Home Thoughts Weekly

Book Two and Beyond.

2012-01-26T04:54:00.000-08:00

I always feel a bit hesitant about discussing my writing here. I think it’s to do with not being the kind of writer who trots out two thousand words before breakfast. In fact, if my writing was a lover, I’d have walked out years ago! It’s moody, evasive, constantly threatens my self-esteem, but I hang on because that rare feeling when everything falls into place is utterly sublime and powerfully addictive. I have to work hard at what I do, but it’s not hard work.

Anyway, because people have been interested enough to ask, I thought I’d say a bit about the book I’ve just finished and the one I’ve started.

I tend to soak up impressions of places so the setting for Turning the Tide was born out of all the sleepy, seaside towns I’ve visited whilst sailing. Move Over Darling is influenced by the experience of living on the coast of west Wales. One of the first things that struck me when I moved here was that the population of Ceredigion is roughly the same as the town in the south-east I’d just left. With so few people spread out over such a large area, I started to wonder how couples ever found each other! It’s an exquisitely beautiful part of Wales, attractive to tourists and second-homers, but some of the lowest wages too mean that employment prospects are often brighter elsewhere. A trip to New York suggested the book’s premise:

This?

She’s escaped to the country. He’s escaped from the country. Who’s going to admit that home is where the heart is?

Or this?

From there, I met Coralie Casey and Gethin Lewis. Coralie doesn’t like the hand fate has dealt her so she’s taken charge of her own destiny. Gethin’s an artist living in New York who thinks he’s escaped his home village for good – until I came up with other plans for him. I also had fun with a cast of supporting characters to reflect the book’s theme which is about separation and reunion.

As Move Over Darling takes its first steps away from me, I’ve started work on Book 3. So far, I’ve got twenty-thousand ‘white-hot’ words. Exactly the opposite of how I ideally like to work by starting with a plan. Now I’ve got to sit and figure out exactly who these people are and how they got here. My latest hero is already on his third change of name, as I clearly didn’t listen to him properly in the first place. Looks as if this is going to be an interesting journey.

A Happy Day!

2012-01-21T03:07:00.000-08:00

Look! Those lovely people at Choc Lit have sent me a new contract for Book 2. I'm absolutely delighted to say that Move Over Darling will be out later this year.

Can Do?

2012-01-18T03:37:00.000-08:00

‘Guess what?’ I say to my sister, ‘I’ve made my own marmalade!’

There is a good deal of laughter from the other end of the phone and my sister goes off to share the hilarious news with Ma, who’s round there because she’s been struck down by the Mighty Cold that seems to be catching up with everyone.

‘Even I’ve never made marmalade,’ Ma mutters, sounding incredulous and impressed at the same time.

Actually, this is more about my role in the family as the opposite of a Domestic Goddess. As a former school cook, Ma’s culinary skills are pretty impressive, whereas it’s a well-known fact that if Tom didn’t cook for me, I’d live on toast and pasta. Sewing? I fell out of love with sewing in my very first lesson when I stood up and discovered that I’d stitched my square of gingham fabric very firmly to my gingham dress. My sister is the Queen of Curtains, and contrives the most amazing, lined, interlined and weighted creations. My own, much simpler, efforts are produced with a great deal of ill-temper and swearing.

The thing is, though, I’ve always believed that if I can read a book on the subject, I can do it if I want to. It’s not arrogance, truly, it’s more about being the product of one of the last grammar schools standing, where we were encouraged to believe that anything was possible if we put our mind to it. Unfortunately the downside of that legacy, for me, is that I put all the blame on myself when things don’t work out!

Dismal, overcast days and waiting for news on the writing front is a recipe that can lead to dark introspection, if I’m not careful. So this has been a week of making my own sunshine and doing rather than waiting. I’ve made fourteen jars of marmalade, picked up a tapestry that I started many years ago (the one on the left in the photo’s mine as well – now, that is boasty!), I’ve resumed my Welsh lessons, got the hang of the hula-hoop (to Groove Armada, Mags, instead of Hardcore!) and entered a poetry competition. Okay, it won’t last, especially with Novel 3 calling, but a bit of ‘can do’ has chased away the January blues and, judging from my sister and Ma’s reactions, not just for me.

A Rectangle and a Circle

2012-01-11T05:10:00.000-08:00

How many memories does a rectangle hold? When Stepson Two’s Gorgeous Girlf asked, one lunch-time over the New Year celebrations, where we’d bought our dining room table it set me thinking about this ordinary piece of furniture.

There’s never been any money in the budget for expensive furniture and neither of us enjoys trudging round shops for the sake of it, so our table, like so much of our furniture, comes from Ikea. It’s plain, solid and seats eight people. We bought it for our first home when we could finally afford to upgrade from the tiny, circular garden table that four of us had been squeezing round. Since then it’s been dismantled and reassembled for three moves and is now in its fourth home where I hope it’ll remain for many years to come.

It’s the place where we sit to eat every meal and has been the starting point for so many memorable family occasions. My daughters have grown from little girls to young women here; we’ve laughed, cried, argued and made up, seen boyfriends come and go and partners arrive. I watched my dad’s life ebb away here, as he slowly lost his appetite for food, but never for the chance of a family gathering. We’ve laid out our wedding buffet on this table, food for my parents-in-law’s golden wedding anniversary celebrations, and cut and sewed curtain fabric here. It’s only a table, yet every meal we eat here, every new face that joins us here, adds to the kaleidoscope of memories this simple rectangle holds.

And after festive season of sitting round our table, I decided it was time to eat less and move more. With the posterior vitreous detachment on-going in my left eye, I still can’t run or skip or do any high-impact exercise, but then I read Karen's blog about hula-hooping and was inspired to have a go myself. A low-impact, vigorous workout – what’s not to love? Well, for a start, there’s getting the hang of it! You need a large, weighted hoop and lots of space and then, like learning how to ride a bike, it’s something you just have to feel. Those YouTube videos are all very well, but seeing and doing are different skills. I particularly liked one response to the instructor’s casual, ‘it’s okay if your hoop drops!’ where the frustrated commenter had replied, ‘it’s NOT okay – that’s why we’re watching this!’

With a lot of practise and much gritting of teeth, I can now keep my hoop up and spinning for four minutes. Not quite the forty minutes I’d fondly imagined I might be doing, but that’s part of the challenge. A new year and a new circle to turn.

Through A Glass Darkly

2012-01-05T04:04:00.000-08:00

Like Arthur C. Clarke who famously said, ‘I don’t believe in astrology; I’m a Sagittarius and we’re sceptical,’ I’m another sceptical Sagittarian and I never, well, hardly ever, read what is written in the stars for me according to the monthly magazines. I’ve always loved the prospect of a shiny new year; a tabula rasa freshly smoothed. But after a rather bumpy 2011, I’m slightly apprehensive about what will be written in the wax of 2012.

New Year began with an unforeseen seven of us celebrating at Hotel H, an untried blend which worked out smoothly despite the foul weather that kept us indoors for most of the time. Fortunately the arrival of so many visitors coincided with some downtime in my writing schedule. Picking up one of the magazines that arrived with the visitors, promising all kinds of reinventions for the new year, I couldn’t resist seeing what the stars, apparently, had in store for me.

‘Delays on the work front are inevitable at the moment,’ said the monthly forecast. True, especially with seven people in the house. ‘While you’re waiting to get things done, or for a project to get the green light, have a think about where you know you’ve wasted your energy professionally in the past, so that it doesn’t happen again in 2012.’

Wasted my energy? What about all those hours spent slogging away at my desk, trying to make up for all the time spent fretting about Aged P, moving house, tearing it apart and putting it together again?

Turning to the yearly forecast, the section headed ‘Work/life balance’ (Ah, don’t you just love the idea of a work/life balance?) urged me to ‘Make 2012 your year of working smarter, not harder.’ And actually that does make sense. I have several writing projects in mind this year and I’m going to start by planning them, remembering to allow some time for those unforeseen incidents that inevitably derail them.

But, having scoffed at the magazine horoscopes, I should add that I was very privileged a couple of years ago, when the very lovely Dog Star drew up my personal horoscope as a counter to my natural scepticism. I have to admit that what I read was so accurate it was spine-tingling. The reading included some forecasts for this year which, if they unfold as suggested, would really be rather nice. In the meantime, there are some events at Hotel H which haven’t been too hard to predict. Take five visitors, three of whom have colds at various stages of being cooked, and guess what they leave behind?

Happy New Year to you!

A Christmas Walk

2011-12-25T05:48:00.000-08:00

What we saw on a our early Christmas morning walk to the beach...

A little donkey

...and friends.

Roses in bloom...

and bright fuschias.

What's down there?

The recent heavy rain has swollen the rivers and created a magnificent waterfall.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

Freewheeling

2011-12-23T05:37:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it’s good to just follow your nose and see where the trail takes you. I’ve had a bit of time to do just that, letting the thoughts come and go and trying not to force the direction or pace. So here’s some of the ground, the freewheeling has covered.

Away
Our nearest big supermarket is at Carmarthen, 45 mins away, but for a wider choice of large shops, we’ll go to Swansea, an hour and a half away. If you’re travelling that distance, you might as well make an occasion of it. Our first stop, for a really good cup of coffee, excellent cakes and jolly staff, is the café in the unlikely setting of… Dunelm Mill, the home furnishing store! What my younger self would make of this, I dread to think, but during the whole nightmare of house renovations, it’s been enormously satisfying to eye up the curtain fabric from the mezzanine floor over a cappuccino and a bun. Not very rock and roll, but there we are.

Swansea market is always worth visiting for the food and the characters. There’s always something good to buy from The Market Plaice, but for eating in try Punjabi Tiffin; exquisite cooking and the best cup of Chai I’ve tasted. Lunch for two for about £7.

Last weekend, on Tom’s birthday we went to St David’s for a look round the cathedral, lunch in the refectory and a trip to a very chilly Whitesands Bay. It was our second visit to church that week, so for a couple of atheists we were doing very well. With some time to play tourists, we’d finally got round to visiting our historic local church, Llanifhangel-ar-y-Bryn – St Michael’s Church on the Hill. Apparently its circular churchyard means there are no hiding places for the Devil. I was also interested to see that romantic novelist Allen Raine is buried there. I have no wish to join her, but I wouldn’t mind catching up with her sales of more than 2 million books!

Home
Jeez! The relief of – more or less - reaching the end of the renovations! We’ve also got round to putting up some of Tom’s paintings and suddenly that unfamiliar, raw freshness of new décor is transformed into something that feels personal. After a hectic year it feels good to sit back and enjoy the place at last.

Before...

During...

Finally!

I’ve been catching up with reading, again, following wherever my thoughts lead me. I’ve made a Roman blind for my study – which anyone who read my outpourings on Facebook will know nearly berludy killed me. And I also learned how to switch on the new oven and reminded myself how to bake.

Mince pies and Nigel Slater's chocolate flapjack

As I write this, it’s still pouring with rain, but I’ve got two new poetry books to dip into, Gillian Clarke’s Collected Poems and Owen Sheers’s Skirrid Hill.

Thank you for taking the time to visit Home Thoughts Weekly. May your Christmas be merry.

