I’ve never quite understood the contempt some people appear to have for the Secret Seven. Maybe it’s to do with context – these were sort of “starter” mystery stories, perhaps designed to feed young readers on to the teenage adventurers. Maybe it’s more that they are deeply loyal Famous Five devotees who don’t want to direct readers away from their favourites…

Whatever it is, I disagree with them. I will say now, that as an adult, I fully acknowledge that the books have not ever been a perfect example of writing or characterisation – there are attitudes in there which I see are quaint and now completely outdated (but I think to describe them as deliberately sexist is a bit too strong – doesn’t take long looking through social history to see where the views come from and that it’s a reflection of that more than anything else). Likewise, I accept that some of the plots were recycled from some of her other stories (but given that Blyton wrote something like 800 books over 40 years, that seems a fairly understandable occurrence).

The Secret Seven series paints a kind of urban childhood which was coming to an end when I was growing up and reading the books in the 1980s. Kids weren’t roaming free very much anymore, and they certainly weren’t solving mysteries or sitting in sheds discussing what their secret society would do for the rest of the holidays (but oh how I wished they were).

I did graduate up to the slightly more grown-up Famous Five, and loved that too, but my heart always stayed behind in the little garden shed, sitting on up-turned wooden boxes and flowerpots with Peter, Janet and the others. It remained more believable to me – these children went to “ordinary” day-schools (although we don’t see much of their school life), and weren’t on perpetual holiday… they discovered and solved the kind of mysteries you could imagine happening round the corner from where you lived, and they had the kind of friends you could find in real life – loyal, good fun, nothing terribly remarkable (but marvellous all the same).

For the record: I have absolutely nothing against Famous Five stories – they’re brilliant escapism, and were given even more imaginative fuel by my holidays in Cornwall, where the landscapes are a similar enough substitute for the real thing. But that was also my distinction – it was a holiday adventure, starting and ending there for me, in the main. When I was home, I always turned back to the Seven. I read and re-read the books, and repeatedly listened to the few audiobooks I’d been given over the years.

My favourite was, and I think still is now, Secret Seven Fireworks. There’s not really a particular reason for that – it’s just one I have particular fondness for – it’s creepy, but also brilliantly evocative for me, has a lovely little sub-plot of jealousy and sibling rivalry (to contrast with Peter and Janet’s impossibly good relationship). In short, it reflected something of my own childhood.

It’s dated, but not so badly enough that the stories are unreadable or not enjoyable – and brings back enough good memories now that I’m seriously looking forward to sharing them with my own son.

I loved growing up in the 80s – I have nothing but warm memories of growing up in a leafy suburb, getting muddy almost every weekend, playing in a group and wonderful autumn and winter seasons waving sparklers, watching firework displays wrapped up in duffle coat and wooly mittens, building snowmen in the garden and all the excitement and sparkle of a proper family Christmas.

It still felt like the Secret Seven was this world – small town England, with friendly communities and finding out about the world was something you had to do by going outside. The TV was a big thing, of course, but it wasn’t relied on as much it is these days.

I might not like the repackaged, cartoony, Secret Seven, but I’m thankful that it’s still the same stories underneath the cover. Progress isn’t always damaging, I suppose, and if it encourages more kids to read these adventures, and let them fuel their imagination, then I am all for it.

What did we do for it?  Glad you asked!  I wrote and Katie drew a little comic strip conversation between Luke, Katie and I… and then Katie beautifully illustrated a poem from the collection I wrote for my dad’s 60^th birthday: “Three Cutaways”.

Maybe I’ll put the images on the blog sometime, but I’m all for supporting small publishing ventures, so go buy it from her!

PS. I still have that damn cold…

There are, of course, plenty of brilliant memories of times with her to carry with me – and for that I’m forever grateful. As part of a tribute thing for her, I wrote a poem, chronicling some of my favourite thoughts. It was thankfully a lot easier to write it than write down what Luke had to say – he has been very sweet and thoughtful about it. But here are my thoughts.

Thanksgiving
(For nan)

All this time
I have been grateful for these.

