How beautiful does this look?  Fresh cranberries with sugar and water ready to bring to the boil and simmer into a delicious sauce ready for the turkey on Christmas Day.  Of all the Christmas foods, this one has got to be the easiest to make.  Except that I have this habit of leaving things on the hob. I get bored or distracted or think, I know, I’ll go finish that chapter off while I’m waiting…

Time to make sauce: 40 mins

Time to clean hob: 1 hour

As displacement activities go, mopping up hot, sticky cranberry sauce is not my favourite.

Next week: flambe mince pies

Mum with her little brother Kevin

This is for my mum who is 77 today.  Happy Birthday, Mum!

December

The year dwindles and glows

to December’s red jewel,

my birth month

The sky blushes,

and lays its cheek

on sparkling fields.

Then dusk swaddles the cattle,

their silhouettes

simple as faith.

These nights are gifts,

our hands unwrapping the darkness

to see what we have.

The train rushes, ecstatic,

to where you are,

my bright star

by Carol Ann Duffy

second half at the Galpharm

I don’t know. London one day, Huddersfield the next.  How blessed am I to be able to flit from one dynamic hub of English heritage to another with such ease?

Match tickets were easier to get for this game than last week at Elland Road, for some reason. It began well - for Gillingham. They scored within the first minute then decided to defend the goal for the next 90. This meant football at its most dire for half an hour with the goalie taking forever with his goalkicks and other deliberate delaying tactics guaranteeing a restless crowd. Luckily Lee Novak lost his marker and equalised on 40 minutes and Jordan Rhodes drilled in a close range header in injury time so we went in 2-1 up.

At half time we had the obligatory routines from the Huddersfield Town Cheerleaders. I have mixed feelings about cheerleading at football matches. For a start, its American.   If we must have dancing at half time, bring on the Morris Men, I say. Second, some of the moves the young girls do (and they are only young, some of them - 7 or 8 years old) are too suggestive and that worries me.  Third and following on from that point, what does this say about the role of girls at football matches? Half time entertainment and titillation?  Aren’t we beyond that now?  But on the other hand, I guess the girls participating are keeping fit - some of the routines are complex and worthy of any gymnast. They’re also competing as a team and all that. But I don’t know. I’m not convinced.

Huddersfield Town's Cheerleading Team

We also had the ‘Hit the Crossbar Challenge’  A home fan and an away fan, together with various dignitaries get three goes at hitting the crossbar.  Exactly as it says on the tin. Not to be taken seriously.I think the prize is 10p or something.

The second half began as lacklustre as the first thirty minutes but eventually warmed up. Town play well when they keep the ball ‘on the deck’ as my husband calls it. It was the first anniversary of Lee Clarke, the Town Manager’s appointment.  With Town 5th in the league, he must be celebrating it with head held high tonight.

Man of the Match (Lee Novak) was voted for by the crowd texting in their votes. I’ve never seen this happen before and it goes back to what Cally Poplak said on Thursday about the digital age ruling. Who’d ever have predicted fans using their mobiles to vote for man of the match. Not me, guv.

I went to London yesterday. I love going to London. As soon as I set foot on that platform in King’s Cross Station I feel giddy and excited.  I know I’m 54 and shouldn’t feel like a schoolkid on an outing but I can’t help it. There’s just something about the place… the hustle and bustle… the mixture of people from all walks of life… the joy of paying paying 30p to use the Ladies. What’s that about? 30p! I wouldn’t mind but the new cubicles are tiny - anyone over a size 16 with a full handbag is going to struggle to get in and I am not joking.

Anyhow, on to Vauxhall. Not the prettiest part of London but it’s where Walker Books are based so i don’t mind a stroll under the viaduct and a quick glance at the dodgy club for exotic dancers en route. Not during the day, anyway.

I met my fabulous editors, Caz and Annalie, for lunch. Everyone is delighted by how well Girls FC is doing and I was presented with the England Schools FA Handbook that had a full page advertisement showing all the first six Girls FC covers. Walker Books are sponsoring the U11s Girls Cup next year.  Forget South Africa - all the exciting stuff is going to be happening in England next May and June, I’m telling you.

As I was about to leave, a tall, distinguished man and a dark haired young woman said hello on their way past. There was a ripple of excitement and I asked who they were.  You never know who you’ll bump into in places like this. Last time it was Mel ‘Keeper’ Peet and this time… only Allan Ahlberg and his daughter Jessica. How immense is that?? The Ahlbergs!  In my world, that’s like royalty. We’re talking The Jolly Postman. Burglar Bill. Each Peach Pear Plum. Peepo! Classics.  Any kid who hasn’t got at least two of those titles in their bedroom is officially classed as deprived. Fact.