Painting is Christmas Morning, High Preseli, by Tom Tomos

Choc Lit Christmas Special Day One

2011-12-19T00:22:00.000-08:00

I know it's a frantic time of year, but do find time, if you can, to pop over to Choc Lit's Author's Corner . For the next twelve days we'll be sharing our thoughts on the festive season, beginning today with a discussion on when Christmas really starts for each of us.

And, since it's Christmas, there are presents! Every second day, you'll have a chance to win something from the Choc Lit selection by simply joining in the discussion. The best comment left over the next two days will win you a copy of my book, Turning the Tide. I look forwards to reading your thoughts at Author's Corner. Merry Christmas and good luck!

A High and Eyes

2011-12-07T04:51:00.000-08:00

Well, I did it! When I finally sent my revised manuscript on its way on Monday, it was with some relief and a certain amount of satisfaction. It’s been a challenging year. This time, last year, Ma was lying in the grimmest of hospital wards waiting for an operation. Her progress might have better if that same arm hadn’t been injured again in August when she was struck by a dustcart riding the pavement. Then, you may remember, at the beginning of November she broke her big toe. Ma’s fine, as feisty as ever, but I do hope for her sake that she’s a lot less accident-prone next year.

Moving and then renovating the entire house has been a massive upheaval too, but we’re nearly there. In fact, if B&Q would only send us the hinges that failed to arrive with our loo seat, we’d almost be sitting comfortably.

On the bright side, we’re very happy in our new home; waking up and seeing the sea beyond the bedroom window takes some beating, believe me. And there’s been plenty of good news from our children too.

What’s made this year especially tough though, is that I haven’t been able to burn off all the negative emotion with a good run. In March, just after we moved in, I woke up to a strange-shaped floater, like a folded elastic band, in my left eye, and some disturbing flashing lights. I’m very short-sighted, with a big chunky prescription that makes even hardened consultants suck in their breath (usually with a pleased expression, I have to add, and comments such as, ‘my word, you are myopic, aren’t you?’) so my immediate fear was that my retina had come to grief.

Fortunately, it’s a far less serious problem, a posterior vitreous detachment, a normal part of ageing although in my case probably caused by my prescription and lifting too much during the move. It’ll be fine so long as I avoid high-impact exercise until it’s completely settled down. What’s especially frustrating is that it really seems to be taking its time, but I have to be patient.
Running or seeing – I don’t think there’s a contest, is there?

The photo was taken from my bedroom window today. And can I just say, I hate new Blogger, I just don't have time to fiddle with wretched formatting!

Choc Lit Goes to North America

2011-11-30T01:41:00.000-08:00

I’ll be back with more Home Thoughts very soon, but this week brought the announcement of some exciting news that everyone at Choc Lit’s been eager to share. We all had to be a bit patient until the news could be co-ordinated to suit both sides of the Atlantic, but here it is, the official press release...

Brand-led, commercial women’s fiction publisher, Choc Lit expand into North America with effect from 1st January 2012, represented by International Publishers Marketing (IPM).

“North America is a key market for our expansion. We already have a loyal following in the USA and constantly receive great reviews. Finding the right partner, who believed in our brand and could offer the right support was critical. We believe we’ve found the perfect match with Jane Graf at IPM,’ states Lyn Vernham, Director, Choc Lit.

Since launch, Choc Lit has published a string of novels that regularly hit the Nielsen’s Top 20 Small Publishers Fiction List. In the last few months, they have picked up three awards – Best Romantic Read Award from the Festival of Romance, The Big Red Reads Fiction Award and Best Historical Fiction Award. Never Coming Home, a debut from Evonne Wareham (to be published March 2012) was a finalist in the American Title competition, run by RT Book Reviews Magazine & Dorchester Publishing of New York.

Jane Graf of IPM says: “We are delighted to add Choc Lit to our portfolio of clients. The quality of the writing, as well as their high production values, and stunning covers will make them stand out as a romantic fiction publisher. Their brand and great strapline ‘Where heroes are like chocolate – irresistible!’ are unique and a strong selling point. We’re excited to see how we can grow and develop this publisher in North America.

Choc Lit Short Story Competition

2011-11-23T03:05:00.000-08:00

CHOC LIT SHORT STORY COMPETITION

Choc Lit are looking for short stories of up to 1,500 words in which the central theme is chocolate - eating it, drinking it, cooking with it, or anything else. Let your imagination take flight!

PRIZES

1^st prize £200, publication on the author’s corner blog and a box of organic chocolates from Plush

A Runner Up will receive £50 and a box of organic chocolates from Plush

RULES

1. Your entry must be a maximum of 1,500 words.

2. All work must be your own and not previously published.

3. The entry fee is £3 per story

4. All entries must be received by 31st January, 2012.

JUDGES

Your judges are Choc Lit authors Margaret James (The Silver Locket, The Golden Chain) and Sue Moorcroft (Starting Over, All That Mullarkey, Want To Know a Secret? and Love & Freedom). Both authors teach creative writing for the London School of Journalism and have published numerous short stories, including in the Romantic Novelists' Association's short story anthology. Both have regular columns, Margaret in Writing Magazine and Sue in Writers Forum.

HOW TO ENTER

1. Please post your stories to: Short Story Competition, Choc Lit Ltd, Penrose House, Crawley Drive, Camberley, Surrey GU15 2AB. Please enclose a cheque for £3 per story - i.e. to enter 3 stories costs £9. Cheques are payable to ‘Choc Lit Ltd.’

2. Or email info@choc-lit.co.uk with the subject header ‘Short Story Competition’ and pay your entry fee by Paypal at orders@choc-lit.co.uk.

What goes up ...

2011-11-17T02:53:00.000-08:00

It struck me recently that for all this blog's claims to be about living and writing in West Wales, I tend to be a bit secretive about the writing part! This year hasn't been plain sailing for all kinds of reasons, but I can see light at the end of the tunnel with my revisions... at least I hope it's light and not the train coming towards me!

What's been strange and wonderful, is that whilst I've been working on my revisions, Turning the Tide has been making a life of its own away from me. Okay what goes up, must come down but its current Amazon rankings have really cheered me up... apologies for the trumpet tootle.

#6 in Books > Fiction > Women Writers & Fiction
#9 in Kindle Store > Books > Fiction > Romance > Contemporary
#16 in Books > Fiction > Romance > Adult & Contemporary

Families and Fractures

2011-11-08T03:59:00.000-08:00

Friday 4 November

Arrive at Ma’s early evening after a long journey and some pretty hazardous driving conditions on the M4. Ma mentions that she feels lucky to have escaped with just a sore toe after tripping over her Henry vacuum cleaner earlier in the day. Her injury is soon forgotten though as we catch up with each other’s news over dinner which includes a ‘fecking eppel teyrt’ that Ma has served up in honour of our recent trip to Ireland.

Saturday 5 November

The afternoon sees us at a family party to celebrate Stepson One and his new bride’s recent wedding in Grenada. I’m always a little apprehensive about Tom’s family gatherings, since, despite nearly thirteen years of marriage, there are times when I still feel like a ‘blow in’. The past is a strange country with shifting borders, strong defences and prone to outbreaks of brief territorial disputes. Today, though, a whole new side to the family has entered the equation.

The new Mrs H, who is of Afro-Caribbean heritage, is a long way from her parents in Quebec, where she grew up, but her aunt, uncle and cousins are here today, along with a big group of friends. At first, both sets of families sit a little awkwardly in their separate groups, but Stepson One and Young Mrs H have done their utmost to recreate the spirit of their wedding day and soon all of us chatting and caught up in the event. There’s a slideshow of sunny wedding photographs, music from the day and wonderful Caribbean cuisine. I watch the new couple and their obvious happiness and ponder the nature of families; here’s my stepson and his wife – does that make Young Mrs H, my stepdaughter-in-law? Who knows? What does it matter? ‘I’ll see you again,’ smiles Young Mrs H’s uncle when we say goodbye, ‘now that we’re family.’

Families, I suppose, are what we make them, but what matters most today are the new bride and groom setting out at the start of their shared journey. Here’s wishing them many happy years together.

Back at Ma’s, Ma announces that her injured big toe is feeling ‘very hot’ and I don’t need to take a close look at it to see that she’s in pain. Ma agrees that if it doesn’t get better overnight (some hope!) she’ll think about going to hospital.

Sunday 6 November

I pop into Ma’s room to see how she’s doing to find her fully dressed and looking very smart.

‘Still hurting then?’ I say.

‘Probably a fuss about nothing,’ says Ma, showing me a black, hugely-swollen toe.

In A&E there is a mass outbreak of foot injuries, but Ma is shuffled through the system in record time, emerging with her big toe strapped up like a sausage plait (which we promise not to bite) and an appointment for the fracture clinic.

Tom points out that it was after last year’s trip to Ireland that Ma fell and fractured her shoulder and arm so badly. Indeed, she’ll be celebrating the anniversary with her latest fracture.

‘Next year,’ Tom says, mildly, ‘we’ll go somewhere different.’

Painting is ‘Coast near Dinas’ by Tom Tomos

Before and After

2011-10-26T02:10:00.000-07:00

Hotel H is bursting at the seams this week; the mice are still in residence - I'd like to think there are fewer of them, but Lord knows how many more are in search of a snug new home in a cosy loft - and we have visitors. The bathroom facilities here are currently,erm, basic, which is interesting, but we did manage to finish the kitchen just hours before this week's guests arrived.

So from this...

Through this (when you think it's never going to be finished...)

We finally got to this. Hurray.

And now, I'm boarding up the study door and writing!

(But, before I do, another quick note about the font. Since the new improved Blogger interface thingy arrived, I can't make it work and I don't have the time to fiddle with it, so, dear Blogger, the restoration of my old template would please me no end. Thank you.)

Strangers in the Night

2011-10-19T03:02:00.000-07:00

It’s three in the morning and I wake suddenly, disturbed by the sense of something wicked happening a few feet away from me. Paranormal activity? Every nerve fibre’s pricking and I hold my breath and keep very still under the covers. And there it is again; the tiny, but blood –curdling sound of claws scratching at plaster. Tom’s snoring quietly beside me, but I can’t bear to listen to this on my own.

‘Tom?’

Muffled protest. He carries on sleeping.

‘Tom!’

Loud protest. ‘What?’

‘Shhhhh! Listen!’

‘It’s outside,’ Tom says, snuggling down.

It’s true that a party of magpies have taken to tap-dancing on the flat roof of the bedroom’s dormer window but they’re much clumpier. The scratching becomes more insistent; now it sounds as if the horrid creature’s got a pick axe and is close to breaking through.

‘That’s not outside,’ I insist.

Eventually, Tom agrees that we are not alone. It seems that the two dead mice found curled up so forlornly in a socket by our electrician in July have live relatives. In July, however, when the house was being taken apart in the first stage of renovation, I could accept the occasional mouse or two might have wandered in to explore the cavity walls and ceiling voids. Now that many of the gaps have been filled by new wiring and smooth plaster, I’m not at all happy at the thought of little teeth chomping through them.

‘Humane traps,’ someone suggests on Twitter, ‘take them to a field and release them.’

Hmm, maybe that explains how we’ve acquired our new guests; our house is surrounded by fields! Clearly all the mice that other people have released there have skedaddled over and re-homed themselves!