The habits that became traditions:
“The Archers” each weekday,
the often-to-hand glass of sherry.
The forced second-helpings
of charlotte russe or sherry trifle,
the wake-up cups of tea
and watching you in horror drench your
krispies with orange juice.
From lifeboat mornings to Christmas drinks
you never sat still, always moving.

Day trips to south coast paradises
with spinning restaurants
and Martello Towers to explore,
that were always defined
by how many polos we could beg
(and who could gather more)
and the novelty of watching you
wading in the ice-cold pebbly sea.

And there was maybe nothing special
in the day you explained
the fineries of bowls in Wadebridge,
while we watched others play.
I didn’t take very much in then,
seeing rolls find the ditch
- you said it was a clever tactic.
But the memories stuck fast in me.

And all this time,
I have been grateful for these.

There’s some exciting and fun news coming in a day or two, so I’ll post again then.

I Cannot Count The Ways
(for Chris and Laura)

I could have stopped to make a bouquet
from bluebells and tulips
every day when they were in season,
roses and jasmine when they died.
I might have adorned your neck
with daisies and buttercups,
and filled the air around you
with meadow breezes.
I could have walked to green spaces
to show you Starlings,
diving and spiralling just for us.
I could have lain with you on a hilltop
and named every one of the stars
as reasons to just look at you
(and then I would want re-enact that Doctor Who trailer
and talk about where we would go, just you and I).
I could have picked sunflowers and sweet peas
to give me an excuse
to touch your hair.
I could call you in
just to feel my heart miss that beat
when you walk into a room.
I could record a podcast to spread my words
virally across the world,
just so they knew my joy.
I could fill your world with the rhythm
of Shakespeare’s sonnets,
serenade you with a mariachi band,
or steal in your window to leave
a box of chocolates.
I could have taken hours of our lives
to explain how my heart fills
and my fingertips ache
for your skin,
how my lungs swell with music
when you meet my eyes
and your voice
sparkles in the air.
I cannot count the ways I could shout my love.

And now we are here,
standing together to make
a public statement
in an architectural megaphone.
Signing our names together,
and becoming the whole
we are meant to be.
I do not need to count the ways,
I want to live just one.

Tide Fight!

It thinks it can take us,

the arrogant sea.

Well, we’ll make a castle,

my family and me

and that tidal smile’ll

be wiped from your shore.

_

We’ll even use you own sand

to build up high walls,

and plant a flag (or a child)

to dominate or fall

when back it holds the cold

attack from the breach.

_

But we’ll give you a chance,

and dig you a moat

with a channel to your waves

so however you float

into our trap, you lap

idly at our mighty feet.

_

And then, our fortress sinks

to the relentless sea,

while we trail off homewards,

my beaten family and me.

But next time weather’s fine,

you won’t be so lucky.

But, I’m embarking on several new things this summer, all of which seem a little scary:

1, a ridiculous Ood Cast project, summing up every TV story from 1963 – 2011 in haiku form… (and the whole of Season 1, from 1963, is going up tonight here)

2, a play. Won’t say much about it now, but I’ve started the script and am working out some of the details for performance…

3, a collaboration with Katie, over at the Green Bean Studio – on something special for her zine, The Green Bean (and yes, I realise how much of that sentence rhymed…)

4, finally putting together a collection of poems, which will be available through here – for anyone interested to buy and enjoy themselves…

5, extra Ood Cast bits and pieces, including more Ood Cast Guides to various bits around the Doctor Who universe, and writing some of the exciting Ood Cast Live show – there is a date and venue already set, I believe. And though I’ve already been told, I can’t for the life of me remember. So watch this space, I guess.

So, busy, frightening, but in loads more ways exciting.  This could be fun!

On top of that, I’ve been working on a top-secret project for my dad’s very close monumental birthday (he turns 60 in a couple of days)… it’s all complete now, and is ready for the big day, but I will not talk about it just yet in case he happens to read this!

But this means I’ve been on a bit of a roll, and have begun to work myself up for a couple of other things – beginning a daunting (but thrilling) stage script and planning out my Ood Cast summer project, which is also daft and huge, but I’m looking forward to it.

