It pops up in villages all over the country, and is generally perceived to be the preserve of conventional middle-aged ladies whose speciality is home-making. In fact it's rather more than this, and the ladies are often far from conventional, but that's how people see it. They meet weekly or monthly, and among other things they listen to visiting speakers expound on something of interest, or possibly not really of interest, and they raise money for charity.
One particular WI decided to raise enough to buy a new couch for the local hospital's relatives' room, after one member spent rather more time than she wanted to sitting on the old one because her husband was under treatment for leukaemia. And the way they chose to do it was... rather unusual. Twelve members , all of them ladies of what is diplomatically called uncertain age, posed for a nude calendar, all in the best possible taste, with their naughty bits concealed by jam-pans, iced cakes, knitting, flower arrangements and all the other things the WI is known for. They hit the headlines, sold far more than the few hundred calendars they expected, and after a few months the proceeds not only bought the couch; they paid for a whole new wing for the hospital.
Their story became a stage play, then a major movie starring Helen Mirren and Julie Walters – all making yet more money for the cause. And now it's a musical. And it's wonderful: poignant, funny, uplifting, everything a great show should be. If it comes to a theatre near you, see it or miss a treat. And give generously to leukaemia research. Please.
My day in London got even better. Right opposite the theatre in which the show is being performed is Foyle's, one of London's biggest and best bookshops – so guess where I whiled away an extremely pleasant hour or so before curtain-up? And to answer Jeff's list of questions quite succinctly: for me, far and away the best way to promote a book is to bribe, threaten or cajole a bookshop to PUT IT ON THE SHELF!* I have a book wishlist which is useful when birthdays and Christmas loom, but when I'm let loose in a bookshop with some disposable income, you can pretty well guarantee I'll come out hugging at least two books I hadn't even thought of. (In this case it was three, and it could so very easily have been a dozen.) And though building a fanbase is an invaluable aid to selling books, it's important to catch the eye of the impulse buyer too. That way the fanbase keeps growing.
*Unfortunately it's not as easy as bribery, threats or cajolery; I know that all too well. But there are still a few of us who do things the old-fashioned way.
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