THE STOKE ABBOT HEALER

Don’t tell me people do not know, or some of them! I met a healer last weekend at the lovely little fair in Dorset’s Stoke Abbot, near Beaminster, where the tragedy of the couple caught in the mud slide happened. It was very strange how emphatically she said I had been so alone, out of the awful Abrams business. But other things too of interest. Find the path, which must be a country path, somewhere pretty!

I also met the wife of a writing school chum who called me wise (ha ha), and an ex Publishing Lord who was singularly unimpressive about my Edmund Shakespeare, Southwark passions. He was holding the kitty in the book barn and I want that red MG parked outside the big house. He told me that when Barbara Cartland had tried to do a serious history, it had sold something like one copy. I wish it had sold more than her pink fluff novels. But then, from the Abrams story, and long experience too, we know that publishers are really interested in one thing, as bottom line, money, (we are not immune!) and editorial power and jobs (we are immune!). Still, with such burning, beautiful weather, it’s all vital grist to the mysterious mill, and this whole story is really about there being “stranger things in heaven and earth…” Woo, woo.

DCD

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