Category Archives: Book 2

I played there numerous times in the early 90’s (see photos) and it wasn’t a lovely place. We weren’t playing lovely music so I guess we were a good fit, but I must say as a former rocker (or, rock-dance-groove-popper) it’s disheartening to revisit old haunts and find the band rooms all converted into pokie dens (poker machines, for my American friends) or bistros. That’s twice it’s happened to me now. Where do bands play these days? Are there still bands playing in pubs in Sydney? It was hard enough 20 years ago (Gosh! Was it really that long ago??) to find venues that would take you (forget about being paid). I’m too old to care now. I’ve got other interests, but it’s sad isn’t it?

I sat there nevertheless and dutifully worked away occasionally looking up and remembering the “glory days” (and don’t the words of that Springsteen classic ring true now? Except for the bit about my husband running out on me and leaving me with three kids.) My chicken burger was nice. The bossa nova (I kid you not) playing through the piped music was nice enough, though odd, and Roger Spoffin flowed freely. But deep inside me, I knew something was hurting.

I left the Zetland. There’s nothing for me there now. If there’d been a screen door, I’d have let it slam behind me.

(sigh)

Today’s word count: 2787
Word count to date: 125,177

So I stayed in and wrote while the kids slept.
From the terrace on the hotel’s roof there was a clear view of Hagia Sophia and further out on the point, the Topaki Palace. Istanbul claims to be one of the oldest cities in the world. While the museums in London and Paris are amazing for what they’ve collected/pulled out of the ground, Istanbul (and Rome too) are where they’ve pulled the stuff from. We had dessert one night – the only customers there – and the owner told us a little of the history of the place. There’s gold everywhere in Istanbul apparently, whenever people excavate they find it. But there’s a big treasure missing. Apparently when Constantinople was conquered, the palaces were left deserted and empty and all the gold was gone. It’s never been found.

I like stories like that.

This will be my last Roger Spoffin writing post outside of Australia. Day 1 at the Algonquin seems so long ago. Perhaps it’s apt that, as a fervent lover of history (which hopefully is evident in the novels), I’ve stepped back further and further in time over the past month.
From New York – about 400 years old; to Stockholm/London/Paris – a couple of thousand years old; to Rome – 2500? 3000? years old (I’m in the airport sans wifi and can’t check my facts); to Istanbul 3000 years old plus. I suppose it’s only to Jericho from here.
Instead, we’re Sydney bound, a mere 200 years old. But the beaches are ancient and the land is ancient and I’ve got a good imagination. That will be enough to continue Roger Spoffin.

Today’s word count: 1,471
Word count to date: 84,276

PS In case you’re wondering, I’m midway through Act 3. Acts 3 & 4 are the shortest in the book.

Rome has: beautiful shops; macchiatos for $1; fantastic gelato everywhere; spruikers selling selfie-sticks everywhere; tons and tons of museums; people who love kids (more than I do, at times).

The hotel I chose is apparently a haunt of writers and film makers. I sat in the outdoor covered garden and when I left, at only 11pm, I was the last but one guest. And it was Saturday night. Maybe the Romans kick on elsewhere.

Rome comes highly recommended – for the Vatican Museums alone. And the ice cream. And the macchiatos.

Today’s word count: 700
Word count to date: 81,900

The most famous hotel in Germany, it was built only after the aid of Kaiser Wilhelm 2 was enlisted, who enabled the purchase of the site by Mr Adlon and the subsequent demolition of the existing Schinkel-designed building. ‘Germany must have a hotel to rival the Ritz’ – which had recently opened in both Paris and London – was his thinking. (This is the same chap who also figured Germany needed a navy to rival that of Britain’s thereby triggering the largest arms race in history).

The Adlon was also the hub of the bopping, buzzing, jazz-loving Berlin of the 20’s. And of course, in the 30’s the Nazis infested it. In the lounge where I sat, one afternoon not long after he came to power, Hitler came to meet the daughter of the American Ambassador. The horrific scene – you can read about it in ‘the garden of beasts’ – was essentially a potential match-up. He liked blonde women. One can only speculate on the effect on history should the dictator have taken a liking to this well-connected American girl. As it was, he found her a tad crass. Which seems a little ironic.

After the war, the hotel was all but destroyed. The East Germans used the only surviving wing for a while before finally tearing it down in the 80’s. They also renumbered all the buildings on Unter den Linden, which now fell in the east, and hence the hotel went from #1 to #77. The place was rebuilt completely in the late 90″s after the fall of the wall.

That’s just some of its history.

I went on a Monday night and it was very quiet. Cars can’t drive through the Brandenburg Gate so that end of the street is unusually quiet at the best of times. However, I’d just missed – by barely an hour – a protest of about 4000 people right outside the door. (See photo from the front page of the next morning’s paper)
It is a beautiful hotel – the first I’d visited with a fountain in the middle of the lounge, which has a very calming effect. (Roger Spoffin went well, in case you’re wondering.) When I left, it was late. I had to wake up my taxi driver. I took the photos of the building and left.

