The more the merrier. Obviously. A birthday – yay! And a birthday cake? No problem. We make cakes here pretty much on a daily basis. But a cake for a 6-year-old Lego-obsessed small boy, after all my years with Lego-phobic small girls? Hmm, this required a bit of thought. But not much, if I were to do all my other stuff. So here’s the result. A deliciously large, shiny, chocolate Lego brick. Or, if you prefer, a fridge cake with two piles of choccy biccies balanced on top, with a ton of chocolate thrown over it. Phew.

Ta da! My chocolate Lego cake

To make your own Lego cake (go on, you know you want to), take 250g of digestive or chocolate digestive biscuits, crush roughly, and mix with 125g of melted butter, two tablespoons of cocoa powder and 2 tablespoons of golden syrup. Place mixture in a greased, lined loaf tin. Chill for an hour or so in the fridge. Turn out and arrange two towers of three biscuits each on top. Now melt 150g of chocolate in the microwave with a spoonful of butter, checking frequently so it doesn’t overheat. When liquid, coat the cake and biscuit towers liberally. Add the required number of candles and step back and await praise and thanks.

Take my book group. My real life one, not my online one, which is having a rest at the moment (sorry, everyone) while I dash about doing wedding planning. We’re all lovely in the book group, obviously. But we are having something of an unacknowledged tussle over nibbles. Should our evenings involve a proper sit-down dinner, or should we have snacks only (and wine, obviously)? Is opening a bag of crisps enough to show the group that we welcome them and enjoy their company, or will only two courses and a pud suffice? I am in the nibbles camp, particularly after moving, partly as I don’t have much time to prepare something these days and partly because there are a daunting number of brilliant cooks in our number, and I’d like to opt out of the competition. Not that it is a competition, you understand, but I feel that it has the potential to become one. I’ll see your risotto and raise you a River Cafe sea bass, kinda-thing.

Oh dear. I suppose men are competitive, too. But they do it via football, in a my-team’s-better-than-yours sort of way. And, if their side should lose, it’s not their fault as they themselves weren’t playing. Whereas if your souffle doesn’t rise …. well, need I say more?

Maybe I should become a rabid supporter of women’s netball. Or go on a cookery course.

Nibbles ..... or not?

I really enjoyed this book. It was an easy read, on a hard subject. It deals with the servants hired by rich women in the southern states of America in the 1960s. Not to beat about the bush, the maids are black, the employers are white. The story is told by two of the maids, and a daughter of one of the wealthy families. The daughter, Skeeter, realises when her own maid disappears one summer just how much she owes this woman, who has virtually brought her up. Meanwhile Skeeter’s actual mother makes no effort to understand her daughter and spends her days trying to marry her off, without much thought to her chances of happiness.

I was astonished to hear that this assured work is Stockett’s first novel, and even more surprised to learn that she was turned down by 60 literary agents before she found someone to represent her. Then, when I thought about it a bit harder, I realised that the race issue is still virtually untouchable in the US, and very thorny also in the UK. Would a similar book frighten the horses here in Britain? Probably, if it was written by a white woman, as The Help was.

What a dream come true for Stockett, whose book, rejected by so many, has now sold zillions and been made into a film. It is, of course, the fantasy happy ending every struggling novelist secretly prays for – including this one!

But I’m wandering away from the novel. I liked the first person narrative style, making each story personal and compelling. For me, though, the book risked becoming saccharine, but was saved by the abrasive character of Minny, who has been sacked by 19 employers, and I’m afraid , while sympathising and rooting for Minny all the way, you can completely see why she was let go so many times. Of course, the final part of the novel, which I won’t reveal (hoping you haven’t already seen the film) is immensely satisfying as a result.

All in all, a great book, and one I’d thoroughly recommend for the Christmas holidays. I hope that Stockett is not too brow-beaten by the reception of the novel (she was sued by her brother’s maid and lambasted by various organisations) to stop. I’m dying to see what she comes up with next.

I chose the book because I thought it would be pretty controversial. Although I found it a really gripping read, I did have a sense of unease throughout the book because it seemed to be capitalising on, and maybe even exploiting, other people’s horrific true experiences. Perhaps this was partly a question of timing, as a couple of recent real-life Room type incidents were fresh in my mind. I realise it would be ridiculous to say books shouldn’t be based on true life events – after all, there are countless stories of love, lust, betrayal, even murder, published every day which closely reflect people’s experiences. I suppose I just felt uneasy as, of course, the story centred on the experience of a child.

