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BBC Manchester Bloggers Meeting – Second Time Lucky!

Like many other people in Manchester tonight, I’ve just returned from the BBC Blogging Workshop. No winds could stop us this time, but no winds were blowing, anyway.

The goal of the workshop was to bring together the Mancunian bloggers of all degrees of proficiency and to cover a variety of topics, from choosing the right platform to making money with your blog. The BBC Editorial Guidelines were also briefly looked at, and the meeting was led by Robin Hamman, with participation of Richard Fair and Craig McGinty. I also did a bit of talking.

……………………………………………………..Robin Hamman & Richard Fair in the BBC Club Bar

After the workshop some of us headed to Lass o’Gowrie, an Irish pub up the street from the BBC in Oxford Road, where we took this photo:

Back row, left to right: Thomas McEldowney, Robin Hamman; front row, left to right: Paul Griffiths, Craig McGinty, and Andrew (who is not a blogger yet, but will certainly have become one after he leaves the pub tonight).

The recurrent topic, which I can’t help finally picking upon, is: what blogs are for, and who reads them. As Richard Fair likes saying, one absolutely must have a degree of arrogance to send their thoughts *into space*, expecting that someone somewhere will read those musings. But, methinks, arrogance is supported on this occasion by such simple fact that on this planet, inhabited by several billions of human beings, there WILL always be someone who stumbles into your writing. Add to this the fact that blogging allows you to develop your own editorial guidelines and house styles, and voila! you no longer depend on a prospective publisher. You simply publish a post, it becomes instantly available, and who knows what happens next? You may be read by millions of people all over the planet Earth.

My very first post on this blog was exactly on this topic. After months of indifference and several weeks of intense research and thinking of what I’d write about had I become a blogger, I created Los Cuadernos. And I still vividly remember staring at the screen for ten minutes, having no idea of what to say. Eventually I said it.

Blogging used to be understood as either a journo’s platform, or a personal diary. This is how I also understood it, until I looked at various blogs and realised that your content is by no means restricted by those two types of writing. Still, blogging is associated with journalism, just like writing is associated with “serious” literature. When one considers becoming a writer, they don’t want to be unknown writers. They want to belong to the same league, as Tolstoy, Joyce, etc. Same for bloggers. The very thought of sending your musings into the same virtual space, where Nick Robinson publishes his texts, must be scary, as well as exhilirating.

And that’s the thing about blogging. It’s purely virtual, yet the effect it has on your life and the life of your readers is quite tangible. Once you realise that your content is interesting, you strive to maintain the level or even to raise it. In terms of writing and research, this has never been a problem to me. But I was conscious that I wanted to use as many opportunities of the Internet as possible, including uploading or embedding videos, audios and images. And in just half a year after I started Los Cuadernos I’ve learnt technical skills that I thought I’d never need.

Why is this necessary? Because, as we know, scientia potentia est (knowledge is power). In the end, you’re not obliged to publish on the web under your real name, in which case you’ve got unlimited opportunities to explore the audience’s reaction to various styles, topics, etc. And if you don’t enjoy it, you can always stop. But if you’re totally new to internet and blogging, you’ll pick up a plenty of new skills, which can be used for many purposes. And if you know that you’re being read, and when you hear people telling you that they enjoy your content, you feel that those late hours you’d spent typing a post *for nobody* haven’t been in vain.

And to finish it all off, I’ve just subscribed to Richard Fair’s Mind, which I enjoy reading and have been reading for some time (as Richard knows from my comments). But – which is exactly relevant to tonight’s meeting – Richard hasn’t got that flashy orange icon that signals to everyone that they can subscribe to his blog. I always used to type Mind’s address directly into the browser. Luckily, tonight I remembered that those icons often appear on the right side of one’s browser window. Richard’s icon was there, and from now on I will be reading him in Google Reader.

Browsing Pictures

[I hope Mick reads this post and remembers about something…]

Yes, in addition to a photo you’ve seen on Radio Manchester Blog, these are two other pics, first of the Star Chamber, second of the Great Hall (both taken by Mick Davies). On the second picture, the gentleman in brown coat, wearing headphones, is Richard Fair, BBC Studio 6 presenter. The photo was taken while he talked to a Cashmere musician and a representative of the Cashmere Centre in Manchester. So, again, it’s not me in that photo.



Now, look carefully at the walls and you’ll notice the orbs (the glowing circles). The Tudor Bloke from the photo on the Radio Manchester Blog was dressed casually when I spoke to him, and divulged to me that the ghost has once patted his colleague on her shoulder. Together with the orbs, this is further proof to the fact that life exists beyond the saucer.

Because I didn’t want to only upload two pics and leave you to it, I decided I’d put up a few other photos that bring certain memories to me. This, for instance, is one of the places in London that impressed me deeply. I discovered it during my first visit there in April 2004, and the energy of the place is like nowhere else. What you see are the remnants of the church of St Dunstan-in-the-East. Erected in the late 14th c., the church had been destroyed twice – first in 1666, during the Great Fire (and was rebuilt by Sir Christopher Wren), second in 1941, during a bomb raid. I will not write much more, as there is a website dedicated to it, where you can read about the church, its bells and – better still – listen to a few recordings. Go here.


