Police, camera, action!

So while my son and his band The Divisional were out on Saturday night playing a gig in town, I was watching the previous night's episode of Castle. (Yes, I know how sad that makes me look, but it's a guilty pleasure.) In case you haven't come across this gem of American TV, the premise is that Richard Castle is a crime writer who has managed to get himself attached to the police department of the implausibly glamorous Detective Kate Beckett. He 'helps' her to solve crimes.

Well, this week's episode was about the death of the singer in a rock band and was full of scenes of musicians and drugs, musicians and guns, musicians and unscrupulous managers. Gulp! Not much to worry a mother there, then!

Meanwhile, in the May edition of Writing Magazine there is an interesting article by police trainer Ian Sales on how the real police force operates. There is also a mock scenario like those used to train real detectives. What would we readers do in that first 'golden hour' after the discovery of a body? Can't wait for next month's solution to see how I've got on.

I enjoy a bit of TV detection. The trouble is, the more episodes you watch, the easier they become to solve - e.g., in Midsomer Murders the culprit is always the first famous actor you see. Once you've worked out the grammar of the show, you can forget about following the plot and just let the story unfold in a warm, comforting way.

Not that I could write one, of course!

Pollyanna!*

I try to keep this blog cheerful, but I’m struggling at the moment. Not because any misfortune has occurred, but simply because it’s winter and I hate the cold. As I walked home from choir practice the other night I lost all sensation in my fingers and toes, and when I finally reached my front door I couldn’t feel my chin. Could it be that we are really in the grip of the Ice Age that internet scaremongers are forecasting?

But let’s try to look on the bright side. I've paid my tax bill on time! And what makes this a good news story is that this year I had actually remembered to put the money aside as I earned it.

Then I met up with a lovely friend, a lady who has seen me through triumphs and disasters for many years. We had a good old natter, which was great in itself. She treated me to a coffee – and I repaid this generosity by knocking over the drink in a fit of wild gesticulating.

This was very embarrassing. It’s amazing how far a latte can travel. But, in my defence, it was served in a glass more suited to a knickerbocker glory than a hot beverage. My friend laughed uncontrollably, so at least I can be pleased that I spread a little joy amid the chaos.

There’s good news, too, from my younger son, as the band he plays in, The Divisional, were in the studio on Saturday recording their second CD, and have also secured an exciting audition for later in the month. Fame beckons!

One of the delights of this time of year is the way the aconites and hellebores start to poke their heads above ground to check if the time is right for flowering. When hubby and I lived in a grotty flat in London with no garden, my mother-in-law used to send us a bunch of the first snowdrops of the season. She would wrap their stems in wet cotton wool, then cling-film, wrap the whole bunch in tissue paper and post them to us in a Jiffy bag. She is no longer with us, but the sight of these plucky blooms always brings her to mind.

So I know that beneath the blanket of snow, spring is poised ready to launch as soon as the thaw comes. But perhaps best of all, the garden looks beautiful as I gaze out of the window and thanks to the wonders of central heating and double-glazing I am warm and comfortable. So it’s not all bad. In fact, it’s all pretty good.

*Pollyanna is a relentlessly optimistic child in the novels by Eleanor H Porter