Research in B&Q suggests that this is a common problem in west Wales; there’s a bewildering number of solutions – shelves of it. I quite like the idea of the electronic repeller that uses ultrasonic sound to drive them from the house clutching their little ears, but it’s an expensive option so we reluctantly choose a more traditional method. The next night there’s no noise. At all. Have the mice gone quietly or are they just playing hard to get?

ePainting is ‘Fuchsias’ by Tom Tomos

Return to Ireland: Beyond the Mist

2011-10-12T07:40:00.000-07:00

Friday 30 September

It’s our last full day at the cottage so, naturally, the mist lifts. We seize the chance to take a look at the rugged scenery of the Ring of Beara and the spectacular Healy Pass. It’s a bit of a whirlwind tour, but it’s wonderful to finally see the breathtaking views that are such a feature of this lovely county. The fuchsia hedges that Fennie remembered from a trip to County Cork, and which are so characteristic of the area, line many lanes.

Ma wants to visit the wool shop in Bantry to see if she can find some emerald green wool to mix in with the blue she bought in Dingle last year. Inside the shop, where wool tumbles out of every cupboard and shelf like a wool avalanche, she tells the owner what she’s looking for.

‘I have some baby blue,’ says the owner.

‘I’m looking for emerald,’ says Ma.

‘Beige?’ the owner offers, plunging into a woollen lucky dip. ‘Brown? Red? Black? Purple?’

After Ma has rejected what feels like every shade of wool in the shop, the owner trots off and returns with exactly what Ma is looking for. It’s as if she’s been testing Ma to see if she’ll weaken and take an alternative. There then follows an almighty haggling session, the clash of two immovable forces, before the owner concedes heavily on the price of the wool, but gets her own back with the cost of the pattern.

It’s market day in Bantry and we take a stroll to marvel at the stalls. A man and woman are sitting on the kerb with their fat, jolly baby, a scruffy dog and a cardboard box that clucks and squawks.

‘Don’t go too far,’ the woman tells the scruffy dog which is sidling off in search of an adventure. Meanwhile, the man is lifting his jolly baby into the air.

‘Sure, she thinks she’s at the fair, so she does,’ he tells us, when she beams uncertainly at us. ‘Bejeesus, she says!’ he laughs.

Eating out is prohibitively expensive, so for our last meal in Bantry, Tom makes End of Holiday Stew, using everything left in the cupboard and we enjoy the other half of our fecking bargainous eppel teyrt with custard for pud. It’s a magnificent end to our stay.

Saturday 1 October

As we load the car, we finally get to see the view from the cottage, which turns out to be rather lovely.

Having stopped briefly at Cork on the way down, we plan to explore more of the city at our leisure on the way back and take in a return trip to the Crawford Art Gallery.

During our stay, Jack Yeats’s painting, ‘A Fair Day, Mayo’ has been bought for one million euros, making it the most expensive work of art ever sold at auction in Ireland. Unfortunately, we’re not the buyers, since Ma’s lotto tickets turn out to be duds – not a winning number between us. I do very much like Yeats’s work The Small Ring which hangs in the Crawford. It depicts a young boxer looking at his felled opponent and I like it for the way Yeats captures the stillness of the moment. There’s also a magnificent but eerie sculpture gallery, the kind of room I wouldn’t care to be alone in after dark, although I’d happily spend lots of time in the Crawford Gallery Café.

Alas, the weather halts further exploration of the city; it’s absolutely teeming down and not much fun for walking. We seek shelter in the English Market, but everyone has the same idea. It’s a fascinating market which has been trading since 1788, but it’s too full of hot, wet people to linger.

The rain hammers down all the way to Rosslare, but at least the sea state is calm. We board the ferry and Tom takes Ma off for a hot meal. On their return, I order a toasted Panini at the bar and, after only a moment’s hesitation, a Jameson to go with it. ‘Is it for yesself?’ asks the barman. It is indeed, all for mesself and it hits the spot very nicely. Here’s to Ireland.

PS Apologies for any crazy formatting in this; I've struggled to get it to play!

Return to Ireland: Part Two

2011-10-09T08:27:00.000-07:00

Tuesday 27 September, contd.
‘Stop! This is me!’our new friend announces some four very smelly miles down the road as we reach the village of Goleen. Tom opens the door to see him out and they shake hands.
   ‘What?’ Tom asks, climbing back in to find me and Ma sending him accusing stares.
   ‘I could have been knifed!’ Ma says, with ghoulish relish, even though she’s laughing.
   ‘Oh, he was mostly harmless,’ says Tom.
   ‘But smelly,’ I add. ‘I was nearly sick.’
   ‘Well, I couldn’t smell anything,’ says Tom, winding down the window to allow the lingering miasma to escape.
   'I just hope he didn’t have fleas,’ says Ma, as if we’ve picked up a stray cat.

At Barley Cove, Tom and I take a walk along the swaying pontoon bridge that conserves the dunes. Ma’s poor brittle back and injured arm mean that she’s too fragile these days to risk joining us, but she’s happy to sit in the car and wait, albeit still clucking about the low standard of boyfriend material we’ve procured for her.

Wednesday 28 September
As Britain basks in the steamy heat, we are still blanketed in mist. We drive through Ballydehob, Baltimore and Skibbereen all similarly cloaked in wispy fleece. At Skibbereen, we give up trying to see the sights and go shopping in Lidl. Judging by the amount of people filling their trollies there; it’s the thing to do. It’s a bit ironic then that this area was one of the worst affected by the Irish Famine.

Back at the holiday cottage, we meet the owners freshly returned from a weekend in Lourdes. They tell us that amongst other matters, they’ve been praying for success for the Irish team in the rugby world cup. I’m no expert, but I’d assumed prayers were meant for cures for cancer and an end to world poverty, not any ole stuff. And since, as I write this, the Irish lads are now on their way home, perhaps I’m not alone in considering the request a tad frivolous.

I put the kettle on and go off to find Ma, who’s sitting in the conservatory, lifting her face to a sliver of sunshine which has slipped through the clouds. I ask her if she would like tea and cake and her expression lights up. Ma has extraordinarily beautiful eyes – very clear with deep blue irises – and a gap between her two front teeth. Right now, her smile radiates a childlike joy and she looks about six. I drop a kiss on her hair and go off choked because she’s so pleased by something that’s so easy to do.

In the evening we watch RTÉ Prime Time featuring interviews with the seven candidates for the Irish presidency. The candidates include Dana Rosemary Scallon, sometime Eurovision Song Contest winner and Martin McGuinness, sometime IRA member, though not since 1974, he says. All are quizzed on what their unique suitability is for the post is and about their greatest personal weakness. They’ve all read the bit about turning a negative into a positive in the ‘Get the Job You Want!’ handbook, but it’s an interesting exercise for all that.

Thursday 29 September
We take up our hosts’ suggestion and drive up through the mountains to picturesque Gougane Barra (‘the rock cleft of Finbarr) where a large lake in a glacial valley reflects the autumn trees and an amazing Cavalry is pale and startling against dark evergreens. Continuing up through the mountains, the mist descends yet again so we cut our losses and walk round the pretty, touristy town of Kenmare. Ma optimistically buys two lotto tickets.

Next... the mist lifts.

Return and Return to Ireland

2011-10-07T07:17:00.000-07:00

Hello. I dropped off the radar for a while there, didn’t I? The trials and tribulations have continued at Hotel H, along with a dollop of heartache caused by a stone flying into the deep, dark Pool of the Past, creating quite a few ripples. We’ve also been hit by the great ‘BT Service Outage’, resolved after five days, not by technology, but by the application of a sharp object to the router. And we’ve also been back to Ireland with Ma, but this year’s experience has been, well, different...

Sunday 25 September
Wake up in Bantry, West Cork, to an abundance of soft rain. Somewhere outside is a view, although the mist is so thick it’s hard to tell what it might be. Never mind, the view inside is interesting too, with plenty of fierce ornaments to keep us entertained. The cottage is large and well-stocked, although the initial fridge-like temperature that comes from the place not having been occupied for a couple of weeks, means we have to burn a small peat bog to stop our teeth chattering.

Monday 26 September
Tom and I are exhausted from weeks of yet uncompleted house renovations and Ma’s recovering from her brush with the dustcart. We decide that a return trip to Killarney, which we loved last year, will help in our quest for the craic. A drive through the Cork and Kerry mountains and the stunning Caha Pass affords us tantalizing glimpses of wonderful scenery through the swirling mist and drizzle. We try not to think about the heat wave that we’ve left behind in Britain. The ailing Irish economy and a poor exchange rate have taken their toll on prices. Two toasted sandwiches, a slice of cake and tea and coffee for tea in the adorable Miss Courtney’s Tea Rooms, see off the best part of €30.

Tuesday 27 September
We trudge round Glengariff, famed for its beauty, in the continuing mist and drizzle along with a coachload of bewildered Americans blinking at the eye-watering prices in the gift shops. ‘Don’t even get close,’ we hear one man say to his wife as she’s about to pick something up, ‘that’s way beyond you!’

In an optimistic drive to try to see some of the scenery towards Mizen Head, we make a new friend. An Irish Rab C Nesbitt alike is standing in the middle of the winding lane, waving in a manner that suggests there is a large obstacle in the road ahead. ‘If you’re going to Goleen,’ he says, leaning in through the window when we stop to see what the matter is, ‘I’ll take a run along with you!’. It seems that he is the large obstacle.
‘We’re going to Crookhaven,’ Tom says.
‘Sure, ‘tis on the way,’ says our friend, climbing in beside Ma.

He wears the sweet, decaying odour of Eau de Farmyard, which cheesily permeates through the car and, taking no account of our shocked faces, he warmly engages us in conversation. He is amazed to hear that we’ve been as far as Killarney. He’s heard that County Kerry is very nice, but he’s never crossed the mountains to go there. Maybe if he gets a car, he says, he’ll take a couple of days out and go for a bit of drive to explore. He’s also something of an economist, our new chum. When we remark how expensive we're finding Ireland, he passes on his conversion tip, ‘being that it’s hard for you, since you’re Touristies and that,’ . He advises us to take a fifth off the euro price (he’s not quite up-to-date) and we’ll know what it is in pounds. ‘So if it’s five euros, you take a fifth off and you get...’ some time passes here, ‘well, call it about four pounds!’ he announces triumphantly. Warming to his theme, he gives us an example. ‘Say you have an apple tart (‘eppel teyrt’), that’s four fecking euros, so just take a fifth off and there you have it!’

Oh well, it least it explains the stampede for the eppel teyrt in Supervalu last night, when the price was reduced from four fecking euros to two.

To be continued... assuming BT plays nicely.

The view of the mist from the cottage.

First there is a mountain.

2011-08-31T01:49:00.000-07:00

I once worked in a busy research department where I was very fortunate to be partnered with a lovely colleague, Maureen. Whereas I’m not blessed with huge reserves of patience and can get a bit ratty at times of stress, Maureen rarely lost her Zen-like state of calm.

‘First there is a mountain...’ she would say, when I was tearing my hair out, earning herself a look of sheer exasperation. What the heck did an old hippie song about a mountain that came and went have to do with my problems? Eventually, I grasped that the words weren’t about getting lost whilst hiking, but about the path to enlightenment. Or Path to Enlightenment if you’re that way inclined. I’ve heard Maureen’s voice many times this year which has felt like a constant uphill struggle and it’s reminded me to try to deal with the challenges as they really are, not as insurmountable peaks.

