While Tropical Storm/Hurricane Katrina meanders treacherously through Florida, spare a thought (if you will) for my old school buddy Dan Tickner, aka Fat Knuckles.

The first time I met knuckles was in the school choir 20 years ago, and I hated him. His singing was so bad that I never wanted to hear from him again. Weird how friendships can develop out of pure loathing; he stopped singing (he's actually a highly accomplished musician) and we became close friends.

Now he's visiting Japan for some teaching (I almost wrote "cheating" - a Freudian typo) and tourism with his wife, Kerrie. I started to worry about him when I received an e-mail on August 16th:

'Hi there everybody,

As you may have heard on BBC news or CNN, there was a big earthquake in Japan. It was about 6.8 on Japanese levels but 7.2 according to the good old Beeb.'

Earthquake = bad vacation. But then Dan went on to say:

'Me and Kerrie are quite OK. We were on the seventh floor of the Hotel at the time. It was like the room was going backwards and forwards horizontaly. Quite a weird but strangely pleasent feeling at the same time.'

From Tokyo, Knuckles & Kerrie went on to Takamtsu, where they learned that a tornado was on its way.

'The school we are teaching at has said it will be shut if this happens (very reassuring!) and that we will all be staying at the hotel on that day (that is me and Kerrie and not the whole school!).'

He's a funny guy, that Dan.

Last I heard, it was early for Typhoon season and the tornado may miss our heroes. As long as they stay indoors, they'll be okay. My personal experiences of school lead me to believe that teachers deserve all the catastrophe they can get, but to Dan and Kerrie I say: stay safe, and please learn the Japanese for "Help!"

For over 30 years, radio listeners thrilled to the tales of Francis Durbridge. His serials featured husband and wife team Paul and Steve Temple, played in this BBC production by the exemplary Peter Coke and Marjorie Westbury. As the novelist detective, Coke has a voice any character actor would kill for. Westbury is a strong enough actress to lend intelligent insight on those rare occasions when the script calls for it.

It is easy to see why Hitchcock's films were so well-loved in the '50s. Compared to the adventures of Paul and Steve, his thrillers are more atmospheric, engaging and intelligent. Durbridge is famous for having a golden rule: trust no one, nothing is what it seems. In the copyright-conscious '90s, these kind of watchwords would be trademarked a la The X-Files. The '50s were a more innocent decade, and this is reflected in the case of Betty Conrad.

The story revolves around the disappearance of a couple of girls from a finishing school - hardly Agatha Christie. There are a couple of deaths, but we don't get to know the victims well enough to care about them. So we're left to enjoy the interaction of the main characters.

Steve Temple informs us that the heroes will survive the adventure unscathed, so we're not too worried about them. The people they meet lie and cheat, and there's some fine use of dialogue - one character impersonates others to perfection. There's enough intrigue to keep you listening until the denouement, which is pleasurable but ultimately disappoints - the case promises more than it delivers.

Nevertheless, this release is a great example of the different value systems that existed forty years ago. The best things about Paul Temple are undoubtedly the famous theme tune, Coronation Scot, and the hero himself. Although if someone went round exclaiming 'Timothy!' these days, he'd be taken for a queer old cove. But in the post-war days, Paul was a cool customer.

Kitty Killer Cult Review

I'm pretty scathing when I'm reviewing other people's books, so I felt wary when the Charleston City Paper printed a review of The Kitty Killer Cult this week.

A critical review, though perfectly deserved, would knock my confidence and put me in a bad mood for the rest of the year. So I glanced at the first and last paragraphs (they looked promisingly positive) and got my missus to read the article for me.

To my relief, she said it was a 'good review' and passed it over to me. It made my day.

In case you're wondering, yes I do write for the City Paper, and no, that didn't automatically assure me a good response to my novel. If anything, it meant more scrutiny than usual from the Chicago reviewer.