"e"

I'm usually a bit wary when someone gushes about a book. All too often, phrases like "trust me - you'll absolutely love it" are misguided, serving only to build the book up so that it eventually disappoints...

...which made "e" by Matt Beaumont a very pleasant surprise.

It didn't look promising at first glance - a novel without narrative, composed entirely of inter-office emails - but this turned out to be one of the most compelling and entertaining things I've read in years.

Set in a large London advertising agency, it charts a period of several weeks as the firm tries to win the much-prized Coca Cola account. Told only through the emails between characters - from the CEO to the secretarial temp - the story unfolds into a beautiful web of office politics, and corporate chaos. Perhaps my own career experiences make some of it especially relevant, but I think anyone who has ever worked in a large company will find themselves laughing aloud at characters who seem terribly familiar.

I won't spoil it by saying more. Just trust me - you'll absolutely love it ;-)

Clear

Some conversations are really significant. They change how you feel, right there in an instant, and suddenly everything is different.

Having an MRI scan was one of the most distressing experiences of my life. It wasn't physically uncomfortable but, for someone who finds hospitals nigh-on-unbearable, it wasn't easy. Lying there, unable to move, trapped inside a claustrophobic space with nothing to think about except why you are there...

Then come the weeks of waiting. I'm still not sure which is worse - the scan itself, or the period that follows it. Days dragging by, slowly creeping towards that date in the diary, when the consultant will discuss the results.

And then, this afternoon, it was finally my turn to go in and "take a seat Mr McNeill" and talk for a moment...

...and hear that the scan had come back clear.

Some conversations are really significant. Thank God.

McPolitics

In the third week of Party Conferences, it would be easy to despair when reading how far the tabloids have to dumb down their political coverage. As our country approaches a general election, and at a time when the developed world faces incredible economic pressures, the two principal arguments for Britain seem to be:

"He's got no sense of humour."
(therefore Gordon Brown and the Labour party are somehow unsuited to run the country)

"He's got a posh accent."
(therefore David Cameron and the Conservative party are somehow unsuited to run the country)

This isn't The X-Factor! Worryingly, these are becoming the front-page, headline issues. However, if the public does dig deeper they will, eventually, be presented with other arguments such as:

"Gordon Brown got us into this mess."
(conveniently and blatantly ignoring the impact of global recession on the country)

"David Cameron doesn't know what it's like to live on £90 a week."

(as though any of the party leaders have to live on £90 a week - and as though having someone with this sort of experience would be better than silly things like economics, business, diplomacy, etc.)

Anyone who is engaged by this sort of insightful journalism would do more good eating their ballot paper than voting with it.

So whatever happened to the real political argument? Well, it's true that the difference between left and right is much smaller than it used to be. Tony Blair won 3 elections by taking the centre ground - he understood that the unions and militants would sound more appealling to the country if they shut their mouths. David Cameron seems to have a similar strategy, bringing the Conservatives right in beside Labour, and adopting a more compassionate stance. With both parties trying to be masters of the middle, there is naturally less division, less fodder for robust political debate.

But surely there is still room for some intelligent discussion. Surely there are different centrist approaches that merit debate? Or have we reached the point where a talent show phone-vote is the only vote that matters?

The Riddle Of The Sands

Just finished reading The Riddle Of The Sands by Erskine Childers, a wonderful espionage tale set in the first few years of the twentieth century, while Britain still had a vast Empire, and war had not yet coloured the way we think of Germany.

Presented as a factual account of events, it is told from the viewpoint of Carruthers, a lowly clerk at the Foreign Office who, being at something of a loose end, accepts an unexpected invitation to join an old acquaintance, Davies, who is yachting in the Baltic. The yacht is far from luxurious, but the two men renew the friendship forged during their time at Oxford and set out to navigate the coastline.

As time goes on, and they begin to explore the sands around the Frisian Islands, Carruthers and Davies are drawn into a dangerous mystery. Why are they being watched wherever they go? Who is the sinister Herr Dollmann and why did he try to run Davies aground? And what is happening on the Island of Memmert that they are not supposed to see?

It's an compelling story and the writing, though somewhat archaic in style, anchors it perfectly in its period.

There's an enjoyable film adaptation from 1979, starring Michael York and Simon MacCorkindale. It's beautifully shot, and notable for a rare performance where (for artistic reasons) Jenny Agutter kept her clothes on. Being already familiar with this film took nothing away from the book - and although they digress in some details, the heart and spirit of both versions are the same.

And one final thing about this remarkable story? Erskine Childers' book - dealing as it does with the German invasion of England - was published in 1903, more than a decade before the outbreak of the First World War. Whether foresight or coincidence, it certainly makes you think.

It's a strangely sad thing to realise that the person who was once your parent, is now your child.

Eighteen

This week we celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary. Normally, I'd think of that as being quite a long period of time, but that day in the church truly feels like it happened just a little while ago.

Oddly enough, partly due to us being teenagers when we met, and partly because of my relaxed approach to getting things done, it took us ages to get married - we've actually been together for nearly 24 years now.

But that's really not so long to spend with someone so special.

Into the West...

It's Monday evening, after the first day back at work, and already the week we spent in Devon seems a long time ago...

...but what a wonderful week it was. We were lucky enough to get a last-minute deal on a spacious house in the amusingly-named village of Cockwood. Situated on a hillside at the edge of this tiny village, we had an excellent time together, exploring around the West Country, Dartmoor and the South Devon coast.

Cockwood sits on the western shore of the Exe Estuary, between Exeter and Dawlish. Being there felt like being in a different country, with a languid pace of life and a rural friendliness in the air. The only thing that seemed to move quickly was the weather - taking the small ferry from the neighbouring village of Starcross across the water to Exmouth saw the skies change from sunshine to overcast to sunshine again in minutes.

We discovered a beautiful secluded beach near Brixham, and spent a long afternoon getting slowly covered in sand. Having seen the crowds shuffling along the Paignton seafront a couple of miles away made this find all the more pleasing. It felt like being in a location from a Famous Five novel, though thankfully we didn't have to rescue Uncle Quentin from smugglers.

The highlight for me was visiting Dartmoor. We drove down to Burrator Reservoir, a stunning lake in wonderful, rolling countryside. Crossing the vast stone dam, we found our way down into a magical wooded valley. Walking there, between the ancient trees and enormous moss-covered boulders, it felt like stepping into another world. As we sheltered from a rain shower beneath a massive rock outcrop, Cam remarked that it was like being on the slopes of Amon Hen from The Lord Of The Rings. Later on, as we drove further north, the landscape changed to echo the Lone Lands of Middle Earth and we spotted a stone-crowned hill that could have been Weathertop.

On our final day, I took a train from Starcross to Plymouth. It's not a long journey, but there are breath-taking views as the railway winds its way along the coast, hugging the cliffs and racing along beaches, before climbing to the southern edge of Dartmoor, where it winds around the hillsides and crosses deep valleys on soaring viaducts.

It was a glorious week. A pity it couldn't have been longer, but I know we'll be back there again before too long.