Cheshire Railway Modellers

Index

Page 1 (1-10) 1. Good exhibitions. 2. Layout information. 3. Standards. 4. Talking to the public. 5. Wagon loads. 6. Exhibition performance. 7. What is black? 8. What sort of show visitor are you? 9. What happens when we're gone? 10. How much does it cost?

Page 2 (11-20) 11.Visiting the colonel. 12. Are you a secret modeller? 13. Getting trained. 14. train simulation. 15. The quality of shows 16. Extending the layout 17. Involving the public 18. Are you consistent? 19. Trains for children 20. When modelling is done

Page 3 (21-30) 21. Model hoodies 22. Believeable backscenes 23. Oddities on wheels 24. Real railway modellers 25. How long is a train? 26. Talking rubbish 27. Whoops 28. Family layouts 29. A load of odd loads 30. Is big better?

Page 4 (31- 40) 31. What are clubs for? 32. Layout in a pickle 33. What to wear at shows 34. The unconnected exhibition 35. The Great Easter Egg Hunt 36. Practice makes perfect 37. Models in strange places 38. Admission charges 39. Evangelism 40. Websites

Page 5 (41- ) 41. Soldering 42. Model railways as art 43. Judging judges

31. What are clubs for?

Graham had been over to the Marston-on-the-Hill club. It seems they were going through one of those depressing periods that afflict most clubs from time to time.

Phil, his host, told him that many members just sat around. If asked, they’d reluctantly help during the evening, but nothing more. While Graham was there, one of these quiescent members was invited to take a building home to add a garden wall. He declined. ‘I’ve got my own railway to work on at home,’ was his lame excuse.

“It’s rather demoralising,” Graham’s friend confided. “There are members who’ll tell you how it should be done, even though they’ve never done it themselves. Others will only tell you how you should have done it after they’ve seen you struggling with it for weeks. There are yet others, who’ve already done it, but won’t offer help or advice or even warn of pitfalls.”

Then a member breezed in and out just to show off his latest acquisition. “He’s always picking things up from sales stands for well below the market price,” Phil whispered. “He just wants to show us how good he is at spotting bargains and beating down the price.”

Another chap, who had been explaining loudly and at great length how to paint figures realistically, was asked work his magic on some cast metal characters for a club layout. ‘I’ve not got the right varnish,’ was his pathetic reply.

Fortunately there were a couple of members who were prepared to help. ‘I’ll do that if you like,’ said one of them. Phil later told Graham that this chap usually asks if there are any jobs that he can do in his home workshop to speed construction of any of the club’s layouts. Unlike many of the other members, he’s quite prepared to give freely of his time, experience and skills, providing specialist tools and materials, and often taking bits home to finish them off.

“You wonder why some members bother to join a railway modelling club if they aren’t prepared to get on and do some modelling,” Paul observed. This seemed rather strange coming from him as he never volunteers to do anything except talk about his non-existent layout.

“I’m sure it’s a social thing,” Jane commented. “They just want somewhere to go that isn’t a pub or a bingo hall to chat about things different from what is discussed at home and work.”

“Isn’t a club for projects that are beyond the skill, time, space, costs or man-power of a home layout?” Bill asked. “Co-operative ventures, shared endeavours, the whole greater than the sum of the parts, and all that.”

“There are three sorts of model railway club,” Ken observed. “The first is made up of active builders, the second meet for lectures and demonstrations, while the third only meet to chat, sup tea and grumble that nothing ever happens.”

“Those who are good at it get on and build superb models,” Bill added. “The less skilful talk about what they are going to do.”

“What about the unskilled?” Dan asked.

“Oh, they just write articles and put things on websites,” was Graham’s cutting reply.

“Are you getting at somebody in particular?” the chairman asked, with a knowing smile. But we couldn’t agree who it might be.

32. Layout in a pickle

We’d helped Fred exhibit his layout at Mucclesworth last weekend. Things went without a hitch, unlike the layout on at the pitch next to us.

There another club was exhibiting. It seems that the layout manager was working abroad, but had arranged to leave Romania on Friday lunchtime. He would be met at Salchester airport by one of the members and be driven straight to the venue to supervise setting up.

Everything had been arranged well in advance. Each driver had a list of who he was taking, when and which bits of the layout he was carrying. That part went without a hitch.