I’ve been writing poems still too, so I’ll pepper a couple here. This one was written in response to something in Ted Hughes’ Birthday Letters (the collection of poems about his late wife, Sylvia Plath):

The Ghosts of People Long Gone

This place is empty now.

Just echoes keep me sane,

a remembrance of presence.

_

I am late and I missed them.

I know, I know.

_

They will return tomorrow,

this place will buzz once again.

I will have gone long since.

I’m now also looking at things that might work for a collaboration with my friend Katie in her marvellous zine, The Green Bean, which I’m very excited about.

And in case you haven’t seen it, have a look here, then get drawing penguins…

http://www.guardian.co.uk/childrens-books-site/gallery/2011/jun/27/how-to-draw-penguins-oliver-jeffers#/?picture=375870801&index=0

Now I’ve written it all out in front of me, I seem rather busy. Better be off then. Oh, one more poem…

Quieter Than I Think

You steal in

and

out

of my thoughts

undetected, unasked

(but welcome).

A licensed thief,

you know what you want

and just where to

find

it

within me.

Even without knowing that it would gain a great title too, it sounded brilliant – a collaboration of poets and artists, which would hopefully produce something wonderful. Two of my poems were chosen to be included – they are called “Summoned By Swells” and “Dark Nights and Butterflies”.

I’ve only seen preview pictures so far, but it looks incredible (if you click on the preorder link below, you can see those pictures too – or go to Jemma’s blog here)

I was paired up with an illustrator – Jasmine Foster (you can see her lovely work at her blog) and was incredibly impressed with what she came up with from my meagre words!

So, Little Epic’s first issue is out next week (on 15th March, to be exact) – you can pre-order it here

And while you’re there, Katie’s Etsy shop is full of really lovely things and you should at least have a look around – The Green Bean, her lovely regular zine is into it’s second year and is really worth getting hold of.  Just saying…

Until recently, he’s been very nervous at the idea of watching a whole film. He could watch TV for hours if you let him, but films? The problem is the bit that I always laugh at on the back of the DVD case… You know, the bit near the bottom, usually colour-coded, that tells you what to expect from the film. Two words usually seem to mean he won’t sit through it: “Mild Peril”.

Anything could make him panic and ask for it to be switched off – spooky music, a meanacing-looking person, a leaf that crunched underfoot in a slightly unusual manner… anything. There are a list of films I’ve only seen half of because he wanted to turn it off…

But in the last week or two, something’s changed. He saw Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs and the live action version of Cat In The Hat (not a patch on the book, I have to say), and then Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs several more times.

So yesterday, when I picked him up, he was Flint Lockwood: Scientist and inventor. He’d even re-named one of his toy monkeys Steve, like Flint’s monkey. He’d got a long sleeve white shirt to use as a lab coat, pretended to spray on some shoes and hustled out the door for the journey to mine.

Over the course of the next 9-10 hours, we danced, built incredible flying cars with lego… fashioned spray cans (for the actual spraying on of technologically wondrous shoes, you understand) out of a piece of A4 paper and a drinking straw, we danced, I nervously kept an eye on the cricket scores while he drew up new blueprints for even more fabulous inventions.

Oh, and we watched Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.

Twice.

I think he likes that one…

Time to try Monsters Vs. Aliens again… I really want to see that!

Writing and working up ideas for the Ood Cast seems to take up a lot of the time I have to myself, so I suppose it was only a matter of time before the two worlds collided… I have always sort of avoided writing poems about things like Doctor Who, but on the last Ood Cast (Series 3, episode 5: “Window Shopping”), I performed one I wrote about that speech in Rose… You know, the one about feeling the earth turning.  Here it is.

That’s Who I Am

I never believed the stories

of planets spinning,

like magicians’ plates.

Revolving faster than my dad could run

or my bike would go

down the hill across the way.

That we were drifting through space

with the stars

and the planets

and the TARDIS…

We weren’t moving.

But the first time I walked

to the shore on my own

and I looked out to sea,

I saw the curviture,

the bend of the horizon.

As the tide sneaked up the beach

I stared at the sky,

struck with awe and panic.

Which would fall first -

Me from the beach or the sky from above?