And that was all before 2.00PM.

After that, as if I hadn’t had enough stimulation for one day, I caught the tube to South Kensington.  Destination: Drayton Gardens, HQ of the Society of Authors. The Society of Authors is like a union for writers where we can get advice on what to do if our agent turns out to be insane or other writers nick our ideas and things like that. They also hold meetings, which was why I was going - just in case you were wondering.

By now it was dusk.  Off Old Brompton Road, beautiful streets of Regency houses gleamed like rows of perfect white teeth.  One house had a Christmas wreath hanging from its front door, tiny striped candy canes dotted round it. It was easy to imagine the Banks family from Mary Poppins living there, or, if I let my eyes drift higher to the attic bedrooms, Sara Crew, the Little Princess.  Old Brompton Road is chocolate box stuff.

The meeting was about publishing in the digital age. Cally Poplak, an editor at Egmont, gave an inspirational talk on the future of books. In a nutshell, forget words on paper, think handsets. Books on Nintendo DS Games. Books on iphones etc. She also stressed the importance of writers blogging - ha - had I not blogged about blogging on my last blog?  I am so ahead of myself.

Before I left I made sure I used the loo. No way was I paying 30p again in King’s Cross.

Bookwitch (courtesy of Jill Murphy)

The writer and Mancunian Maven Adele Geras emailed me the other day to tell me that I had a really good write up of ‘What’s Ukrainian for Football?’ on the Bookwitch’s blog. Of course I logged on immediately and she was right; it was a really good write up. It made my day and I’m not even kidding.  All writers need boosts like that from time to time to keep going.  Thank you, Swedish lady! Check it out on bookwitch/wordpress/com and go to the December 3rd entry.

Bookwitch’s blog is exceptional. She writes everyday, pretty much, and her pieces are always interesting. The woman really knows her children’s books and seems to go to any length to bag an author interview.  She’s been up close and personal with the best.

Bookwitch’s blog links to other blogs such as An Awfully Big Blog Adventure (written by various children’s authors) and many, many websites. It’s also dead easy to navigate and should be used as an example of ‘How to do a blog.’

Less easy to navigate (though that could just be me) but fun is a co operative blog called Trapped by Monsters, spearheaded by the totally zany but cuddly Tommy (Scream Street) Donbavand and crew.  It includes loads of gory illustrations from the bloggers’ various ghoulish output.

It’s interesting reading blogs and websites in general. Some authors are terrible at updating and begin each one with ‘I’m sorry it’s been such a long time since I wrote …’  Which begs the question, why bother then, chuck? Nobody wants ‘news’ from April 2007.  Others only write about their new books and prizes for which they’ve been nominated. That’s perfectly legit - I do it - but it feels a bit too self-promoting when that’s all they write about.   A few authors go to the other extreme and reveal way too much information (Meg Cabot - sheesh - I don’t want to know what sign is on your gynaecologist’s door. Really, I don’t).  I guess it’s hard hitting the perfect balance. I suppose you know if you’ve got it right by the comments people leave.  Unfortunately, I’ll never find out if I’m doing OK as I’ve kept the comments button closed. Why?  Because I’m too wimpy.  I know 99% of the comments would be lovely but it’s the 1% psycho- with -the -axe-to-grind that puts me right off. I might be persuaded one day but for now, I’ll just carry on writing into cyber space and hoping Bookwitch forgives me for dissing the Swedes.

Leeds vTown

Ask any football supporter and they will tell you that there are some matches in a season that matter more than others.  For a Huddersfield Town supporter, it’s when they play Leeds United.  Judging by the attendance at Saturday’s match - a massive 36,726 - the feeling is mutual. Town did the double (won home and away) over Leeds last season but by virtue of being top of the league had every chance of reversing that this time.  It was not to be.  The match sounded brilliant (not being season ticket holders we had no chance of getting tickets to see it) with Anthony Pilkington coming so, so close to scoring the match winner in injury time for Town.  Leeds have a reputation for snatching three points off opponents in the last minute so it would only have been fair for them to have a taste of their own medicine. We’ll have to wait until February to do it now.

I suppose the good thing about the draw  is that Tom Palmer, my Reads United partner, can’t crow over me when we meet. Not that he does crow. Tom’s not the crowing kind - unlike me.  Anyway, no crowing.  Honours even. Onwards and upwards.

Although I have officially finished my school visits for the year I ran a book selling stall at John Blow Primary School’s Christmas Fair yesterday afternoon with picture book author Elizabeth Baguley. As you can see we were joined by even more famous people than ourselves - Santa Claus and Marge Simpson. Pictured between the dignitaries was the adorable Grace who bought a copy of Love Simone xxx. I hope you enjoy the story, Grace.