The chauffeur waited at the airport. The flight from Schiphol arrived, but there was no sign of the layout manager. He waited for a later flight, but he wasn’t on that one either. He rang the chap’s wife and found out that he was delayed. The people on the airline desk were most helpful and found out that there had been an ‘incident’ at Bucharest airport and the flight was postponed. The chauffeur called the club secretary at the exhibition and passed on the news.

As he turned to leave, the airline people called him over. They’d got more information. The passengers had been taken to a hotel and were probably staying the night. If the problem could be sorted out the plane might leave in the morning, though they’d still have to arrange the onward flight from Schiphol to Salchester.

At the exhibition, work had started on assembling the layout, but progress was slow. The team finally got it up, but the fiddle-yard would not align correctly, many of the electrics were shorting out, and the fascia and lighting rig was unstable.

Late Friday evening, the show manager came over and the visitors told him that they’d never put it up all by themselves. They’d always had their boss in charge and he did the fiddly bits. The show manager activated his contingency plan.

The visitors turned up early the following morning but could not make things either safe or operational. At 8-30 the show manager informed them that he couldn’t risk having a non-operational and potential hazardous exhibit. Reluctantly he asked them to pack it away and vacate their pitch.

A little while later the host club’s layout was brought in. In charge was an old fellow, once a highly competent modeller, though now, sadly, afflicted with failing sight and frailty. He didn’t do anything except allocate tasks to an ever-changing workforce. It seemed that all of them could do whatever they were asked, with just the occasional question to confirm details. By opening time they were up and running, though not quite fully stocked.

”Now with whom do you have the greater sympathy?” Fred asked. “The visitors or the exhibition manager? We all had sympathy for the visitors, but we decided the show manager made the right decision.

“What strikes me,” the chairman observed, “is that so many of the members of the host club had taken the trouble to learn how to erect the layout. If the visitors had done likewise, they wouldn’t have been in a pickle. It is surprising how many club layouts rely on the detailed knowledge of just a few people. Perhaps we should make sure that knowledge and experience about all our club layouts held by as many members as possible, so we don’t suffer the same disappointment and ignominy.” Now who could disagree with that?

33. What to wear at shows

A while ago we got round to discussing what operators wear at shows. We quickly decided that the older and more staid often display sartorial decorum with their flannel trousers, blazers, crisp shirts and ties.

“Some teams display their allegiance through uniforms,” Felicity observed. “They look really smart in grey trousers and blue shirts with breast pockets and epaulettes.”

“Others just have pullovers with their own and the club name,” Fred said.

“Gauge and line society sweatshirts are also quite popular,” Graham chipped in. “But sometimes they seem a bit odd because they don’t always relate to the company or period of the model being driving.”

“The middle-aged often indicate the breadth of their interests and achievements,” Fred commented, with a twinkle in his eye. “Like water-skiing at Aviemore, diving with sharks at the Huddersfield Marine Centre, or travelling through Bronte country aboard the Devon Belle.”

“Those in their 30s carry advertisements for beer,” was Ken’s observation. “That doesn’t go down well in temperance halls. Neither do on-line poker messages in non-conformist churches. And as for adverts for night-clubs frequented by scantily-clad curvaceous young ladies – that upsets them both,” he added with a grin.

“I’ve noticed the younger operators favour grubby T-shirts,” Bill said. “They also carry some pretty weird messages like ‘I hate steam locos’ and ‘Make custard, not war’. I saw one that provided a detailed explanation as to why it is difficult to make love in outer space when you’ve got false teeth. Unfortunately I didn’t quite grasp the reasoning for this because the last two lines were hidden by the high backscene.”

“And then there are slogans that I don’t really want to understand,” Jane complained. “They are too risqué. They certainly make it difficult for parents with children who are old enough to read, but too young to realise that it would be embarrassing to ask what they mean.”

“And what about the visitors?” Bill asked. “I can usually spot them, sometime several miles from the venue. They don’t have to be reading a railway magazine or studying the map on the back of a show flier. Look for middle-aged men, dressed for comfort rather than elegance, with lightly loaded bags. It’s the way they whisper to their travelling companions about double slips and cab control that’s the real give-away.”

“And show managers?” Fred asked. “The pessimist expects to have some mucky jobs to do during the day. The hall doesn’t have a resident caretaker and nobody else can be spared, so he’s suitably dressed to unblock toilets, mop up sick, or stand in the rain directing parking. By contrast, the optimist swans about in his pin-stripe suit sporting an oversized lapel badge, a mobile phone and an incessantly bleeping and chattering walkie-talkie. He’s doubtless holding back countless minions straining to rush in and calmly extinguish conflagrations, discretely carry out triple cardiac by-pass surgery, or surreptitiously expedite the removal of fatalities.”