Renovating the house is driving me nuts; I hate the disruption and mess. But as we move from room to room using them in unaccustomed ways, I’ve got to know the place better and feel I truly live here. Seeing the flash of Bardsey lighthouse last night, and the blue hills of the Llŷn Peninsula reaching into the sea whilst we ate dinner in a different room made up for the break in routine.

One of my personal mountains this year has been a niggling health problem which has stopped me running. If I let nature take its course, I’ll be fine, so when I’m straining to get out and just burn up my frustration, I have to remind myself that there could be serious consequences if I do. It’s a valuable lesson in patience!

Work too, hasn’t been all plain sailing. After a real Second Book Battle, (first, there is a mountain) I delivered my novel in May, but with a couple of slight misgivings that I tried to ignore. Well, I’ve just received the report and now I see (then there is no mountain) that I’ve let a couple of subplots run wild, almost pushing the main characters off stage! Now it’s down to the business of putting things right (seeing the mountain with fresh eyes!).

And just as I was hoping that Ma was on the mend, she was in the wars again this week when a dustcart mounted the pavement, clipped her injured arm sending it flying upwards and caused her to punch herself in the face. My sister’s on the case with this one and we’re just relieved that Ma’s escaped with shock and bruising when it could have been so much worse. On a happier family note, we also caught up with Stepson One and his new bride and Lily and her fiancé, Russ. A wedding and wedding to come. Mountains, no mountains; life goes on.

Painting is 'High Preseli Mist' by Tom Tomos

Who lives...

2011-08-24T03:35:00.000-07:00

... in a house like this?

Just before we moved into our new home, and after we’d signed contracts, I was given the happy news that the previous owner’s late husband had been spotted about the property. Not quite what I wanted to hear, despite being something of a sceptic, so when we moved in I visited each room inviting all previous occupants to leave. The mice didn’t hear me, but I’ve never been troubled by any ghostly presence, just a sense of sadness about the house which is disappearing as we make the place our own. One of the ways we’ve made our mark is by taking out the rather solid stone features either side of the fireplace, only to find that someone else has already left their mark on the wall!

Porky Pig, apparently.

From a Corner of the Spare Room

2011-08-17T02:23:00.000-07:00

I’m sure there must be some equation about how the rate of progress on a house renovation reduces the amount of space available to its inhabitants. Clearly, those folks who go off and live in a caravan in their garden know this, but it’s come as something as a surprise to me, but then maths was never my strong subject.
The fitting of new ceilings has turned the ground floor into a building site and our utility room has become a makeshift kitchen, soon to be kitchen/bathroom. It’s a bit like living on the boat again but with running water. Famous last words.

For now, I’ve gathered up my essentials, found a couple of wooden blocks my dad ingeniously made to raise his bed when he was terminally-ill (although a carpenter, he said he drew the line at making his own coffin) to make my keyboard vaguely ergonomically sound and retreated to a corner of the spare room. However, with downstairs lighting due to be fitted at any moment, I have a feeling that the house renovation equation is about to make its presence felt once again.

A Hill of Beans

2011-08-10T04:38:00.000-07:00

To misquote the world-weary Rick Blaine, in one of my favourite films, Casablanca, my small concerns about renovating the house or waiting for the verdict on Book 2, don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. In the main, this blog does what it says on the tin; it’s about living and writing in west Wales. Over the last few weeks, however, it’s almost impossible not to comment on the craziness in the wider world. Not to wonder about the wisdom of hounding experienced police officers from their posts over phone-hacking, or the constant criticism of police tactics as too forceful one minute, too weak the next.

And before we point the finger at every young person and talk about the bad, we should also remember the good. My daughter, Rose, started volunteering at school and still donates an evening a week, working with a charity which provides emotional and practical support to families who have a child with a life-threatening or terminal illness. Stepson Two’s Gorgeous Girlfriend is jointly running a campaign to get more people to sign the organ donor register. Sign Up, Speak Up, Save Lives is one of the projects featured on Battlefront, an award-winning Channel 4 online, on TV project that follows young campaigners trying to change the world. Just two of the good news stories that are easily missed.

And finally, and on an entirely frothy note. It fell to me to nominate the Wednesday Hottie on Choc Lit Author’s Corner today, a task that was made much easier by the lovely Kim the Book Worm and her very kind review of Turning the Tide.

Epainting is 'Study View' by Tom Tomos, and features the view from my desk

Let Them Eat Cake. And Onions.

2011-08-03T04:28:00.000-07:00

The rewiring and replumbing works at Hotel H have had an expensive domino effect on the rest of the house. There’s a gaping wound in what was the kitchen where the old boiler was ripped out. New pipes and cables sit behind what have become free-standing kitchen units. Artex ceilings, in the style of a sludgy snow scene complete with swirls round the ceiling roses suggestive of sledge tracks, have had to be replaced for practical as well as aesthetic reasons. The bathroom – always an eyesore – started moulting tiles in its haste to be reborn, and the carpets – never the house’s strongest selling point – have been buried under Pompeii-alike layers of dust and plaster. ‘It will be lovely,’ we say, through gritted teeth, scouring the internet for bathroom and kitchen bargains. But, gosh, it’s quite scary punching in the pin code for yet another payment with cries of, ‘Well, we’ve gone this far...!’

Our workmen have been terrific; arriving at the Crack of Doom and working like demons on a diet of bacon sarnies, chocolate and an impressive amount of cake. Once they’ve finished the ceilings and downstairs lighting (ever tried taking out your contact lenses in the gloaming of a couple of Poundland LED press-on lights?) it’s down to me and Tom to do the rest of the work. Gulp.

Still, we can always escape to the beach and even in the height of the holiday season, we rarely see anyone else when we go for our morning swim. The garden’s coming on nicely too. Just as well, since we’ll probably have to live on our vegetable patch for the rest of our lives. Here’s a few photos to show what’s going on.

The epainting’s by Tom, ‘Swim at Penbryn’.

Blue Notes, Green Fuse

2011-07-27T06:05:00.000-07:00

Tom created this epainting sitting in bed the other morning, looking down at the blue pool of hydrangeas beneath our window. In March, when we moved in, there were no clues about colour in the withered husks of last year’s flower-heads. Now, in a few short months, here they are in full bloom, purple from a distance but blue as you draw close.

Looking at these flowers, I’ve often been reminded of lines from D H Lawrence’s ‘Bavarian Gentians’ written when Lawrence was so aware of his own mortality. The ‘darker and darker stairs, where blue is darkened on blueness’. A poem suffused with beauty and sadness. There’s been too much sadness in the news this week, too many young lives curtailed. Locally too, the community is coming to terms with the death of a fifteen year old boy struck by a car when concerns about an unexploded WW2 shell diverted school children from their usual routes home and onto a main road. It’s all the lost potential that makes me despair.

This week, a hard-to-find John Martyn album I’d ordered to replace my worn-out vinyl copy finally arrived. Coincidentally, Chris Nickson’s biography of John Martyn, Solid Air, also became available this week. It’s a beautifully-written, lucid account of the man and the musician – not always, as Nickson reminds us, a comfortable mix. I love John Martyn for those achingly sublime moments, but there are plenty of tracks which fall short when the man sometimes got the better of the musician. John Martyn may have only been sixty when he died, but reading this biography made me keenly aware of how very young he was, just seventeen, when his professional career began and how much music he packed into his life. And whilst I’m on the subject of lost artists, there’s a wonderful tribute to Lucian Freud by Frances at her blog City Views, Country Dreams. Do have a look, especially if you think Freud was only about acres of flesh, and see his beautiful drawings.

On a happier note, the other poem that often comes to mind when I’m walking round the garden or feeling exhilarated after a swim in the sea is Dylan Thomas’s ‘The Force That through the Green Fuse Drives the Flower’. Life goes on. This weekend, oblivious to lives being taken or changed, we had a wonderful time catching up with my daughter, Rose, and her partner Si. We walked and swam and simply enjoyed being together in glorious weather. Ma’s feeling rejuvenated too, after her brush with serious injury in December. Yesterday, she phoned to tell me that she’d booked herself up on ‘a computer course for wrinklies’ since she’s itching to buy herself a laptop. And finally, Stepson One and his fiancée, Gill, fly off to Grenada tomorrow to get married. Here’s wishing them every happiness on their wedding day and for their lives together.

Congratulations to Liz Fielding

2011-07-21T01:48:00.000-07:00

I’ve dragged myself up at Crack of Doom for the electrician, my unwashed hair’s been piled up into a bun and the plug could be pulled on the power at any moment, but despite all this I’m at a party!

I’m over at my Welsh neighbour’s (well, we’re in next-door counties), award-winning romance writer, Liz Fielding. Liz and I are members of the Carmarthen Chapter of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and were also flatmates at the recent RNA Summer Conference. Not only has Liz been very generous in her support to me as a newly-published writer, but I can tell you that she’s very generous with yummy biscuits too!

Liz is celebrating the twentieth anniversary of signing her first contract for Mills and Boon for her novel, An Image of You and she’s just completed her – gulp! - sixtieth book for them, Flirting with Italian, which is out in December. How’s that for hard work and discipline?

I’ve just finished reading her latest book, Tempted by Trouble featuring the delectable Sean McElroy who turns up in heroine Elle Amery’s life bearing a pink-and-white ice cream van. Well, an introduction like that would impress me, but you’ll have to read the book to see if Elle’s so easily won over! In the meantime, do pop over to Liz’s celebrations and raise a glass to her. Congratulations Liz!

UK cover

Of Mice, Romantic Novelists, Gok and a Cabbage

2011-07-18T09:37:00.000-07:00

It’s 7a.m. on Day One of the home improvements at Hotel H and there is a cry of disbelief from upstairs. The electrician has opened the first of the old sockets – in our bedroom – to discover two dead mice curled up behind it. Downstairs, the heating engineer is flushing out the radiators and declares it to be his Filthiest Ever Flush. Nice.

Having only returned from the Romantic Novelists’ Association Summer Conference the previous evening, it’s all a bit of a rude awakening. Rather than doing something about all the writing ideas vying for attention after some very inspiring conference sessions, I’m dodging bits of ceiling – ‘You are replacing these, aren’t you?’ - choking on dust and supplying lashings of ginger beer, the workmen’s tipple of choice.

I have to admit that I wasn’t especially looking forwards to the RNA Conference, too afraid, I suppose, of being a Lonely Baloney*. In the event, I don’t know what I was worried about as I was met with warmth and kindness and some really lovely comments about Turning the Tide. Here’s a selection of Choc Lit authors before the Gala Dinner.

Evonne, Margaret, Sue, Me, Jane, Christina, Kate

At Hotel H, it’s time to bale out and leave the workmen to it. Tom and I head south and catch up with a whole swathe of friends and family. Stepson Two’s Gorgeous Girlfriend has been very busy promoting her campaign, Sign up, Speak up, Save Lives for Channel 4’s Battlefront. Here she is in all her gorgeosity with – gulp – Gok Wan!

