27th December 2015

Non, rien de rien.....
Saturday was the 100th anniversary of the birth of a remarkable Parisienne. Sometimes in life we can be born with deformities, illness and poverty as she was.  She grew up in Paris's 20th arrondissement amongst the prostitutes of the Place de Pigalle, suffered crippling arthritic pain from a twisted body but miraculously discovered a life-changing talent. As 2015 turns into 2016 that is a lesson from which we can all learn. Resolve to discover your talent during this coming year. It may not be life-changing like hers but it will give you a reason for living, evoke the very essence of your inner being, and maybe it will make your name memorable long after you've gone. If no-one remembers you in the future, what's life for? So, just like Edith Piaf (and the character David Klein in Vichyssoise, to be published during 2016), you can truly say:
.....je ne regrette rien!

A happy, healthy and memorable 2016 to all my readers, wherever you live and whatever your individual talents. Make the most of them.

20 December 2015

Santa can appear in many guises and from unexpected quarters....
When we moved here, the water meter was buried underneath an immense, concrete lid.  No matter how hard we tried, even with a crow bar, we were never able to lift it.  Sometimes we would be out and shortly afterwards receive the ubiquitous card asking us to read the meter.  So, I wrote to Veolia, the local water company, explaining it was impossible for us to read the meter and could they please replace the concrete lid with something lighter.  Nothing moves fast in France.  And look what happens to the escargot.  But then, surprise, a man arrived without warning and checked out the situation.  He recommended that they, Veolia, should move the heavy lid and meter and move it all to the other, street, side of our gate so that in future they could read the meter when we were out.  Knowing me, the inevitable question:  who's going to pay and how much?  Answer:  me, and 1K euros.  I said 'no way'. Stalemate until a few weeks ago I received a surprising email from them. They would do the job in a few weeks and that they would pay.  I re-read it.  Yes, it would be free!  Yipee.
So, job now done and only cost to me? Two cups of coffee for the workmen.
....Merci Santa Veolia and season's greetings to one and all.

13 December 2015

Watching the news can send you mad! Merkel wins Time magazine's Woman of the Year. Understandable that after the racist madness in Germany 70 years ago she's desperate to show Germany's compassionate side by admitting those of a different faith, albeit a bit late. Conversely, another woman, Le Pen, pulled off a 'historic' win last weekend for FN, topping the vote in the first round of regional French polls. One thing's for sure: she won't be showing any compassion to those of other faiths/nationalities. If she wins today, what would she do? She'd stop charity subscriptions to migrants, family planning and human rights groups and would burn the EU flag.  'We will absolutely respect the law until we are in government and can change it!' she said. Enough said. And while all this was happening, we see a 'historic win' at the Paris Climate Change conference. But for those who feel climate change may just be the result of a normal planetary shift, I'd urge them to deal with the after effects of such change:  the sea is encroaching everywhere. Build sea defences, move people inland etc. The week's news: a microcosm of the ebb and flow of global life today.

6 December 2015

On this day 68 years ago I was born into a very different world. I was malnourished and had numerous physical ailments not recognised back then. There would be another seven months before the NHS would be born, so few people called the doctor. Too expensive. Many babies were weak due to food rationing during their mother's pregnancy, and in my case there would be another 65 years before a congenital beance cardiale would be diagnosed by a far superior French health system. But, is the world in a better state environmentally and politically than it was in post-war '47? I'm not sure. Yesterday saw N. England awash with terrible flooding. And politically, here in France everyone goes to the polls today in the first round of council elections for the new, fewer but bigger regions. Early surveys show a poll surge for the Front National, boosted by the recent Paris troubles. They're ahead in 7 out of 12 regions, with the Republican right ahead of the parti-socialiste left.Yes, there is global terror that must be confronted and eliminated by a consortium of agreed democracies, but not by individual nations voting in extremist, racial party leaders! So, 68 years since my birth, all I can say is: will the world never learn?