The fair was tremendously busy and Elizabeth and I sold a good number of books. I think it helped that we did an assembly at the school the day before. Elizabeth told a story about a boy who forgot to post his sister’s letter to Santa and I read an extract from ‘Sammie’s Back’ where Sammie and Brandon are sitting under the Christmas tree in the after school club, transfixed. Sammie is desperate to make a wish. She wants her dad to come back to live with them again. Brandon just wants to see if the fairy’s wearing any knickers!  I think I ought to set more stories round Christmas - Sammie’s Back sold out in a flash -  it must be the way I tell ‘em.  The other title that went quickly was Football Mad, the anthology that includes my football story ‘There’s Only One Danny Ogle.’ I think the striking cover helps. And the topic, of course.  I’d like to say a special thank you to Barbara for buying all six of my Girls FC titles for her grand-daughter.  That’s the mark of a good grandma, isn’t it? Buying her grandkids books.  It reminds me of a poem by Stickland Gillilan (1869-1954)

‘You may have tangible wealth untold

Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold,

Richer than I you can never be-

for I had a (grand)mother who read to me.’

Me n' Elizabeth. Photography courtesy of the adorable Grace

Do Christmas Tree fairies wear knickers? Find out in Clubbing Again

I haven’t read as many books as I should have this year but those I have read have been top notch.  These are some of my favourite children’s ones:

The Death Defying Pepper Roux by Geraldine McCaughrean (Oxford)  A fast and funny romp of an adventure. Brilliant.

Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy (Harper Collins)  Loved this totally implausible skinny detective.

The War and Freddy by Dennis Hamley (Catnip)  Sweet story set in WW2

Found (The Missing) Bk 1 Margaret Peterson Haddox (Hodder)  Recommended by Roz in Wakefield Waterstone’s.  Matrix meets X Men thriller

Wilderness by Roddy Doyle (Scholastic)  Tender, understated and packs an emotional punch

How to Train your Parents by Pete Johnson (Corgi) Spot on humour

Cosmic by Frank Cottrell Boyce. Better than Framed, almost as good as Millions totally enjoyable

Finding Violet Park by Jenny Valentine (Harper) Great premise, good writing, slightly disappointing ending

Coraline by Neil Gaiman (Bloomsbury) Enough to put you off buttons for life

Dreamland and Riding Icarus by Lily Hyde (Walker) Sad but hopeful tales of displaced people discovering who they are and where they belong

Her Mother’s Face by Roddy Doyle (Scholastic) A picture book for older children about loss. Really moving and beautifully illustrated by Freya Blackwood

I am currently reading (with one eye closed as it is so unbearable in parts) Rowan the Strange by Julie Hearn (Oxford)

Those words all add up...

Hark at me with my little Latin quotations.  OK, maybe I did pack the subject in after my mock ‘O’ level because I knew I’d do pants in the final exam but I do remember a few bits. Amo-amas-amat and all that.

Nulla Dies Sine Linea. Not a day without a line. The writer’s motto.  Another one is ‘a thousand words a day or die.’ Not mine. I’m more of your Oscar Wilde variety.  ‘This morning I took out a comma and this afternoon I put it back in again.’ I don’t do so little every day, obviously.  Publishers tend not to publish books containing just a comma, more’s the pity. But today has been Wildeish. It shouldn’t have been. I had no commitments. No school visits. No shopping. No lunch with friends. No traumas to contend with. Nada.  Today was a designated WRITING DAY. Today, I was going to write until the print on my keyboard wore off and my eyes crossed in the middle. And what happened?  Check this out. Word count at 08.11: 6791. Word count at 08.55: 6779. See what I did there?  I lost words. Lost them. That’s the opposite of gained them and therefore being nearer the end of the book. This is what I do, you see. Like Kurt Voneggut I’m a polisher. I can’t leave the words I’ve previously written alone until they’re polished just right. The trouble is I spent that much time polishing one bit I run out of energy for the next bit. Crazy. I wish I were more like Anne Fine. She just writes until the end then edits. It would be a lot simpler.

Still, I get there in the end. A quick glance at my bookshelf tells me that. I finish books. Not quickly. Not efficiently, time-wise. But I do finish them. ‘Write a page a day. It will add up,’ said Herman Woulk. My word count at 17.24?  After breaks for coffee, a walk to the post office and butchers, a couple of phone calls, a ridiculous amount of times checking my emails?  7529.  Not quite a thousand but more than a line. Time to hoick out those commas, methinks…