Home again, it’s evident that work is still ‘in progress’. The disruption’s a little dispiriting, but we cheer ourselves up by cutting our first cabbage and here it is. What a big ‘un!

*Family slang. Billy No-Mates.

Get it while it's £1.72!

2011-07-03T02:16:00.000-07:00

Blimey! Turning the Tide's available on Kindle at the truly bargainous price of £1.72 today. Don't those lovely folks at Amazon realise I have a plumber and electrician to pay? Ah, what the heck? Get it whilst it's hot and have a read in the sunshine.

Spuds We Like and Other Growths

2011-06-30T03:04:00.000-07:00

It’s a busy old time at Hotel H with every other phone caller wanting to book a visit to the new house. Down-sizing and building works is creating quite a waiting list and this week’s changeover day, when we took Stepson Two and Gorgeous Girlf to the station and collected Ma, wasn’t helped by a nine-hour power cut. It’s frantic enough running round the house changing bed linen and towels without the added frisson of wondering when I’ll be able to push a hoover round or make a cup of tea.

We may not be able to generate our own electricity – the small brook in the garden has dwindled to a tiny trickle, dashing our hopes for a micro-hydro power system– but, thanks to Tom digging a vegetable patch, we’ve been self-sufficient in salad. This week saw the very exciting digging of our first potatoes. And – fanfare of trumpets – here they are!

The moment captured on camera by Stepson Two. They’re Maris Peer – and very good too, the skin rubbing away to reveal a lovely pale flesh... hmm, that makes them sound a bit yucky, but they were delicious.

Well, Ma’s here and looking as perky as hell, despite her terrible accident in December. She’s worked amazingly hard at her exercises to regain far more movement in her shoulder than I would have thought possible. Yesterday we had a trip to Swansea where, in the market, I spied a Beautiful Eyebrow Lady, all set to thread eyebrows at the bargainous price of £4.50! Readers, go see her, she is the gentlest Beautiful Eyebrow Lady I’ve encountered and I was delighted with the result. Mind you, I could have done without her aside of ‘upper lip?’ which has left me scrutinizing my fair, and as I thought, hairless upper lip, for signs of an incipient Zapata.

‘Does that hurt?’ says Ma, who’s been watching the proceedings with her usual lively curiosity.
‘No,’ I lie – well, honestly, it only stings a bit and the results are worth it.
‘Okay, I think I’ll have mine done too,’ says Ma.
So there she is, the woman who only a few months ago was lying in a hospital bed looking very broken, now giggling, surrounded by bags of shopping, looking full of life and up for a new experience. It’s a good day.

Taking the Plunge

2011-06-22T05:57:00.000-07:00

Well, our heating engineer returned from his travels and we found not one but two electricians and a builder so it looks as if July will (fingers crossed) be the month when we take the financial plunge. The current boiler’s being put out of its misery and the wiring, which seems to consist of very few sockets and very many extension leads, will be replaced. If there’s any money left in the system we may even be able to spend it something more fun like, oooh, big whoopee, a kitchen or bathroom, but I suspect that things like new paint colours and fabrics are way down the line. Never mind, I’m not complaining, I’m still feeling very fortunate that we’ve landed where we have; I’ve had enough tough times to appreciate the good times when they come along.

Many years ago, I got into difficulties in very deep water trying to swim back to a boat. Worse still, I had my small daughters with me. I remember being underwater seeing Lily’s legs kicking above me as she broke the surface and the sense of relief that the girls were going to be all right. Clearly, we all made it back, but it’s left me with a very healthy respect for the sea. But when Tom proposed an early morning swim this week, I was more concerned about the water temperature, after all it hasn’t exactly been scorchio here lately.

A walk down the hill and wrestling into a wetsuit soon chased the cold away, but I did think I was going to bottle it at the eleventh hour when I saw how the wind was whipping up the waves. Thanks to some help from Tom, I managed to overcome my nerves and I was so glad I did! It’s pretty exhilarating splashing about in the waves, especially when there’s no one else on the beach, so we’ve every intention of making the most of it before the busy summer holidays. Once in a while, feeling the fear and doing it anyway is the jolt that reminds you how good it feels to take the plunge. The photographic evidence's at the top of this post... but, naturally, there are no big waves in sight!

Muck, Magic and a Mystery Man

2011-06-15T03:53:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have been mainly composting. Well, that’s the answer I gave Kath Eastman yesterday when she kindly asked during a Twitter ‘conversation’ where I was with my writing. Only, instead of a series of wooden bins in a corner of the garden, I’ve got the notebook/box file equivalent. Hopefully they’re not filled with rubbish either, but with all sorts of ideas which, with a bit of alchemy, will transform themselves into a fertile growing medium for future work.

My current notebook is the one with the raw ideas, all the base ingredients I’ve picked up and collected, hoping to make them into something sparkly. Flicking through at random, there’s a cutting on the use of external landscapes in fiction to reflect internal portraits, a poem by Simon Armitage and a picture of a hamster sitting in a mug. There are lists of names, words, messages to self and stabs at haiku:

Winter clouds sinking.
Sear yellow; summer’s last grass.
Run it in colour.

By stepping back a bit, and this is where older notebooks come into play, I can pick out certain themes that attract me. For my work in progress, I’m drawing on a series of notes and pictures that are to do with... well, I don’t want to let too much light in for fear of spoiling the magic, but it’s both a frustrating and exciting time.

However, there are some things you shouldn’t keep in the dark which is why, if you happen to have a particularly delicious man lurking about the house, now’s the time to put him in the spotlight. The search is on to find the hero of fellow Choc Lit author Sue Moorcroft’s latest novel, Love & Freedom. There are prizes for the winning entrant and the nominee in this fun competition so don’t be shy, go ahead and click HERE to find out more.

Painting is 'Sea, Sky, Early Heather' by Tom Tomos

Ruck it and See

2011-06-08T04:03:00.000-07:00

Outside it’s 2011, but inside the café Tom’s been keen to show me ever since he discovered it whilst I was running a Cardiff half marathon, it’s 1973. I keep looking up expecting to see the Welsh equivalent of Gene Hunt and Sam Tyler arguing at a table. Either the decor hasn’t been changed in decades or we’ve fallen through a time-space portal where murals, fake teak cladding and sage faux leather are all the rage. The service is old-fashioned too, in a good way; the staff are smart and courteous although I’m amused by a faint air of ‘Grace Brothers’ when one of the waiters makes an aside to his colleague about two disagreeable customers who have given him grief.

We’re here for brunch before the game, Wales v Barbarians. Despite the board outside advertising the ‘All Day Breakfast’, I’ve been told that breakfast is no longer being served, so I opt for the ‘Special Farmhouse Brunch’... sausage, egg, bacon and spaghetti, which sounds like breakfast by any other name to me. A student on the next table, with his parents, is also discovering that the menu means what it says; all the ingredients for a BLT baguette seem to be present, but it’s not on the menu so he can’t order it.

When my ‘Special Farmhouse Brunch’ arrives, it seems to be having an identity crisis until I realise that it’s doing exactly what it promised; two sausages, two rashers of bacon, a perfectly cooked egg and a big dollop of spaghetti bolognaise!! Not the tinned orange stuff I was anticipating at all. Then, because ‘main courses are served with chips and peas’ there’s also a big scoop of peas and a bowl of chips! Tom, in the meantime, is wading through a mixed grill (also with chips and peas) big enough to serve both rugby sides. Actually, it’s all good plain food and the prices reflect the interior so we leave with high happiness levels ready to enjoy the game.

Ah, the game! What an experience, even if Wales did manage, as our previous neighbour always says, to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, yet again, conceding a try in the closing seconds to lose 28-31! We arrive early so we can enjoy a spine-tingling performance from the 1000 voice male choir brought together in honour of 130 years of the Welsh Rugby Union. There are plenty of asides to enjoy too; Jerry Guscott having his TV make up applied just in front of us, some eye-popping spectators - like the petite middle-aged woman in hot-pants and glittery Stetson sedately working her way through five pints (I would have been picking a fight, storming the pitch, or passed out long before then). A volley of flames leaping up from giant gas burners accompany the Welsh team on to the pitch, but first there’s a minute's silence for the four people who lost their lives at the Chevron refinery at Pembroke Dock earlier in the week.

The game itself is fast and free-running with plenty of tries. Gavin Henson, (not as tall as I expected, but, hey, he was surrounded by giants) in his first appearance for his country in two years, makes the pass that sets up a nice try for George North. Mike Phillips is still struggling to find his form, but there’s promise for the future in a powerful performance by Toby Felatu. There have been plenty of rumblings about the state of the game in Wales and the price of tickets, but I had a great time on Saturday so I’m not complaining. All in all, a good day out!

And finally...
Two more images from the garden. A wildflower patch...

And, for Frances, another sunset.

Guest Blogger: Pauline Barclay

2011-06-05T01:14:00.000-07:00

Just for a change, I have a guest on my blog today, so pull up a chair, help yourself to a drink and join my delightful guest, author and blogger, Pauline Barclay...

Having read Turning the Tide, the debut novel of Christine’s, I am now looking forward to her new book. I know, Christine, you have had a year that has caused you much pain and anguish, but I also know you are now happily settled into your new home which you deserve so much. I am pleased that things are working out well again for you. Thank you for asking me to your blog and for taking time out of your frantic schedule to share your friends and followers with me.

I’m Pauline Barclay and I live in the Canary Isles on the beautiful volcanic island of Lanzarote. The sun shines most of the time, though like much of the world, our weather pattern has been strange this year. Having said this, I live in shorts, t-shirt and sandals, so you can guess it isn’t cold!

We live just a five minute stroll to the beach and from our villa we have a lovely view of the ocean, so in between sneaking a stroll to the beach or a peek at the view, I do manage to get some work done!

This month my third novel, Sometimes It Happens… was published on Kindle. I am an Indie publisher and for this book I did things differently. Firstly, I had an amazing mentor who is also a brilliant author, she saw me through the entire manuscript, checking for continuity, believability, repetition and so much more. Then to add the final sparkle, I had the cover designed by a Graphics design company. I just love the cover, it says so much about the story and the feed back has been very positive.

Sometimes It Happens…is about secrets, deception, lies, love and laughter. Winning the lottery was just the beginning. Nothing prepared Doreen Wilkinson for her holiday at Villas Bonitas and nothing prepared Villas Bonitas for Doreen Wilkinson. This is a holiday that will never be forgotten for many people!
Sometimes It Happens… Will make the reader laugh out loud; I certainly did whilst writing it!

Sometimes It Happens…
Nothing in her wildest dreams had prepared Doreen Wilkinson for something like this. But then, nothing had prepared her for winning the lottery either.
Several million. Several million. Eleven million, three hundred and fifty four thousand, two hundred and ten pounds and nineteen pence to be precise.
She had giggled at the nineteen pence. “Break the bleedin’ bank that will!”
The media had made the comment a headline, “19p to break the bleedin’ bank!” splashed all over the Sun and Daily Mirror accompanied by her smiling face and a fountain spray of champagne. She had thought it a waste shaking that great big bottle and letting it fizz everywhere, but the reporters had told her to do it.

You can download Sometimes It Happens… from Amazon

My other two novels, Magnolia House and Satchfield Hall are available in both paperback and Kindle editions. In between marketing and all my other commitment, I am busy with my fourth novel, though I confess to spending more hours marketing than writing at the moment!