As I was discovering the city on my way to the Tower, I went down a sinuous side street, which took me to the ruins of St Dunstan. The senses of tragedy, strength and quietude were palpable, which is the reason why the place is so *attractive* to me.

Below is the view of Bond Street from the Charing Cross Arcade. I discovered it on the same day in 2004, on my way back from the Tower. [I must be one the few who managed to return…] It was pretty chilly on the Embankment, and I was hungry, but instead of going directly into Bond St, I went up the Waterloo Bridge and found myself in the Arcade. From there I threw a glance down and noticed a lovely red-and-white stripy visor with the name Patisserie Pompidou. I went it, and it became my favourite cafe in London. I just love its atmosphere, its waiters, its shopwindow with a plenty of cakes… I’ve never been to Paris, but the place reminds me of it. So, this is my piece of France in London, believe it or not.


And this is the posture that many people, including journalists and writers, have in common. No wonder, this is what you see when you enter the British Library’s yard from Euston Road. I took it during the same visit to London, as the pictures above, but a few days later.

Yes, I know I’ve uploaded many London photos, and you’re probably thinking that I’m not being very hooray-Manchester-patriotic. No, simply there’re only so many photos I’ve got scanned, and the majority happened to be from my London trips. But – I have got this picture of Bolton Town Hall. In fact, I like Bolton’s town centre very much. And just a little bit off it there is one of the oldest English pubs, called Ye Olde Man and Scythe, whose vaulted cellar dates back to 1251. I didn’t stay for a drink there, but I went in, and it’s a marvellous historic place, so check it out, when you’re next in Bolton.

Julia on BBC Radio Manchester

Like I said previously, on Thursday I was interviewed by Richard Fair on BBC Radio Manchester. You can now go to BBC Radio Manchester Blog and read the report, just follow this link. Furthermore, you can listen to an extract from my interview – exactly on the point of why I started blogging. And no, it’s not me on that photo.

Yeah, we discussed briefly the reason why bloggers are so *arrogant* in that they expect other people to read what they write. True to my trade, I referred to George Orwell. I only quoted a tiny bit on the radio, but this is the extract from his essay ‘Why I Write’, which I had in mind. Orwell spoke about four motives for writing, and the first one was


Sheer egoism. Desire to seem clever, to be talked about, to be remembered after death, to get your own back on grown-ups who snubbed you in childhood, etc. etc. It is humbug to pretend that this is not a motive, and a strong one. Writers share this characteristic with scientists, artists, politicians, lawyers, soldiers, successful businessmen – in short, with the whole top crust of humanity. The great mass of human beings are not acutely selfish. After the age of about thirty they abandon individual ambition – in many cases, indeed, they almost abandon the sense of being individuals at all – and live chiefly for others, or are simply smothered under drudgery. But there is also the minority of gifted, wilful people who are determined to live their own lives to the end, and writers belong in this class. Serious writers, I should say, are on the whole more vain and self-centred than journalists, though less interested in money.

The other three motives for writing, according to Orwell, were aesthetic enthusiasm, historical impulse, and political purpose. The latter I highlighted previously on this blog, in October, in the post ‘What Do You Think an Artist Is?’ As you may note, things have changed since 1946 (as a matter of fact, there’s no Wikipedia entry on Orwell’s essay, so I should probably write that, too), in particular, the interest in money has probably increased among both writers and journalists (at least because we all pay taxes).

The rest of the passage is still true and relevant, although I would rather say that one should distinguish between educated arrogance, informed with your knowledge, experience and self-awareness, and arrogance in the proper sense of the word. I can confidently say that those who know me would never call me ‘arrogant’. They would probably call me ‘self-sufficient’, which some people are willing to pass on as arrogance, but which is not the same thing. In fact, I’d even correct Orwell on this. Writers, who are guided by a political purpose, aesthetic enthusiasm and historical impulse, cannot be arrogant. They are simply dedicated, gifted people, who do sometimes give an impression of not being interested in money and ‘all that jazz’. But they are always interested in other people. Which is why a good writer is always a good historian, and a good historian is always a good writer. In any language, I should note.

We are vain, it’s true, but not because we are hungry for fame. Simply when you are dedicated to something you do, you put enormous efforts into it, and you need to recompense your losses. Which is why the link to my interview is now in ‘Author’s Links’ in the navigation bar.

No matter how vain we are, though, we do not fail to recognise our gratitude to our readers, especially if/when they send comments. And so I am grateful to all my readers, who’s been reading and searching my blog globally, to everyone who’s left comments, and to Robin and Richard at the BBC.