Then, on the very next street, I saw the riot police. They’d been watching me ever since I’d exited the hotel. Only I’d been looking the other way.
If its history tells you anything, Berlin will surprise you if you do that.

Today’s word count: 1702
Word count to date: 81,200

Hemingway was onto something in this place. I didn’t try the food, but everything that passed by me looked tremendous. I bade farewell and took a photo or two, thinking, one day, I’ll be back.

Today’s word count : 1400 (exactly)
Word count to date: 79,498

Last night, I experienced all of the above (except the word ‘quintessentially’) as I stepped out into the mid-winter London air, headed to Mayfair and stepped back in time. I used to work at the Millennium 20 years ago, back when I had hair (a bit foppish, not unlike Hugh Grant I like to think. Don’t laugh, I’ve got the photos to prove it). I was a rocker then – or a ‘popper’ more like, the band I was in was more Duran Duran than Bruce Springsteen – and I worked at the Millennium to make ends meet. Those gigs didn’t pay well, from memory. I lived like this for just shy of two years, pre-marriage, pre-kids, pre-restaurant, super-stardom just around the corner, the world was my oyster. If it all sounds hopelessly romantic, it was, and so there really was no other place for me to go to recapture just a bit of those glory days and set to work on Roger Spoffin.

It hasn’t changed. Mayfair is renowned for its ‘Gentlemans’ hotels. Discrete. Low key. These were what hotels were like before Conrad Hilton began constructing the huge complexes we know today. The Dorchester. Claridges. The Connaught. 200 rooms in these charming places is considered large.

Being late on a Sunday, it was quiet. Only three or four others in the bar. Grosvenor Square was deserted. It was so easy. For the next few hours I sipped my Vesper and slipped into Roger’s world. The scene I was writing was in London 100 years earlier – almost to the month. Not far away from where I sat either (I’ll offer no spoilers here). And as the hours passed, I couldn’t help but think Grosvenor Square, and the Millennium Hotel too, must have barely changed at all over those 100 years.

Today’s word count: 1054

Word count to date: 78,098

PS I should add, earlier in the day we had lunch with one of my former bandmates and his family. After lunch he showed me his studio and just by chance (or destiny, perhaps) he had saved a recent clip of a band. Duran Duran, no less – playing live on ITV earlier in the year. The song finished and we both stood in silence. When 20 years of emotion hits you, there’s very little you can say.

The Grand Hotel is Stockholm’s most famous. It’s sumptuous and in a beautiful location overlooking the Royal Palace but from an author’s perspective the thrill comes from its links with the Nobel Prize (and of course there’s one of those for literature). Attendees of the famous ceremony have been guests of the hotel since 1901, when the awards began, so if you know someone who’s won the Nobel Prize, odds on they’ve stayed here. A little of all that genius has to rub off, I like to think.

While it might seem the obvious location in which to write, there is another very serious contender in town. The Rival. Never heard of it? It belongs to one Göran Bror Andersson – aka Benny – who founded ABBA. As an Australian (and a bit of a musician too, I like to think) who grew up in the ABBA era and fell in love with all of them, the thought of sitting in Benny’s piano lounge with him pounding out ‘Knowing me, knowing you’, or, ‘Fernando’, or (dare I even entertain the thought) the heart-wrenching ‘Winner takes it all’, almost had me heading to the Rival. However, my Swedish hosts assured me that it would be highly unlikely that Benny would be tinkling the ivories on the day in question (or any day, in fact), so I went instead to the Grand.

In any case, sitting in the same room with Benny playing ‘Winner takes it all’ would have ensured no writing whatsoever was done. One can’t type on a tear-stained iPad.

As it was, Roger’s adventures progressed very satisfactorily.

Today’s word count: 1421

Word count to date: 77,044

You can imagine the topic of discussion in New York this week and the general sense of bewilderment at the circumstances surrounding Case #1. After all, it’s only the most populous city in the country. But New Yorkers don’t strike me as hysterical types and everything seems pretty normal around the place. Anyway, as my doorman says to pretty much everything, ‘Waddaya gonna do??’

Keep writing’s the answer. And so I should because Act 2 (of 4) just won’t end. I’m nearly there and it is the longest of the Acts, but on and on it goes. Acts 3 and 4 will tumble forth in an avalanche in comparison.

In the Royalton, I was back at 44th Street where it all began (at the Algonquin). The Royalton has no literary history I can uncover, but it is used for a lot of film premieres. My very chatty waiter told me Bill Murray’s latest flick had been presented there last week (and Bill too). We both agreed ‘Groundhog Day’ was his best work. (Which reminds me of his co-star Andie MacDowell and the 70-odd lookalikes I ran into in the W Hotel one morning who ate my red velvet pancakes.)

Nothing much to report about the Royalton. Very dark, timber lobby. The sort of place to disappear into in the middle of the day. Would be a lot of fun at night, I imagine. Maybe I should try that as hourly word count was pretty average (again).

Today’s word count: 2533 (over 4 hours this ain’t great)

Word count to date: 74,475