The Shakespeare Girl : a novel

‘GOOD FRIEND FOR JESUS SAKE FORBEARE,

TO DIGG THE DUST ENCLOASED HEARE.

BLESE BE THE MAN THAT SPARES THES STONES,

AND CURST BE HE THAT MOVES MY BONES …’

I’m writing a novel. Yes, another one. My first one is currently sitting unpublished in a  metaphorical sock drawer, as all first novels should for a time. One day I will take it out, dust it off and take another look, and possibly cringe, or maybe even re-consider and re-submit it.

In the meantime I have an MA in Creative Writing to complete. My final piece of work for the course is a novel: The Shakespeare Girl.  As part of the project I’ve set up a website to accompany the novel, which you can look at here. I will be adding various reviews, images, news items and guest posts to the site over the coming weeks, and eventually I will post an extract or two from the novel itself. 

The opening quotation above, as you might know, is taken from Shakespeare’s tombstone. If we believe, as many do, that these words are amongst the last ones written by the playwright himself, they reveal an anxiety about exhumation which also makes an appearance in sixteen of his thirty-seven surviving plays. When I first read about this peculiar obsession, I was intrigued. I began to read about the Holy Trinity Church, where Shakespeare is buried, and discovered that the building sits right on the riverbank, hovering over the waters of the Avon, and that it is in some state of dilapidation.

Erosion, disrepair … a thought occurred to me: What would happen if you had to dig up William Shakespeare…?

That was the starting point for a story, which I decided to people with characters whose lives are somehow connected to the Bard: a professor, a student, an actress… In homage to Angela Carter’s Wise Children, I also decided to include some type of reference –obvious, oblique, or somewhere in between – to every Shakespeare play in the course of the book. Not to be clever – I’m learning about Shakespeare as I go – but to try and neatly dramatise the way in which Shakespeare infiltrates our daily lives, often without us knowing.

So, whenever time permits, I’m working away at the novel. The plot, I think, is decided. The characters, I hope, are beginning to come off the page. It’s ambitious, hopefully funny, certainly accessible, and I can’t wait to finish it.

If you’d like to get in touch about my writing, or about anything Shakespearean, or better still, if you’d like to contribute something to my website, then I’d love to hear from you, at this address here. If you’re on Twitter I also have a dedicated account to follow, here.

Thank you for reading …!

The Coffee Diaries

It takes a whole load of caffeine to successfully schlep around European cities. Here’s some of what I drank to make it all happen...

Black coffee at Carr Saunders Hall, LSE, Fitzroy Street, W1
I decided to start this blog at the very beginning so everything that came after would be an improvement. And it was. This coffee was oily, weak, and came from a plastic jug that I was allowed to pour myself. It was an odd colour, just generally awful in fact, but the amazing view from the rooftop courtyard of the BT Tower across the street made that seem so much less important. Hello London, I've missed you...

Latte from the courtyard coffee cart at the V&A, SW7
The V&A courtyard is lush, even in the floaty, spitty London rain, and brightly peopled with Chinese yuppies splashing in puddles and a beautiful tiny boy playing in the fountain. This was not bad coffee at all, good and malty and the froth lasted really well. Suitably fortifying for the treasures of the V&A.

Flat white at the Serpentine Bar & Kitchen, Hyde Park, W2
This coffee was the perfect temperature, which I appreciate for others might count as not hot enough', but I like things close to room temperature (I spill a lot, it’s a safety thing). This had a good deep flavour, just the right amount of bitter, and a little creamy; a coffee worthy of the neighbourhood.

Black coffee at Cafe in the Gardens, Russell Square, WC1
The sunshine had hit hard by now. I could’ve had a lemonade you know. This murky solution was weak and soapy with a sour lingering aftertaste. Not good. Russell Square, you deserve better.

Black coffee at Elliot's Cafe, Borough Market, SE1
Borough is my absolute favourite bit of London. The view of the Shard peering over the shoulder of Borough Market is thrilling, even if you don’t like the Shard much (I don’t think I do). Elliot’s is suh a beautiful place; handsome staff, lovely atmosphere. I wanted to do a Truman Capote thing and say, ‘Oh, bring us something that takes forever...’ A delicious, Market-sourced meal was crowned with a cup of the finest coffee of the tour so far; rich, smoky, and a beautiful colour. I’ve not had anything as good since North Tea Power back home.

Black coffee and flat white at Creperie du Monde, Chatsworth Rd, E5
It’s very trendy round here, which is good, the hip tend not to settle for bad coffee. The black coffee was really robust and great and the flat white was, well, just a latte. I’m kidding. But really, what's the difference? I can’t tell them apart, I’m too much a novice. Basically, it’s really good coffee here. 

Black coffee at Royal Teas, Greenwich, SE10
Nice and earthy and strong, and a truly scrumptious gorgeous veggie breakfast on the side. Plus a lovely outside table for earwigging the well-heeled Mums of SE10.

Soy latte at Old Shoreditch Station, E2
Boy, this coffee tastes fresh, like they grew it and ground it right there for me. Soy lattes are becoming a bit of a desert wine for me though, I will go for the real deal next time, I think this high standard of coffee deserves it.

Algerian Coffee at the Savoy Cafe, Prague
Since we have no clue what the exchange rate could be for the wonderfully arcane Gothic currency that is the Czech Koruna we have no idea what we’re spending so we go to the Savoy Café. The Algerian coffee is astonishing; thick with egg liqueur, smothered in cream, strong as an ox underneath. I’m almost too overwhelmed to eat the enormous caramel cream choux creation that I accidentally ordered.

Iced espresso at God Shot,  Prenzlauer Berg, Berlin
Cringe at the subtitle (‘The Future Urban Coffee Klub’), and only a really hip coffee joint can afford to be so surly across the counter, but the goods are up to scratch and beyond; super strong with the right amount of bite and, weirdly/pleasantly, a kind of citrusy thing going on afterwards. Go out of your way for this coffee. All the way to Berlin if you must.

Flat white at Café CK, Prenzlauer Berg, Berlin
The coffee in this city gets better around every corner. A block from Gunshot, CK’s offering is nutty, buttery, served by a friendly bearded English barista, and best drunk out of doors with bikes and dogs aplenty.

Filter coffee at Anna Blume’s, Prenzlauer Berg, Berlin

Everything at Anna Blume’s is superb; the three-tiered vegetarian breakfast, gorgeous pan-European clientele, the sunny Prenzl’berg street corner location. The coffee is so nice I had to get two of them, the second bigger than the first.

Flat white at Bonanza Coffee Heroes, Prenzlauer Berg, Berlin
Staffed by three handsome, sharp, moustachioed fellows. All very East London. And vaguely intimidating in fact. But the coffee is rich and mellow and so full of flavour. It tastes expensive, but really isn’t. Hit there before you hit Mauerpark.

Iced latte at Engelberg, Prenzlauer Berg, Berlin
The last coffee of the holiday and by now it’s too hot for the hot stuff so this chilled creation is divine; rich, looks like brandy, and spills a lovely glow across the table as the sun pours into the sides of the glass. So long Berlin, we love you, we’ll be back …