Oh, and I can’t fail to mention this. As you read in my profile, Julie Delvaux is my literary pen name. There is my real name, under which I am fairly well known. Now, there’s a third version – Julia Delvaux. I think, my next step should be realising one of my non-literary dreams and trying myself at music (singing) and cinema. On the one hand, I don’t want my mezzo-soprano to be lost. On the other, with all versions of my name I’m almost ready for an IMDb.com entry.

Isn’t that vanity? ;-))

Tudors, Me, and an Elusive Ghost

To begin with, a piece of news: I am the first person to feature on the Blog Spot this Thursday on Richard Fair’s programme on BBC Radio Manchester. You can read more about the feature, about Richard (who is also a blogger), and, of course, about our beloved BBC Radio Manchester that has recently won the Station of the Year award. As Richard says in his post, you can listen to the programme online at 2pm, with a chance to listen again after the programme.

Not content apparently with making me his first game, Richard is talking to me at Ordsall Hall – Manchester’s very own haunted Tudor mansion. Strictly speaking, when I say ‘Tudor’ I rather mean its exterior. The Hall itself dates back to as early as the 12th c., and its first long-term owners, the Radclyffe family, had occupied the building and the land approx. between 1335 and 1662. The best-known owners of the Hall of that time include Sir John Radclyffe, the hero of the Hundred Years’ War, whose motto – ‘Caen, Crecy, Calais’ – denoted his taking part in several pivotal battles at the beginning of war, which the English had won. Sir Alexander Radclyffe was the High Sheriff of Lancashire on four occasions. Margaret Radclyffe (d. 1599) was Queen Elizabeth’s favourite Maid of Honour.

The Hall, however, is better known for two other things. In 1861 it was commemorated by the novelist William Harrison Ainsworth. The novel called Guy Fawkes, or The Gunpowder Treason used Ordsall Hall as the set, where political intrigue and romance entwined. In particular, it introduced the character of Viviana Radclyffe, daughter of Sir William Radclyffe. According to the plot, John Catesby and Guy Fawkes came to Ordsall Hall to hide from King James’s pursuivants. There, while Fawkes was detailing out his plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament, John Catesby was wooing Viviana. To perfect the novel and to complete the legend, Ainsworth conjured the love triangle. He made the renowned Protestant scholar Humphrey Cheetham (whose statue you can see in the Manchester Cathedral) Viviana’s secret admirer. However, she was a Catholic, thus they could not marry. When the Hall was raided by the pursuivants, Cheetham had rescued Viviana, Catesby and Fawkes via an underpassage. He spent the rest of his life in solitude, ‘tinged by the blighting of his early affection’.

Secondly, the Hall is haunted. It is not exactly clear whose ghosts meet you at Ordsall, and what time these ghosts used to live when they were connected to their bodies. But the ghostcam has been working at the Hall for years, and, reportedly, the best time to try and see a ghost was on Saturday night. I must admit, I never tried to *catch* one. However, the photo below shows quite clearly that the Great Hall is indeed being well looked after (see a blueish shadow between the fireplace and a little table?)


[Courtesy of Ordsall Hall).

I shall try and take some pictures on Thursday when I go to Ordsall Hall. This will not be my first ever visit there. The first time I’ve been to the Hall was in July 2002, and, believe it or not, Ordsall Hall was my first ever Tudor mansion. Prior to that, I’ve only seen Tudor buildings in the books and on the photos on the web. My impression is that I was somewhat disturbed to go from a huge spacious Great Hall into a dim claustrophobic bedroom, whose ceiling was painted in dark-blue colour and decorated with gilded stars. The feeling of the sky coming down on you was almost palpable. As if that was not enough, the room was called ‘the Star Chamber’, because of the ceiling. Every Tudor historian would instantly remember that this was also the name of the Royal court that had existed between 1487 and 1641. Its meetings were held in secret, with no indictments, no right of appeal, no juries, and no witnesses.

I chose to specialise in Tudor history because I loved England, the English language and culture, and because I adored Medieval and Early Modern History, but wanted to be closer to the modern times, thus I opted to research into the 16th c. It was an absolutely amazing period of time, as far as I’m concerned. The geographical and scientific discoveries, Renaissance and Baroque, the beginnings of cartography and research into the Solar system, on the one hand, – and Reformation, the Wars of Religion, the Inquisition, and slavery, on the other. The co-existence of the opposites has made the 16th c. irresistibly attractive. I don’t think I would want to study any other time, had I been given the choice once again.

And now to something spooky

As I wrote before, I initially wanted to upload two photographs of the ghost. But when I was uploading the photo below, it only opened halfway, so the blueish figure in the dress with the train wasn’t seen. Now you can see it well, which either means that the ghost decided to show herself to my readers, or that some forces from the bigger world have intervened.

Whatever is the reason for such metamorphosis, it still proves, in the words of Krzysztof Kieslowski, the Polish cinema genius, that ‘something exists beyond this saucer’. Indeed, it does.

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