One of the most startling things about the book was the way the young mother coped with bringing up an inquisitive, and highly intelligent, child, in such cramped quarters and with so few resources. It made me think of impossible days I’d had with my toddlers, with space all around us, places to go and endless things to do. She seemed to manage phenomenally well and her ingenuity was so impressive. And then, of course, we learn that she has days when she just stays in bed all day, crying or mute, and you see the huge effort that goes into all the other days when she makes herself function for her child’s sake.

The novel was, in a way, a great tribute to the spirit of all mothers, the instinct to protect and cherish a child no matter how awful the circumstances surrounding that child’s conception and upbringing. And then, of course, at the end of the book (without giving too much away) it is when the mother is questioned on whether she was selfish to keep her child with her that she really stares into the abyss.

I thought the characterisation was ingenious – the fact that the man seemed grudging about everything he had to do for his strange family suggested he felt just as trapped as any conventional husband, and, in fact, as trapped as his captives. And I admired the way that the author gradually revealed how strange the boy really was, as a result of his incarceration, through the eyes of his grandmother, the hospital staff and the curious public. The boy’s nostalgia for the simple world of the Room, where he had his mother all to himself, was pitiful.

All in all, I thought it was a compelling read, which raised a lot of questions and made me think.

The very lovely Alison from FiveGoBlogging has sent me her review:

Who would want to read about a teenage girl being kidnapped, held captive for years, being repeatedly raped, conceiving, giving birth in an outbuilding and bringing up a child in one single room? Well me apparently!
The book is narrated by the son of the captive girl who describes his adventures and explores his world in a wonderfully innocent and beautiful way. He tells us about his world in such depth and colour that you would not possibly believe that it is just one room.
On occasion, the boys voice wasn’t quite right and didn’t fit a 5 year old. He used some very advanced vocabulary mixed with some niave words that just jarred for me.  But having said that, he isn’t a normal 5 year old is he? I much preferred the first half of the book to the second half, finding that it was just too offhand and not really believable. I did lose interest towards the end but the writing was excellent and a novel I would recommend, if only for the first half of the book!

Pop over to Alison’s site Five Go Blogging for a fuller review.

And what did you think? Let me know in the comments or post me your views at alicemcastle (@ ) hotmail (dot) com. Look forward to hearing all about it . Next time, we’ll be reading Alison’s suggestion, The Help by Kathryn Stockett, ahead of the release of the film. You’ll love it!

Thanks so much for contributing and if anyone else would like to add their views, go right ahead, either in the comments below or to me by email at alice m castle at hotmail dot com, and I’ll add everything together. For our next book, I’d like to suggest something a bit more controversial, Room by Emma Donoghue. I don’t want to give too much away, but it’s a moving story seen through the eyes of a five-year-old boy, Jack. I’m hoping it will be available in our local libraries (well, it will be if we all request it). Let’s reconvene in the second half of September and discuss it. Can’t wait to hear your views!

Rebecca of the lovely Here Come the Girls says: Kate Atkinson books are just brilliant. I rarely buy books in hardback but I have to get these as soon as possible. They are the only books I share with my mum, as usually we have completely different tastes – but we both love them.

I think Atkinson tells a brilliant story – with finely drawn characters – whose lives intertwine in surprising ways. The twists are brilliant – and I certainly never predict them all. This book is slightly more straightforward than its predecessors, but it is still packed full of incident, chases, violence, mysteries, humour and of course the dog.

At first I thought Jackson Brodie was a bit generic as a flawed detective, a bit of a lone wolf, with a messy private life and a load of bad habits, but as the novels develop you get a sense of a real character with recognisable human flaws. It is not just Jackson who is realistic, each character has their own voice and the novel deftly weaves between them.

On a side issue, the recent TV adaptation was a pared down version of the novels, with a lot of the story threads missed out – as you would expect for such complicated plots. For me it retained the flavour and spark of the books. Jason Issacs was far prettier than the Jackson Brodie I had imagined when I read the books, (and yes he takes off his shirt much more than I remember!) but in all else he was well cast.

The novels are dark, there are a lot of murdered women, but they have a sharp humour as well. They are books to be devoured in one sitting, they make you stay up too late to finish them. When you do you get up blinking at the sun light, your fingers numb from clutching the pages of the book so tightly. To me that’s the sign of a good book.