“What some operators wear certainly distracts from their layout,” the chairman mused. “Should they should be dressed less ostentatiously? Perhaps in camouflage! It just goes to show that the way exhibitors and organisers dress can influence how the public perceives individual layouts, if not the whole show. Should we give this some thought before our own show?” And we all agreed that we would.

34. The unconnected exhibition

Ken and Bill have discovered a new show at Kettlesford. It was run by a church without any help from a recognised railway modelling society. Certainly there were no layouts or operators they could remember having seen before. From somewhere the organisers had discovered a rich seam of competent modellers that had no connection with the established clubs or the exhibition circuit.

Some of the layouts were really delicate, beautifully modelled, Bill explained. Others were more robust. Members of the public were being invited to operate them under supervision.

There was a simple shunting competition, Ken continued. A goods train arrived. The incoming van had to replace another in the goods shed, and full and empty coal wagons were exchanged. The outgoing train had to be in the same order as the incoming one - loco, van, mineral and brake but facing the opposite direction. It's not as easy as it seems.

As competitors were at work, the supervisor was explaining about the physical effort required in moving the regulator and reversing levers of a steam loco, the dangers involved in coupling lose wagons, the significance of fitted and unfitted wagons, and the role of guard and his brake van.

One youth paid his 20p quite early on, but exceeded the limit of 35 moves and was stopped. He had a few words with the supervisor and stayed on to watch other competitors. Every so often, he paid for another go, obviously having learnt from the mistakes of others. After an hour or so, he and the supervisor were getting along well. He would smile when he saw a good sequence of moves and the supervisor would nod back. When a contestant made a mistake, the lad would grimace, and the supervisor would just shake his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement. By the end of the afternoon, the lad was only two over the minimum. He won the prize for least moves, though he was annoyed that he'd not achieved the ideal solution that the supervisor demonstrated right at the end of the show.

Elsewhere, there was a miniature signal box, complete with 20 interlocked levers, bells, block instruments and signal indicators, Bill explained. Members of the public worked the box as they watched the passage of trains on the illuminated track diagram above. The chap in charge guided each novice signalman through the procedures and gave a brief but excellent summary of the operation of absolute block working.

Another exhibit was the miniature cab of a diesel, Ken reported. Children could get into the driver's seat without difficulty. It was a bit more difficult for adults, but lifting the roof off helped. There was a simplified set of controls and basic sound effects. The view of the track ahead was projected onto a screen. The driving instructor explained what to do and why. Trainees had to keep their wits about them, as not all signals were green when they first came into view. As speed picked up, the cab itself began to shudder, especially when passing over points. How it was all done, I don't know, but for 25p a go is was brilliant. There was no shortage of aspiring drivers. Even grown-ups were enjoying the experience.

As we've discussed before, the chairman remarked, there are a lot of secret modellers around. Two of them have come up with novel ways of replicating railway operations that encourage audience participation. All credit to them, and to the organisers for having the courage to include something different in their show and persuading the exhibitors to put their work before the public. It's a good thing that not all exhibitions are identical. Wouldn't you agree? Do you think we could get them for our show? And we all thought it was worth exploring.

35. The Great Easter Egg Hunt

We’ve had more discussions about that new show at Kettlesford. Bill showed us the programme. It included a sheet of small photographs. Visitors were challenged to identify the layout on which each view was to be found.

“For the little ones there was also an Easter egg hunt,” Ken explained. “Small eggs were half-hidden on layouts, often in places that were difficult for grown-ups to see, but youngsters could spot them without touching. Adults were asked to help the children note down the colour of the egg and the layout where it could be seen. A certificate and a small chocolate egg were awarded for each set of correct answers.”

“Inconsequential childish game,” Peter scathingly retorted. “Nothing to do with modelling railways. Shouldn’t be there!”

“These two competitions certainly made people look carefully,” Ken countered. “From the comments we overheard, it was obvious how many details people saw that they thought they might otherwise have missed. They got great pleasure from it.”

“One exhibit was a booth,” Bill continued. “There was a performance every half-hour. The overture was by Grieg. Then the stage curtains parted to reveal a 1930’s country scene, with single line railway, signal, lane, level crossing and crossing-keeper’s cottage. Birdsong and other rural sounds filled the air. In the distance, a diminutive horse and cart made its way along the main road. A minute sweep’s brush made a brief appearance out of a far-off chimney.”