29 November 2015

Ever since JFK uttered those immortal words Ich bin ein Berliner at the Brandenberg Gate, there's been an urgent need to emulate them. And lately people have tried, first with Je suis Charley then recently with Je suis Paris. This week French TV showed Hollande standing side by side with Putin, each apparently empathising with each other over their losses in Paris and in the Russian air disaster. However, are they really on the same page when it comes to the problems in Syria? With one side aiming to eliminate the terrorists, the other seems only bent on shoring up Bashir Al-Assad. Rule no. 1: you can only strike an accord if your goals are exactly the same! I have to say I'm disappointed with Obama. Ever since he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, he's scared of doing anything that might jeopardise it, so instead of emulating JFK, he refuses to do anything globally other than just utter beautifully orated words. At least the French during Friday's commemoration ceremony showed their true colours by parading on every balustrade their blue, white and red underwear. Him indoors:  Bra-vo!  

blog extra

Writer Claire Stibbe recently hosted me on her blog. Here's what it said, including an exclusive extract from 3rd Degree Murder, describing character Jenny at work in the '60s:

Today I’m delighted to welcome Olga Swan to our Literary Kicks series.Olga Swan is the nom de plume of Gillian Green. She chose the name as a way of perpetuating her unusual E. European maiden name. After Gillian lost all her upper family, including her two brothers, one by one from cancer, she used an anagram of her late brother’s name, A. Olswang, and voilà, Olga Swan was born. After working for 30 years at a leading English university, she retired to France with her husband, where she concentrated on her writing. Her tastes are eclectic, writing in many genres including crime, historical fiction, sci-fi, humour and factional, non-fiction, plus under her own name she also writes for children (see links below.)

‘3rd Degree Murder’ which was released by Crooked Cat Publishing on 23 October 2015, draws on the wealth of knowledge Olga gained during her work at an English university. The title is a play on words: a third (science) degree conflating with an unintentional murder. As such, readers who either are graduates themselves or with student family members can enjoy an intrigue set in a university environment to which they can easily relate.

Hands up those who remember the ‘60s and ‘70s in England!

All of Olga’s books (and she has written ten mss in all) tend to have an underlying thread to the main story. In 3rd Degree Murder, a Jewish secretary and Maliha, a Bangladeshi PhD student, get together in hatred of their professor, showing how cultural barriers are no bar to friendship. But Maliha has her own problems, battling a family who refuse to conform to Western lores. The queue of people hating Prof. Axel Sloan builds throughout the story including lecturers denied promotion, other support staff, his wife, even the office cleaner. So, who in the end killed Axel Sloan? Here’s an extract describing Jenny, Olga’s favourite character.

1964

England

 Jenny Mazowski stood in front of the mirror, turning this way and that. Looking good. Her black and white striped shift skimmed her slim frame just right. She’d backcombed her thin brown hair within an inch of its life, and piled on the eye-liner and pale lipstick. She stared at her reflection. If only she had olive skin and her father’s thick black hair, but instead she’d inherited her mother’s pale, thin skin and mousey hair. Why was life so unfair?

Dashing out the door, she ran for the bus, almost colliding with the postman, his cap dripping from yet another icy downpour. ‘They say it does the gardens good, but I couldn’t care less.’

But Jenny hadn’t time. Not this morning, as she dashed up the hill just as the corporation bus screeched to a halt. Jumping up she sank gratefully into a faded, velour window seat and rubbed her damp sleeve over the rivulets of condensation that pooled blackly onto the sills beneath.

At last. She could catch her breath and day-dream whilst the grey suburbs flashed by. Her first real job after that difficult eight months’ intensive secretarial course at Chance College. Don’t get me wrong. She loved learning all those pays, jays and chays in the Pitman’s class. And the typewriting was wonderful. Pages and pages of three-letter combinations, typing to the taped music of American on Parade, and woe betide you if you fell behind the beat. In her mind she kept spreading her fingers on the middle row of the keyboard, searching for those tiny raised bits on the F and J home keys whilst she hummed to the tune, stretching her bony fingers up, down and sideways. No, it wasn’t that. It was the other girls. Always causing her a problem as they moved away from her in class, constantly ganging up against her. There was never any real reason, but Jenny knew. Deep down she’d always known. She was different. She shook her head to rid herself of the memory. Someone clanged the bell, bringing her back to the present. Thank God school was all over now.