I can’t wait for the next installment. I really hope we find out what happens to Tracy and her adopted (kidnapped daughter?). I hope we get to find out who she really was but we were left guessing. I hope that Brodie will return to find more missing girls and murderers. I have a feeling he will.

English Mum says: I really enjoyed it too. I loved Tracy as a character and I adored little Courtney’s character too. I don’t know if it was because I read it in little bursts every night, but I found myself constantly having to refer back to remember who some of the characters were. I got a bit mixed up between the guy who finally gives her the new passport/facebook page etc and a couple of the CID fellas involved. All in all I loved it, but yes, who was Courtney’s mum? Glad you didn’t get that either – I thought it was just me!

And Five Go Blogging says: Twas indeed up to her usual standard and had me hooked from about. ooh page 4. Initially I was slightly concerned. Where was Brodie? No sign of the PI? For a brief time I was concerned that he wasn’t in it and it had all been a horrible mistake. And then a dashing ex-policeman comes to an old lady’s rescue and behold!
I particularly like the old dear, Tilly’s character. The writing I thought was very good to suggest the first signs of dementia. Bless her. I’ve written a review over on my blog so go take a look.
Looking forward to seeing what everyone else thinks x

I found the book a really enjoyable read. I must admit I had the recent TV dramatisation not a long way from my mind all through the novel. You may remember that the Jackson Brodie character was surprisingly prone to whip his shirt off  …. oddly in this new novel, I don’t think Kate mentions shirtlessness much, but I doubt that will hold the BBC back when they come to make the adaptation.

I love the way Kate Atkinson writes – it all flows so beautifully. And I also love the way that Jackson Brodie collects strays wherever he goes, whether it be people searching for their lost sisters or, this time, an actual stray dog.

Incidental characters are beautifully drawn, too, like Tracy – though I think (and hope) that she will become a regular. Her unlikely ‘daughter’ is wonderfully real too, as is the mother that Tracy rescues her from – or is she really her mother? Unless I’ve missed something, this loose end is left dangling for next time.

Right, that’s just a few preliminary thoughts – now over to you. What did you think? Either please leave me a lovely long comment, or just email me (alicemcastle @ hotmail. com) with longer views which I will post up. I will leave it a week or so before rounding everything up together. Dying to hear what you all thought!

Here’s the plan. We all go away and read the book – and I do admit that I think it’s extra cunning that our inauguration has been timed to coincide with the beginning of the school holidays so we’ll all have time, in theory at least, to read the odd page in between bouts of childcare – and then we’ll reconvene in a month’s time, and either just leave long comments with our thoughts, so that we can all reply to each other’s replies, or maybe even have guest posts featured here if anyone is moved to write a little review.

So, see you back here at the beginning of August to chat about the book – or sooner if you’re moved to tell us how you’re getting on, or if you really love/hate it.

What? Sorry? Oh, what is the book, I hear you ask? Well, in the end, I got most votes for Kate Atkinson’s latest, Started Early, Took My Dog. That suits me fine as I confess, I was missing Jackson Brodie’s chest after the end of the recent BBC series. I think he makes an appearance in this book. Well, at least I hope he does!

Here’s a link to Amazon if you want to buy the book, but I would check your local library first as, with any luck, they’ll have copies. So, happy reading everyone, and see you back here soon …

You may have noticed that I have a little box on the right-hand side listing a book I’m reading with my real-life book club, and sometimes, if I’m feeling moved, I’ll make a little comment about how I’m getting on with it. Well, the idea now would be to expand that and make it an online club. I will give the title of a book, talk a bit about the author and other books I may have read on the same lines, then let everyone have a month to read the book. Then I’ll invite you all over for a virtual glass of wine, a delicious virtual dinner (I’m very good at virtual cooking – not so great in real life) and a discussion of the book. We could do this as guest posts at some stage but I’m thinking for the moment it would be a review or series of reviews by anyone who’s moved to send me one.

I’ve always thought that the joy of book clubs is that they make you read things just a little outside your comfort zone. My natural tendency is to pick up a whodunnit – I absolutely love the one I’m reading at the moment, Blackwater by Kerstin Ekman – but it’s lovely to read something a bit more literary (and less blood-splattered) every now and then. I also tend to gravitate towards women authors, so it’sgreat to be made to explore some really good male authors.