“Then an upstairs window of the cottage opened, a lady shook out her duster and disappeared back inside. There was the whistle of a distant train. A cow moved to look over the trackside hedge. The door of a lineside hut opened. Inside, the crossing-keeper could be seen turning a handle. The gates gently closed against the lane. The train slowly came into view and stopped at the signal with a quiet squeak of brakes. Some rabbits scuttered into their burrows. When the signal was pulled off, there was another whistle, a cloud of steam, and the train chuffed away. A boy sitting on the lane wall waived to the driver. The signal clunked back to danger, the gates were changed and the cow went away. The birdsong resumed and the curtains were closed to a round of applause.”

“Neither that dummy signal box, nor that cab simulation are real railway modelling,” Paul sneered, referring back to our previous discussions. “Mere fairground rides!”

“Little theatres are hardly proper modelling,” Peter chided. “Just showmanship, really, masquerading as real modelling. And as for egg-hunting … Well, I ask you!”

“The signal box, the loco cab and the theatre all replicate, in miniature, different aspects of the working of a real railway,” Fred riposted. “So as far as I’m concerned, they’re OK.”

“If egg-hunting makes people look rather than just gaze, then what’s wrong with it?” Jane asked. “If the eggs can’t be seen by adults looking down on the layouts, whose modelling sensibilities does it offend?”

“Is there’s anything wrong with a bit of fun or showmanship?” the chairman mused aloud. “Even if the modelling is exemplary and operation fully in accordance with prototype practice, some operator teams could still do with a goodly dose of both. Their dour seriousness puts off so many people.” Now who could disagree with that?

36. Practice makes perfect

“Inconsequential childish game,” Peter scathingly retorted. “Nothing to do with modelling railways. Shouldn’t be there!”

“Neither that dummy signal box, nor that cab simulation are real railway modelling,” Paul sneered, referring back to our previous discussions. “Mere fairground rides!”

“Little theatres are hardly proper modelling,” Peter chided. “Just showmanship, really, masquerading as real modelling. And as for egg-hunting … Well, I ask you!”

“The signal box, the loco cab and the theatre all replicate, in miniature, different aspects of the working of a real railway,” Fred riposted. “So as far as I’m concerned, they’re OK.”

37. Models in strange places

The other week we got talking about the uncommon places where we’d seen model railways. It had all started when Felicity told us about her holiday in Amberthwaite.

“Near to the landing-stage there was a caravan-type stall drawn up on the pavement with children and their parents standing under the awning on the open side,” she said. “We went over to have a look. It was a model narrow-gauge railway. On the drop-down flap there was a station and simple goods yard. The single line climbed through rocky scenery on the inside of the van, in and out of some tunnels, circled back on itself and returned to the station. The children were enthralled.

“There were buttons on a panel at the front,” Felicity continued. “One activated a cement mixer while a second opened the door to a workshop to reveal men busy inside. A third caused a sweep’s brush to appear out of a factory chimney. Others activated a cliff railway and the lights in some of the buildings. They also had people moving inside. Round the corner, below a little chapel, there was a crypt and an underground tunnel. On pushing the button, the crypt was illuminated, a coffin lid opened and a skeleton rose up and sank back, then a ghost train traversed tunnel below. There was also a slot-racing throttle that controlled the speed of a helicopter’s blades and hence its rise and fall.”

“But best of all, the chap in charge would let children drive the trains. It was obvious that he could switch the public controller in an out of circuit and take charge himself if required. He’d a good line in patter too, covering both the operation of the trains and the charity for which he was raising funds. He also encouraged people to patronise their local model railway shows and perhaps even join a club.”

And then further model railways in unexpected places were mentioned. Bill reported on one in a shopping mall, just before Christmas. This was not an automated tail-chaser, but a proper model that had been on the exhibition circuit and was staffed by chaps who knew what they were doing. They were shattered at the end of their stint. At least the layout and stock withstood three days of intensive running in a far from ideal location.

Another pre-Christmas outing for a proper model was seen in the main railway station in Copenhagen. Again there were enthusiasts working the controls. Coffee mornings, garden centres and school fetes quickly joined the list. Jim told us of a sushi restaurant in Malaysia where the dishes were carried along the counter on cradle wagons pulled by a small live-steam loco, though we wondered if this really counted as a model railway.