Just past the looming, menacing prison walls she jumped off and, collar up against the swirls of rain, turned the corner and walked down towards the Foundry. She hadn’t had time for breakfast and stared longingly at the huge posters for the new, flat Dairy Milk bars at 2d. But no time. She dare not be late on her first day, as she quickened her steps past the rows and rows of red-brick terraces, all identical except for the level of greyness in the net curtains at every window.

At the bottom of the road, she ran across the road, narrowly avoiding the milk cart, parked precariously whilst the whistling milkman made his usual doorstep deliveries. Round the corner, she rushed under the old, red railway bridge, its brickwork looking faded and grained with the centuries of time. Avoiding the inevitable drippings from the archway, she hurried on, glancing quickly at her new wristwatch her Mom had bought her for her new life at work.

Five to nine. Rushing under the Foundry archway, surrounded by hordes of maniac bicycles ridden by identical men in caps with cloth bags slung onto their backs, she was just in time. At the Sales office she clocked-in at the entrance to the huge, noisy, cavernous room and made her way down the rows of typing desks to her allotted place. In front of her was a large, clunky typewriter, top-heavy with its over-long, enormous carriage. Very different from the brand new Imperial 70s at college.

At the end of the desk were four rows of wire filing trays, filled with commercial documents. Gingerly she tried to open the stiff drawers of her old wooden desk. None of them seemed to open properly, whichever way she tried.

‘Ere,’ said one girl in the next aisle. ‘You can’t open ‘em from the end; you have to pull from the middle. Yes, that’s right.’

‘Oh.’

Clumsy as usual.

In the narrow middle drawer was an assortment of hard, round typewriter rubbers and various pens. She creaked open the side drawers, running her clammy hands over the thin, foolscap bank sheets in various shades. Nervously she glanced around, wondering where to start, until a friendly girl tapped her on the shoulder.

Fast forward to the present and, hot off the presses, a two-book deal has now also been signed by Olga with Crooked Cat Publishing, but in a very different genre. Lamplight and Vichyssoise are both set in WWII, the former taking character David Klein to Breslau, Germany, the second taking him to Vichy France, giving readers a unique insight into Maréchal Pétain and his Vichy government. Both are due to be released in 2016.

…a final word from Olga. Many thanks Claire for a chance to be on your famed blog.

Here are some links to Olga’s (and Gillian’s) books:

3rd Degree Murder now available to buy  http://www.amazon.co.uk/3rd-Degree-Murder-Olga-Swan-ebook/dp/B016NM2Y4I/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1444896523&sr=8-2&keywords=3rd+degree+murder

Or check out Olga’s amazon page: http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B013IBD4PU

Also, check out Gillian’s amazon page for her children’s literature. A great Xmas gift for them:http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B013IDLQ4O

blog ex

For all my American readers, please pause from eating all that Thanksgiving turkey and sweet potato a moment. And for all my other readers, who'd like to be eating turkey and sweet potato too if they had the chance.. I've something to tell you. I'm not used to this advertising lark, but a little bird told me tomorrow's Black Friday, so just thought I'd let those of you who haven't yet bought my novel about university life know there's an amazing sale on tomorrow. So,  roll up, roll up.  Isn't that what they say? Tomorrow's the day to grab a real bargain. Yes, '3rd Degree Murder' is available for the amazing price of just 99p/99c!  How much, I hear you say?  Come on:there must be someone in your life who needs to know just what goes on behind the scenes in university college life. You must surely want to know who killed Professor Axel Sloan, don't you? Let's see. Likely suspects:  Maliha, the Bangladeshi PhD student, whose family will kill her if she doesn't get her PhD, his wife(!) - enough said, the lecturers he's overlooked for promotion, Jenny his long-suffering Jewish secretary, sick and tired of all those anti-semitic comments, or even the office cleaner....the list is endless.  So who did it in the end?    

You'll have to hurry.  One day only. Here's the link. Just click and buy at just 99p/99c.

 http://www.amazon.com/3rd-Degree-Murder-Olga-Swan-ebook/dp/B016NM2Y4I/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1448553449&sr=8-1&keywords=3rd+degree+murder

And, if you don't have a kindle, just go to amazon and click on the free kindle download button. Simple. Even a technophobe like me can do it!