How does that sound? Interested? Got an idea for the first book? I’m thinking we should go with A Perfect Spy by John Le Carre unless someone has a great suggestion for us. I was very reluctant to pick this up initially as I am not keen on that whole cold war/spying thing, but I have been completely won over and I’d love to discuss the book, it has some really interesting themes.

You can buy it new from Amazon here from a fiver, or second hand from 1p (though I don’t suppose for a minute that the price includes postage).

Otherwise, I’d love to read the new Kate Atkinson, called Started Early, Took My Dog. But ooops, it’s a whodunnit by a woman. Come on, save me from myself and come up with a few other titles to try ….

Let me know what you think!

I’m not sure how many installments there will be, but I’m now on my third and fourth chunks, which I’m devouring together rather in the same compulsive way that I see off packet after packet of chocolate peanuts. It’s a gentle, moreish, meandering tale, involving quite a cast of characters. As is usual in sagas like this, I pick my favourites near the start and then urge them on to the finishing line, usually hoping, ridiculous romantic that I am, that they will get married in the final furlong. As my favour has fallen, so far, on Freddie de la Hay, the little Pimlico terrier of the title, and Caroline, who seems rather unlucky in love (ahem), I have no real hopes of a denouement at the altar – but I suppose you never know these days.

McCall Smith’s style, as the world well knows, is aimiably quirky and, as the spy storyline has developed, I have rather impishly wished for things to take a gritty turn, a la Len Deighton or even Patricia Cornwell. Poor little Freddie tortured? Caroline being held hostage? Obviously I have a sick mind, but sometimes you do yearn for the tiniest droplet of acid in amongst the honeyed, effortless prose.  

Oh, but it is scrummy stuff. If you’ll forgive me, I’ll dive back in – I have a little bit more to read before my next dose is sent to me by those lovely folk at the Telegraph. Toodle pip!

The door to the bank now has a special entry portal, like the transporter bay in Star Trek but much less interesting, so even getting in took some time and patience. I then joined a queue which seemed to be made of all the misfits in Dulwich – I had no idea there was so many – and I spent a while wondering if I was becoming one. We all shuffled round, and I thought I was nearly, nearly getting to the front of the queue, when the man before me produced a great sheaf of small plastic bags from his ruck sack, each containing, of course, a selection of one and five penny pieces with which to pay all his utility bills. I was sinking into a glazed-eyed, slack-jawed pre-coma phase by the time he seemed to have finished, having got through gas, electricity, water, phone, telly …..and it took some effort for me to regain enough consciousness to plod forward a little, when he suddenly got out a note, to which Blu-Tack had been pre-applied, and proceeded to stick it to the cashier’s window. It is a measure of how deeply bored I had been that I was actually quite excited at the prospect that this might be some sort of hold-up. Did the note have ‘put all the money in a bag – Unmarked Notes only!’ written on it? All the dispirited queue perked up. Instead of dying of queuitis, we all now had an outside chance of getting on the London round-up at the end of the News at Ten. I had already pictured it all, the headlines in the Standard, ‘plucky divorcee raises alarm at bank heist,’ ‘brave well-preserved 40-something mother of two floors armed robber,’ even my acceptance speech as the Queen presented me with an OBE, ‘it was just instinct, I did what anybody else would have done …..’ I would only wince a tiny bit as she pinned the medal on my plaster cast ….

Alas, it soon became all too clear that the putative bank robber was just another nutter. The cashier peered hard at the note, then said, ‘and did you just want the last two statements, then?’ which rather rubbished all the customer’s brave, though eccentric, efforts at discretion. He nodded, and we all sighed and went back to contemplating our shoes or the long list of not very exciting insurance services Barclays £$%& offers.

Mind you, by the time I finally got to the cashier, I had cheered up a bit. There’s nothing like a display of bona fide oddness to perk me up, and I wondered whether the clerk would mention it. Of course, in true English style, she did not. She heard my tale of codes and surnames in sympathetic silence, absorbed my request for a cheque book, pressed two buttons on her computer and told me one was already on its way automatically and would be with me the following day.

So I needn’t have abandoned my reading, my fireside or my beloved cupboards after all. But I’m rather glad I did, as it’s not often you nearly participate in a bank robbery in Dulwich. Oh, and needless to say, the chequebook did not arrive in today’s post.