“We modellers are far too limited in where we expect to find public displays of layouts,” Graham stated. “Traditionally it’s only exhibitions, but what about the public who don’t even know about shows? How do they find out about our great hobby? All these unusual venues are excellent ways to spread the word. Each venue exposes different groups to our pastime.”

“Exposes us to ridicule.” Paul commented. “Sarcastic comedians have a field-day.”

“It depends on how the exhibitors promote the hobby in these non-traditional locations,” Ken responded. “If it’s the stony indifference to the public shown by some operating teams, then it could be worse than ridicule. We’re all open to mockery and derision. But if it’s done well, that’s a totally different matter.”

”It would be interesting to know how such exposure alters public perceptions,” the chairman wondered. “Does it increase show attendances or club membership?” He asked if our club should be going out to unusual venues to spread the word. We all agreed that we ought to, but it remains to be seen if we pluck up courage to do so.

38. Admission charges

The other week we got round to talking about the wide variation in the admission charge to shows. Some of it could be related to the number of layouts and the distances they had travelled, but others factors also came into play, such as the cost of the venue.

“How much should you pay to get into an exhibition?” Felicity asked. “Ten pounds?”

“For ten pounds I expect superb exhibits I’d not seen before,” Bill said. “They’d have to be brought from across the entire country. It would certainly draw quality visitors from a wide area.”

“Ten pounds is too much for the chap with kids coming in off the street just to see what it’s all about while his wife is shopping,” Jane commented.

“Some shows include a partner and up to two children on the one ticket, while other charge by the head,” Fred added. “I hear Anne Boleyn got in free.”

“What about free admission?” asked Jim.

“Then they can’t afford the quality layouts, Ken replied. “You’re not going to get people travelling far. Small number of visitors. But good for passing trade.”

“If you don’t have to pay it can’t be worth much,” Paul sneered.

“But if it’s expensive, many folk can’t afford to get in,” retorted Ken.

“The Colney Thorpe club no longer has concessions for pensioners,” Graham complained. “Don’t you think that’s unfair, Fred?”

“But they do take up as much space as any other adult,” Fred replied in apologetic tone.

“Especially if they are corpulent and need a Zimmer-frame,” Jane joked, much to her husband’s embarrassment.

“I hear it’s all over the local paper,” Peter observed. “Terrible publicity.”

“Is there’s any such thing as bad publicity?” Bill asked. “Think how hard most clubs try to get something, anything, into the paper in advance of their shows. Stroke of marketing genius, if you ask me.”

“They have reduced the cost of children’s tickets,” Jane chipped in. “Though I hear that there was nothing laid on especially for the children to do when they did get in. In fact, there was nothing for anybody to do except watch and talk amongst themselves.”

“At one show the children could make masks, not of people or animals, but of Thomas and his friends,” Felicity pointed out. “At another show, there was a kit-building room. And then there’s always certificates to show a child has successfully operated a layout. Pity they didn’t think along those lines.”

“Isn’t there a place for both the expensive and the cheap show?” the chairman pondered. “People can’t expect the Salchester show to be as low-priced as Nether Hamblins, nor Nether Hamblins to bring in layouts from overseas. Surely there’s no problem provided both organisers and visitors recognise the difference and the distinct strengths of each policy.” And we all agreed with that.

39. Evangelism

A few weeks ago we got round to evangelism. Not with its religious connotations you understand, but simply promoting the hobby. Jane had brought in an article about railway modelling in a magazine aimed at older people that she’d picked up in the local library. The author obviously knew what he was talking about. Perhaps he was a modeller himself. He outlined the skills involved and the pleasure to be gained. He suggested that readers seek out their local clubs and give them a try.

”We don’t want a load of senile geriatrics swamping us,” Paul exclaimed. “They’re probably the Tri-ang and Hornby Dublo generation. No knowledge of what’s happening today, either for models or the real thing.”

“Load of rubbish,” Peter said disparagingly, having quickly scanned it. “Nothing about P4, or DCC, or even realistic ballasting.”

“But they’re not suitable topics for inclusion in a general introduction,” Jim chided. “Getting too technical too soon is more likely to put people off rather than encouraging them to come along to find out more.”

“How many introductory articles have you written?” Ken challenged him. “You might not like what he wrote, but at least this chap got something published. And he didn’t poke fun at our hobby like so many journalists do.”