Despite the different stories of my three books, one thing I can say about all my novels, and that is, you will need a tissue!

When you have time, please pop along and say hello at my Blog
Or visit my website where you can read sample chapters from Magnolia House and Satchfield Hall and also meet some of my wonderful guests, including Suzy!

You can also find me on Facebook and Twitter @paulinembarclay

Choc Lit Author's Corner

2011-06-03T01:30:00.000-07:00

I'm blogging over at Choc Lit Author's Corner today about seizing the day, but telling you about here gives me another excuse to post this photo, taken at the bottom of our garden last night.

Shopping and Nightlife

2011-06-01T04:33:00.000-07:00

‘So,’ says Ma, ‘are you any closer to the shops?’ There’s a petrol station about a mile and a half away and we’re fifteen minutes closer to Carmarthen which is still some twenty-six miles away. Ma, who’s still recovering from her accident, adores shopping, but will have to be content with her next-greatest passion, gardening, when she comes to stay with us in few weeks time.

The ongoing boiler saga aside, Tom and I continue to be thrilled to bits with the location of our new home, but it’s very tucked away, as the photos show, and wouldn’t suit anyone looking for shopping malls, pubs and clubs and a choice of restaurants and theatres. What many people would regard as essential services are thin on the ground and as for transport links? Well, it’s off to Carmarthen or Aberystwyth for the nearest train.

Fortunately with Lily and Russ living at Cardiff Bay we have the perfect excuse for a city break. Last weekend we stopped off for a quick fix of shopping at the retail outlet at Sarn Park before catching up with Lily and Russ in Cardiff. We were there for our Christmas present from Lily and Russ, a trip to the Millennium Centre to see the Welsh National Opera’s staging of Puccini’s Turandot. Okay, so three hours of Puccini isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but this was a stonking production and I had a brilliant time and a very good ice cream. Thank you Lily and Russ for looking after us so well.

House Warming

2011-05-25T03:40:00.000-07:00

‘Hahaha!’ says the heating engineer, recoiling as he takes his first glimpse of our boiler. ‘I know this one. Saw it three years ago and it was on its last legs then!’ The boiler makes the mighty whooshing sound that’s become part of the soundscape of our new home. It’s followed by the tinkling of falling ash particles, like the Grimsvötn volcano in miniature. ‘That,’ says the heating engineer, ‘is what we call The Boiler Death Rattle!’. There’s clearly no hope for the patient, but how about the rest of the heating system? The heating engineer and his apprentice - yes, a real live apprentice! As someone who once worked with ‘disaffected and disengaged’ young people, you’ve no idea how hard it was to find apprenticeship schemes - crawl into loft spaces whilst ghostly echoes of their laughter trail down to Tom and I waiting in the kitchen. The verdict is not good, but as yet we have no idea what it will cost to put right. ‘I’ll try to send you a quote before I go on holiday!’ says the heating engineer. Maybe we should have established if he was going off backpacking for six months...

It’s been interesting to see people’s reactions to the new house; the location is wonderful, but there’s some work to be done inside. I was very cheered up last week when some dear friends visited and saw exactly what we’d fallen in love with. It makes an occasionally daunting project somehow seem more manageable. And talking of labours of love, I was very touched when the postman turned up with a housewarming present from my sister. She’s a very busy bunny, but has spent hours stitching this beautiful cushion for me. It arrived with a copy of Carol Klein’s lovely book, ‘Life in a Cottage Garden’. The idea is for me to loll around on the cushion reading the book, but after all my sister’s hard work, I’m a tad reluctant to squash that cushion just yet!

Coming up for air after my recent writeathon, I spent a brilliant morning in the company of Welsh tweeters, Preseli Mags, Lins, Kathryn and Squizzey at Lins's beautiful home. I’m always struck by how comfortable meetings with friends I’ve only ‘talked’ to via the internet are. The only reluctance came from Topsy, Lins gorgeous dachsie, who took a bit of winning over until a dog treat and the smell of Mag’s homemade brownies forced her to make friends. Mind you, I’d go a long way for one of Mag’s brownies, so I may have to work on Topsy which is another good reason for meeting up again.

One of the joys of moving to a new garden is the pleasure of seeing what’s coming up next. Along with the 'seventies house, there's some dramatic 'seventies planting, like these red hot pokers lighting up the garden in the twilight yesterday evening.

And then we stood at the end of the garden and watched this...

A Walk to the Beach

2011-05-12T07:51:00.000-07:00

On a fine May evening, turn left from the house, remembering not to walk beneath the rookery. The hedges are heady with blossom.

Speedwell has appeared in the last couple of days.

And the Wild Garlic's out too.

Through a shaded valley.

A glimpse of the sea through the ferns.

We're almost there.

Just one other family on the beach.

Thrift on the cliffs.

The spray's flying.

Back across the beach.

And homewards bound.

Since I've Been Gone

2011-05-09T09:43:00.000-07:00

Dear me, it’s been a while! The combo of ongoing concerns about Ma, moving house, a blip in my normally rude heath and a book to finish mean that I’ve only just come up for air. Thank goodness this isn’t a vlog or you’d all be reeling at the sight. The Beautiful Eyebrow Lady has, at least, restored some order (although I think she misheard ‘not too dark’ as ‘Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra, please’) and tomorrow I’m off to the hairdresser's for pretty much everything they have on the menu.

I’ve written a bit about how it feels to have completed Novel 2 over at Choc Lit Author’s Corner. It’s a strange time, a combination of elation at having reached the end of the 90,000 word journey and a sense of loss that comes when you look up for the first time and have to leave the place and characters you’ve inhabited for the duration. This journey’s also been about writing as a published author, having to put aside fears about what other people’s expectations might be, sticking to the routine during times of illness or worry and simply concentrating on that tiny spark that breathes life into the whole process.

I’ve also looked up to find I’m living in a new home! Yes, I know I moved here physically in March, but I don’t feel I’ve seen very much of it yet. A bit like me, it needs some work, but the location is just wonderful. A twenty-five minute stroll takes us down to the most beautiful National Trust beach and, okay, it’s a right old slog uphill, but who cares when the hedgerows change almost daily and are currently glorious with clouds of cow parsley, pink campion, the last of the violets, the promise of foxgloves and the ferns poking their tongues out all over the place? And if you don’t fancy walking all that way there’s always the garden, here’s a few photos to give you a flavour of what’s been happening there and now I’m off to stroll round some of the blogs I’ve missed whilst I’ve been away.

Robin Hood and other tales...

2011-04-11T01:49:00.000-07:00

I'm over at Author's Corner at Choc Lit today, blogging about folk music, romantic fiction and preconceived ideas!

Sunset in the Rookery

2011-04-06T12:13:00.001-07:00

Phew! It doesn't seem a minute since the rooks got up and now they're settling down again. Another day flies by...

Waving goodbye, saying hello

2011-03-30T01:42:00.001-07:00

It’s almost five years to the day, when we first moved in, that the Concrete Farmer came over to greet us in a rather lordly way. We didn’t warm to him then and his determination to pave over every field in sight didn’t do much to endear him to us subsequently. Seeing a removal van on his demesne, he rushes over to interrogate our removers.
‘Where are they off to, then?’ he demands.
‘I’m not telling you!’ says the boss, a short, powerfully-built man with tattoos all over his muscular arms.
‘Well, you must know!’ Concrete Farmer insists.
‘Mind your own business!’ says our hero. ‘You’re just a bloody nosy old farmer!’

Actually, since the week leading up to the move has been so busy, I barely know where I am myself. The first night in our new home leaves me feeling disorientated and missing all that’s familiar. However, in contrast to the first morning in our previous home when we woke up to find a yellow planning notice on the fence post directly opposite, our first morning in the new home brings sunshine, spring flowers and birdsong.

It continues to be very busy here and I haven’t had very much time for blogging, but here’s a few photos of the new garden, a place, I hope, where I can catch my breath.

View from the front where the sky meets the sea

A brook runs along the boundary

The rooks are building in the trees. Some of them play the kazoo

No excuse for not 'growing our own' here

A New Horizon

2011-03-15T02:49:00.000-07:00

I grew up in what was then a deeply unfashionable Victorian cottage on Epsom Downs. Never mind that we could watch each crop of yearlings being put through their paces in the racing stables opposite, when a mile up the road my best friend, Susan, lived on a modern estate in an open plan dormer bungalow with pampas grass on the lawn. Across the road from Susan, our friend, Mandy, had a house that was so utterly cool it had a split-level living room with a conversation pit! Unfortunately the conversation pit was a bit wasted on me; if Mandy’s older brother, Bill, was about it took all my effort just to stop blushing so any kind of speech was beyond me.

I daresay Bill grew up to be ordinary bloke and avocado bathroom suites and clumps of pampas grass have also lost that sense of the exotic, but part of me never quite got over my crush on Susan’s dormer bungalow.

In the last two years, three if you include a year of testing the water, we’ve been trying to sell our house. During that time we’ve come close to buying or selling more times than is good for a healthy bank balance. We’ve had buyers who’ve come in search of the country dream then taken fright at the reality, we’ve tried to buy a house that turned out not to be for sale, one which was found to have expensive structural problems and one with a water supply that was so private no one seemed to be able to guarantee access to it.

At last, a couple came who loved our house... except by then we couldn’t actually find anything we wanted to move to. For a while it looked as if we would have to move into rented accommodation and, once again, I must thank Preseli Mags for coming to my rescue and putting us in touch with helpful people.

In what’s been a difficult and trying year with worries about the health of some of my nearest and dearest, I was beginning to feel very anxious about where we would live. Then Tom, who’d been meticulously trawling the property websites said, ‘Come and look at this...’ Nestling in a valley sloping down to the sea, sitting in its own good-sized plot... was a dormer bungalow; we move there on Thursday.

See you when we’re out the other side!

Painting is a favourite, West Coast Surf, by Tom Tomos

Bedside Reading

2011-03-05T05:34:00.001-08:00

From left. The Drunkard’s Walk: How randomness rules our lives by Leonard Mlodinow. I’m not and never will be a mathematician, but even I can understand the first law of probability thanks to Mlodinow’s amazing and entertaining book. Thanks to Stepson Two and Tom for recommending it to me.

A470: What’s On in Literary Wales, the magazine of The Welsh Academy of which I’m a member. The cover photo’s of Gillian Clarke, National Poet of Wales. Her poem, Love at Livebait is one of my favourites.

Edgelands, by Michael Symmons Roberts and Paul Farley. I’ve just received this as an anniversary gift from Tom and I can’t wait to read it. Since reading some social anthropology at university I’ve been fascinated by marginal states and in-between places so this journey by two poets into ‘England’s true wilderness’ promises to be a real treat.

The Scarlet Kimono, by Christina Courtenay. I’ve just finished reading this enjoyable historical novel by fellow Choc Lit author, Christina. Christina combines a lovely romantic story with adventure and fascinating detail about 17th century Japan.

Glamour magazine. Fun and frivolous with a bit of bite. This month’s came with a free mascara and all for £2 a pop (free if one of your daughters buys it for you on subscription. Thank you, Lily). What’s not to love?

