The things one finds

I was doing some computer housekeeping this afternoon and deleting lots of old and useful files. It's amazing what I found. Some stuff I have no recollection writing yet it appears to be written by me. Other stuff is just downright peculiar.

Oddest of all is the receipt for two tickets to a Cliff Richard concert at Warwick Castle in 2004. I don't like Cliff Richard; I have never been to a concert of his; I have never even been to Warwick Castle. Yet the receipt is made out to me. 

Another thing I came across - and rather wish I hadn't - is a critique of my first novel, This Time Next Year. I joined the Romantic Novelists Association and my initial subscription entitled me to a free critique from a member of their review board. 

When I received it it was so bad I couldn't take it seriously, which was just as well as I'd probably have given up writing there and then otherwise. (Which may not have been a bad thing of course ...)

Here's a little sample:

She went on to say, 'You obviously intended this to be a humorous story and some of your scenarios are amusing.'

I can't help feeling that, though she seems to know it's meant to be funny, she's taking it rather seriously. Or maybe she's right.