“Excellent!” Graham exclaimed after he’d studied the article. “Shouldn’t the Regional Federation be fostering this sort of thing? They claim to be supporting the hobby.”

“May be they haven’t got the right man-power or contacts,” Bill suggested.

“More likely it’s apathy,” Paul said. “They’re so busy having meetings to discuss agendas that they don’t actually do anything useful.”

“Have you offered to help?” Fred enquired. Paul is always telling us what he’s going to do and how we ought to have done things, but we’ve yet to see any evidence that he has completed a single bit of his own or anybody else’s model.

“At least one club is making an effort,” Jim commented. “When I was at the Shelley Bridge show, a reporter from the local radio station turned up, microphone in hand. Members of the host club had thought things through and knew exactly what key messages they wanted put over when interviewed, though a few of them forgot that there are no pictures with radio and didn’t include descriptions within their conversations. But so what? It was good exposure.”

“The club builds a small scenic layout each year,” Jim continued. “It’s auctioned by the local radio station in aid of charity. Must raise the profile of the hobby and be good publicity for their own show.”

“Pity other clubs aren’t so imaginative and outward-looking,” Felicity commented. “A bit of introspection is all very well, but it’s a useless strategy for promoting the hobby.”

“I would have thought,” the chairman mused, “that those who think this hobby is worthwhile would be always on the look out for chance to spread the word. If they can’t exploit a particular opportunity themselves, then at least they should alert those that have the necessary skills or contacts.” Now who wouldn’t agree with that? But we’ll have to see what happens.

40. Websites

A self parody

he other week we got round to talking about club websites. We agreed that some were dire, consisting mainly of ramblings in badly-written English and in-group jokes. However, most were thought excellent, providing sensible information about the club, its venue, meeting times, subscriptions, descriptions of layouts, photos, special features, and so on, all with good navigation between sections.

Jim had come across one with a blog about a model railway club. It had obviously been running for some time. It seems that the author’s observations had upset some real clubs who thought they recognised themselves and didn’t like the implied criticisms.

Somehow the Salchester members thought they’d discovered the chap’s identity, cornered him at the Shelley Bridge show, and gave him a right ear-bashing. But the supposed writer seemed bemused and entirely un-phased by the rough treatment.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” they admonished him. “Ignorant criticism,” they said. “Makes us look stupid. Should have talked to us first. Ought to take more care about what you write.”

“Perhaps you are amongst those people who believe that Corrie and Eastenders are real,” he countered when they ran out of insults. “At least Albert Square and Coronation Street do have physical entities, even if they are only tv sets. It’s the quality of the writing and the skill of the actors that makes them so believable.

“To some people, Thomas the Tank Engine is real,” he went on, with a glint in his eye. “The stories work so well because all of Rev. Awdrey’s own tales are based on prototype events. But they never actually happened exactly as he described them, because Thomas is fiction.

“Railway modellers aim to make scenes that represent reality in a believable way. The better the model, the greater is the difficulty in distinguishing photos of the model from those of the real world. No matter how much ‘history’ you invent or adopt, nor how clever the craft-work, or skilful the operation, a model railway is still only an artifice, a proxy for reality..

“I think you’ll find the club you describe is entirely imaginary and exists only in the author’s head,” he went on, warming to his imposed role as bad-boy. “Of course, just like a model railway, ideas and inspiration come from many sources, not all of them within the hobby. And then they are developed, augmented, and sometimes exaggerated. If you should see yourselves reflected in the pieces, then so be it. If you don’t like what you see, then it’s not the writer’s fault if it touches a raw nerve.

“If he finds out, I’m sure he’ll take your comments as a great compliment because you’ve been fooled into thinking he’s writing about actual people and real clubs,” he announced with increasing glee. “It’s a good yarn that maintains interest but makes you think about things in a different way. If his fiction rings true by making you feel uncomfortable, then shouldn’t you be asking yourselves why you find it upsetting and consider if you need to make changes? Surely this is one of the marks of quality fiction? But in the end, it’s still only make-believe. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to read it.”

And with a beaming smile he turned smartly and walked away, leaving his protagonists stung and speechless, not quite sure if they had indeed correctly unmasked the mystery blogger.

“It wouldn’t surprise me, if the author doesn’t make this incident the basis of one of his musings,” the chairman commented. “I wonder what the chaps at Salchester will make of that?” And we all agreed, it would be amusing to find out.