My Kindle... ooooh, how I love thee! (Note homemade slip cover – frugal so I can spend more money on books.) Currently reading my work in progress. Seeing it in book form really helps me with editing each day’s work. There’s quite a TBR collection on there too. One I’m looking forwards to is Kate Atkinson’s Started Early, Took My Dog. But that’s a treat in store for when I’ve finished my work!

Three Books for my Babies...

2011-03-03T04:42:00.000-08:00

One that helped them learn to read...

Not Now, Bernard by David MacKee.

One that helped them not to be afraid...

The Owl Who Was Afraid of the Dark by Jill Tomlinson with illustrations by Paul Howard.

One that made us feel cosy...

The High Hills (Brambly Hedge) by Jill Barklem

Twists and Tails

2011-02-23T02:53:00.001-08:00

‘Let’s go for a Chinese!’ says Tom in a true triumph of hope over experience. There’s only one Chinese restaurant anywhere near us and both the decor and the menu are seriously in need of a revamp. However, with our long-serving Dyson becoming the latest victim of the appliance apocalypse sweeping (or not in the case of the Dyson) through our house, we feel in need of, well not a treat exactly, but a change of scenery.

No surprises at the restaurant; everything about it is reliably dreary, although the evening livens up when the man on the table behind us does a runner. That is, he fumbles for his walking sticks and hobbles slowly out the door without paying. Having tasted the sweet and sour pork I can understand why. So, it seems, can the staff because it takes several minutes before a waitress sets off after him.

Although the meal’s a little less than bog standard, there’s nothing wrong with our pot of jasmine tea which arrives with a couple of fortune cookies. I’m a bit wary of fortune cookies since my dad decided, a few days before he died, that he fancied a Chinese takeaway. It wasn’t a huge success since he only managed to swallow a couple of microdots of prawn toast before having to admit defeat, but our falsely jolly evening took an even bigger nosedive when I tried to cheer him up by reading his cookie fortune. ‘You are in a very difficult place,’ it said, ‘but this will pass.’ Tonight, mine predicts that, ‘You will be called to fill a position of high honour and responsibility’, which is happier if a bit worthy.

I wish someone could tell me what’s going to happen with our house move which has been dragging on forever. I do know that I’m very grateful to Preseli Mags who’s kept me sane in all kinds of ways, offering emotional support and practical advice. I’m slightly more sceptical when Mags suggests a bit of space clearing could sort out a spot of bother, nevertheless I decide to try a small experiment by space-clearing my desk which has become unusually cluttered. And here’s the really spooky thing; before the exercise, the paperback of Turning the Tide was at 58,000 on Amazon (not that I check these things... much) and I didn’t have a berludy clue what to do on the WIP, then, once my desk was clear, Turning the Tide shot up to 19,000 and I wrote 700 words. Ooh-er!

My short story, Charm’s Way, which appears in the latest edition of ‘Your Cat’ magazine also involves transformation and, maybe, a little bit of magic. I was particularly charmed, however, by Mary Kilvert’s illustration accompanying the piece. Mary’s blogged about her work here, and you can see the illustrations both for my story and that of Jane Wenham-Jones which appeared in the previous issue. Thanks for the link, Mary, I look forwards to working with you again.

Painting is 'Totem Gymraeg' by Tom Tomos

Your Cat Magazine

2011-02-12T03:59:00.001-08:00

'Your Cat' magazine is a must for cat lovers. It's full of practical advice - this month's issue features money-saving tips for cat owners, for example - and there are plenty of entertaining and informative articles on all aspects of cat care.

The March issue, also contains my short story, 'Charm's Way' in which a boatyard moggy helps a materialistic go-getter discover life's true treasures. I was really interested to see how my story would be illustrated and was delighted, when my copy came today, with what the artist had done.

Your Cat magazine is available now in newsagents and supermarkets.

Friends, Family and, er, Panto

2011-02-09T03:05:00.000-08:00

Thursday 3 February
Mobile again, we decide to take the little car, aka The Biscuit Tin, to do all the things that are stacking up in the south. The Biscuit Tin whizzes along impressively, although high winds make it skitter a bit which is interesting. Arrive at Ma’s to find her glowing with health (apart from the obvious injuries). She’s had to walk everywhere and looks reinvigorated for it. My sister, by contrast, is out of hospital but looking very thin and pale.

Friday 4 February
Tom and I both to London to catch up with old friends and former colleagues. I begin in Holborn and have a rare old time catching up with a dear friend from my trades union research days. (And, John, you can be sure I won’t forget now that the quote was from ‘Boys from the Blackstuff’!) John then points me in the right direction to join Tom at a restaurant in Earlham Street. Alas, as some of you will remember, being pointed in the right direction in London doesn’t mean I’ll end up in the right place. Somewhere around Seven Dials, I have to stop to consult the satellite picture I’m carrying in lieu of a map. A very respectable-looking man joins me to tell me how much he likes my boots. Ooh-er! Hurry on and find myself outside Belgo Centraal which is where I’m meant to be! Hurrah! Join Tom and his friend Jude for pud and another fine time.

In the evening, Tom and I along with Ma, Rose and Si go to the panto. In normal circumstances, wild horses couldn’t drag me to a panto. However, this is not just any old panto; Stepson One has co-written the script, Stepson Two has written a terrific score and the players have worked together for yonks. I have to admit (apologies to Fennie and Rosie) to an absolute horror of any kind of amateur dramatics. Something about ordinary folk going up on stage pretending makes me feel bowel-curdlingly embarrassed on their behalf, but everyone else is having a grand time. I’m a bit envious of the four yummy mummies sitting in front of us getting stuck in to three bottles of wine and, as the evening progresses, a large section of the audience appears to be trollied. Ma observes, in her own imitable style, that Little Bo Peep’s revealing frock means that ‘her apple dumplings are on the boil’ and boozy requests from a number of male voices suggest they have noticed too. Nevertheless the evening is deemed a great success, so a huge ‘well done’ to everyone who put so much hard work into it.

Saturday 5 February
Take Ma and selves to Best Optometrist in the World then proceed to Worthing to catch up with Mil, Dil, Tom’s brother, sister-in-law and nephew.

Sunday 6 February
Croissants and coffee with my sister, brother-in-law and two nieces, before heading back up the M4. Call in at Cardiff for a brilliant Sunday lunch cooked by my newly-engaged daughter and her fiancé. All gather round to admire Precious, her ring. Leave feeling very happy for the pair of them but then have the first of what, I imagine, will be many wedding-panic nightmares. Dream that I am standing in a windy field battling to spread horrid peach-coloured paper tablecloths on long tables. There are ten minutes to the ceremony and I’m still in my jeans. Then I step back and knock the cake flying. ‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ says Lily when I tell her the next day, ‘I’ll still love you!’

Wednesday 9 February
Washing machine has just given up the ghost. I know I’ve had posh chocs, dear Appliances Online, but just in case you’re watching...

And finally...
I’ve banged on a bit this week I know, but just before I go I must just tell you about the special Valentine’s offer from Choc Lit. From now until Feb 14th you can pick up a selection of Choc Lit Kindle ebooks, including Turning the Tide from just £2.14! Hurry, as they say, this offer won’t last.

Painting is County Kerry (2) by Tom Tomos

Love is in the Air at Choc Lit

2011-02-07T06:46:00.000-08:00

Today I'm blogging over at Choc Lit Author's Corner about love tokens and Choc Lit's special Valentine's offer.

A Life in the Month of...

2011-02-02T03:25:00.000-08:00

Goodness me, those posh chocolates are a dim and distant memory now. Hopefully, thanks to those generous folks at Appliances Online, some of you will shortly be wallowing in recipe books and chocolates galore. Just remember though that if you get a washing machine I’ll be a bit miffed as mine’s still on the blink.

After a traumatic December I was hoping for a period of calm, but January’s been just as tumultuous...

Ma, feisty old bird that she is, has coped amazingly with having one arm in a sling. Her delight when she managed to put a bra on for the first time was only marred by her dismay that she’d put it on inside out. At this stage, I’d have thought ‘What the heck’ and left it, but Ma went through the whole laborious process again! The hospital lost her follow-up appointment (you knew they’d do that, didn’t you?) but she’s now back in the system. All things considered she’s been a real star.

My little sister was rushed into hospital last week with chest pains and treated for a suspected blood clot. Fortunately, it’s ‘only’ pleurisy, but it didn’t half scare the pants off everyone

When your rellies are dropping like flies, one thing you need is a reliable car. Especially when there are two buses a day from your village and the railway station is 30 miles away. So, naturally our ancient Berlingo decided to pack up. We managed to nurse it as far as the nearest garage and trade it in for a little Daihatsu that would fit in the boot of our neighbour’s 4x4. So what if it sounds like a biscuit tin when you close the door; it’s a car, it was cheap and we’re mobile again.

The house saga rolls on and will make a blog of its own. Truly, if I tell you all about it now, I’ll curl up in the foetal position and never get any writing done.

The work in progress is, well, in progress again! Hurray! I have another couple of month’s grace, but I’m in a much happier place with it. Ooh my goodness, another full-blown blog saga awaits after I’m done, but I had no idea of how much having Turning the Tide out there would affect the WIP! I’ve been very lucky and received some super reviews, emails and letters from readers, but, gosh, the odd caustic comment from one or two hardcore reviewers has nearly cut me in half! Especially when they’re unfair! Ah well, as writer Lesley Pearse, so wisely said on Twitter recently, ‘Never wrestle with a pig. You’ll get dirty and the pig will enjoy it.’

With the Llanelli half marathon approaching, pigs are about the only animals not bothering me. If farm dogs and runaway horses weren’t enough to worry about, my favourite route has now been hijacked by a pheasant! I was slightly freaked out the first time it ran a mile with me, but after it tried to stop me getting past I decided it was time to change my route.

On the very last day of January, just when I was beginning to wonder if things were ever going to get any better, my elder daughter, known here as Lily, rang me from Edinburgh where she and her boyfriend, Russ, were on holiday. It had been a cold weekend and Lily couldn’t understand why Russ kept refusing to put his hat on. In the right place, at the right time, she discovered why; Russ had been waiting for the perfect moment to propose and the ring was wrapped up in his hat! Awwwww!

Many congratulations Lily and Russ, we’re delighted! Here’s wishing you every happiness together!

Painting is County Kerry (3) by Tom Tomos

Choc-a-Blog!

2011-01-07T06:50:00.001-08:00

Yes, I know I’m not supposed to be here, especially when I'm in cybernation wrestling the work in progress into submission, however, I’m just popping in briefly to share some nice news.

Back in November, I left a comment on Preseli ‘Margo’ Mags’s blog after the lovely people from Appliances Online sent her a copy of Nigella’s latest cook book. Anyway, shortly after I announced my blog break I received an email from the Appliances Online folk too, asking if a gift of posh chocolates would help keep my blood sugar levels up whilst slogging away at my desk.

Since my washing machine is making some very strange noises, I did try ~~some blatant blagging~~ a few gentle hints that whilst posh chocs are always welcome, a new washing machine would go down a storm. Clearly, they have my publisher's interest at heart and reckon chocolates will keep me at my desk longer than rushing around doing household chores (no comments about all the extra ballast keeping my bum glued to the seat, thank you – I ran four miles in the icy wind and rain this morning!) since my hinty-hints fell on stony ground. However, today, hurray, this big box of assorted Hotel Chocolat goodies arrived – more than enough to keep me writing and a few spare to peruse the Appliances Online website in my downtime and think about that new washing machine (will just have to make sure I'm not distracted by all the other goodies they supply).

Anyway, I have chocs to eat and book to complete, so excuse me for dashing. I’ll be doing the blog rounds and visiting again in February, but in the meantime huge thanks to Appliances Online for their kind gift... and do leave your comments here... you never know who might be reading!

Best Wishes and a Blog Break

2010-12-24T04:12:00.001-08:00

Thanks to everyone who visited my blog and left so many messages of support for Ma. I’m relieved to say that she had her stitches removed yesterday (eventually – but that’s another story and it’s Christmas and I’m weary).

The last three weeks have been a painful and difficult time, especially for my mum. Time has passed like a storm; a watchful silence in Ma’s small flat in Surrey, the cyclone of Christmas swirling around without a single card being written or gift wrapped. My apologies to everyone I should have visited or written to.

Ma’s sheer bravery, her capacity to draw on deep reserves of true grit and determination as she slowly reclaims her life, has really impressed me so I’m taking a leaf out of her book. Despite ending on a distinctly bum note, 2010 has been a fabulous year for me with the realisation of a long-cherished dream and the publication of my debut novel, Turning the Tide. Huge thanks to all of you who got behind it. But now, I have promises to keep and a novel to complete so I’m taking a short blogging break to do just that... unless, of course, something really exciting happens... and hopefully that won’t include Ma taking anymore tumbles.

Until February then, many thanks to all of you, for reading this blog and for all your comments, encouragement and support. May I wish you, belatedly, a very merry Christmas and a happy, healthy and peaceful New Year.

Nadolig Llawen i chi i gyd!

The painting is County Kerry (5) by Tom Tomos

A Winter's Tale

2010-12-15T04:27:00.000-08:00

Thursday 2 December
Feeling confined in her snow-muffled flat, Ma takes a walk up her front path to take the morning air. As she returns a cat jumps over the wall and startles her. She slips on the icy path and lands heavily on her shoulder. When her injury doesn’t spontaneously heal, she eventually gives in and calls her local GP surgery. In the evening a GP visits and summons an ambulance ‘sooner rather than later’. Around 10.30 pm Ma is admitted to her local hospital. X-rays suggest she has a fractured scapula which will require emergency surgery. She is put on a nil by mouth regime that night and transferred to a larger hospital for an emergency operation. However, she’s picked a busy period for her accident so the operation doesn’t take place.

Saturday 4 December
The operation is rescheduled for this morning, so Ma’s had a second night of nil by mouth. A CT scan shows that Ma’s humerus is broken in four places. Despite her obviously smashed-up arm, which is in a sling and bruised black from shoulder to elbow, she is given a pair of surgical stockings and expected to put them on unassisted.
The operation is cancelled.

Sunday 5 December
The hospital ring my sister who lives locally and ask her to bring in blood pressure tablets for Ma as they don’t have any.

Monday 6 December
Better road conditions mean Tom and I can travel to Surrey. We visit Ma and confirm with the ward Sister that mum has a compound fracture of humerus. There is no mention of her shoulder.

Tuesday 7 December
Am. Ma is visited by a medical team who tell her that her arm will be plated and pinned at one of two hospitals (whichever theatre is free) on Wednesday morning.

Pm. Ma is visited by a second medical team and told that the ball and socket joint of her shoulder will be replaced.

Tom and I arrive at the hospital for visiting and seek out ward sister to ask what is happening and where. Sister is unable to answer either question, except to say that she knows of no transfer to another hospital.

Wednesday 8 December
Ma calls to say that procedures are being carried out to prepare her for surgery. One of the medics asks which arm is broken. Ma clearly indicates that it would be the arm in a sling – the one covered in a huge purple bruise, now fringed with yellow, from shoulder to elbow. The medic draws a big, blue arrow on Ma’s big purple bruise. Various people visit to prepare Ma for op. All is going smoothly until a nurse (a matron, Ma thinks. None of the staff wear name badges so it’s impossible to tell who you’re talking to) visits to tell Ma that her operation has been cancelled again. The sterile pack with the replacement shoulder joint has arrived damaged. Ma is too upset to accept a cup of tea.

10.15 am. Ma rings me, greatly ‘pissed off’. However she has pulled herself together enough to ask to see ‘The Top Man’. She is visited by someone who introduces herself as the Trauma Co-ordinator who explains why the op cannot take place. The Trauma Co-ordinator tells Ma that her op has been rescheduled to take place on Thursday afternoon.

11.50 am. I visit the hospital Patient Advice and Liaison Service office to seek help and break down in angry tears explaining events to an advisor. The advisor says she’ll contact the medical team in charge of Ma’s care and ask someone to speak to me. She suggests Tom and I wait at the ward.

12.10 pm. At the ward the sister tells us Ma’s op has been cancelled ‘because machinery has broken down’. We’ve arrived at Protected Meal Time when visiting is prohibited. We’re happy to comply, but tell her why we’re there. ‘We’ll get to the bottom of this,’ Tom says. ‘Good luck,’ says the sister, ‘because we never do!’

2 pm. PALS advisor rings to say she’s been unable to summon a doctor to talk to us but shortly afterwards the ward sister tells us that one’s on his way ‘in half an hour’. She advises us to add another half hour onto that.

3 pm. A junior doctor arrives. He is clearly resentful at being summoned to talk to us and borderline aggressive. When I write his name down he looks visibly annoyed. A couple of ‘as you were told earlier’ asides to Ma are obviously meant to suggest that she just hasn’t listened properly. He impresses upon me that the hospital is overstretched and that they are struggling to cope with all the fractures. He tells me that Ma will be attended to, but that hips take priority because of the 8-10 hour window. The outcome of Ma’s fracture will not, he says, be any worse for the wait because they have a 10 day window in which to carry out the surgery. His whole manner of delivery seems to be intended to intimidate us into submission and for a split second I’m almost tempted to make his life easier by just simply thanking him. I resist. I tell him that I recognise that he has a difficult job to do and many patients to treat, but that I only have one mother.

I tell him that I’m reassured that the outcome for Ma will not be any worse for waiting, that I’m glad to know that she’s ‘safe’ until Day 10, but point out that tomorrow (Thursday) is Day 8. I also point out that Ma’s a feisty, spirited woman who has coped admirably on her own for five years, but that she has had to suffer the psychological and emotional trauma of being prepped for surgery three times. He apologies.

Ma makes a joke and he smiles – at last. I ask him what exactly they are going to do in the operation. He claims to be ‘no expert’ (ie qualified advice) and tells me that they are going to replace the ball and socket shoulder joint and pin and plate the broken humerus. I thank him and he gives a small smile and tells us to ‘take care’.
The sister suggests we take Ma for a change of scenery so we take her down to the canteen. She’d like a smoothie – but the machine is broken. I find her a fruit juice drink as the best alternative.
8.10 pm. My daughter rings to say that her visit has coincided with that of the Trauma Co-ordinator. Ma’s op is confirmed for Thursday 9 December. It should start at 1.30 – 2pm and last up to 2 hours with an hour in recovery. Well that’s the plan…

Thursday 9 December
6.45 pm. After an anxious afternoon of waiting, we arrive at the hospital just after Ma returns from recovery. Her shoulder has been replaced and her arm pinned and plated from shoulder to elbow. She’s full of praise for the consultant who’s carried out the op and the team who attended.

Friday 10 December
2.10 pm. Arrive at hospital just as a porter arrives to take Ma for an x ray. She is checked in then forgotten. An estimated 30 min wait turns into 2hrs. A radiographer realises that Ma has got lost in the system. She apologises. A porter arrives to take Ma back to the ward. Firstly she forgets Ma’s notes then picks up the wrong ones. It’s only because I’m there to check that the error is corrected.

Saturday 11, Sunday 12 December
The staff car parks are empty, the nurses are stretched and there’s no rest on the ward due to the moans and cries of patients in distress. Ma is desperate to come home.

Monday 13 December
11 am. The hospital ring me tell me Ma has been discharged. On arrival, we find Ma dressed and ready to leave, but she is waiting for strong painkillers to be made up at the pharmacy. Oh, she is also told she must have her lunch.

4 pm. The painkillers finally arrive and Ma is free to leave. Another £8 of car park fees. As for the arrangements to have her stitches removed, physio sorted out and outpatient treatment? Well, what do you think?

Home and Away

2010-12-05T23:40:00.000-08:00

Today I'm over at Choc Lit Authors with a blog about how we read.

I'm also off on another journey; Ma's in hospital awaiting surgery after a slipping on her path so she needs some tlc. Here's one of Tom's recent paintings inspired by our trip to Ireland - I'm so glad we had that holiday.

Painting is 'Ring of Kerry from Slea Head' by Tom Tomos

Final Snapshots: The Sea, The Sea

2010-12-01T01:53:00.000-08:00

A stormy end to our stay in Ireland...

Waves as high as the cliffs

Turning to the texture of whipped cream in the bay

Ebbing and recharging

And just to give you the flavour of how it felt...

A Craic-ing Good Time

2010-11-24T02:21:00.000-08:00

Saturday 6 November
A lovely sunshine and showers morning. The view from the house is stunning. To Lidl to buy provisions for weekend. At the till the cashier confiscates all alcohol. None to be sold before 10.30 or 12 noon on Sundays and St Patrick’s Day. Drive up Connor Pass to see the view on a clear day – breathtaking. Then back down to Supervalu for papers and now legal alcohol.

Ma is filled with the urge to visit the hairy jumper shop again to find one for herself. She is assisted by a prim and rather fierce-looking woman of about her age. They bond over widowhood. ‘Why are Irish people so happy?’ Ma says, a bit in love with all things Irish. ‘Well, mainly, it’s the drugs,’ says the assistant without blinking. ‘But what about the luck of the Irish?’ presses Ma. ‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ says the assistant. ‘This week I’ve already blowed up me hoover and me food processor.’ Ma suggests she needs a win on the lotto. ‘Ah,’ says the assistant. ‘I’ve thought about that. I’ll buy meself a nice place somewhere out of Ireland, maybe France. Then I’ll book meself a Caribbean cruise and get a **** *** *** (eyewatering detail of the stud at the top of her wishlist deleted to spare everyone’s blushes) for meself. Then I’ll decide what to do after.’

Ma’s eyes have gone wide; she has finally met someone naughtier than herself a fact confirmed as the assistant delivers her opinion on the medical profession, ‘the feckers’, the perils of pills, ‘even if they say they’re only for constipation, make sure you ask about the side effects.’ And the folly of leaving money to your children, ‘sure, you’re the greatest mother in the world for three days and then they won’t even visit your grave!’

Ma walks away with a new hairy jumper and stunned expression of respect.

We retire to Murphys for hot chocolate and a lovely chat with the nice young man in there who got dragged to Ireland when his parents fell in love with the place nine years ago. The coffee machine’s taking time to warm up so he gives us free ice creams whilst we watch the rain and wait. Drive round the Slea Peninsula when the rain clears – utterly stunning views – and walk up to the beehive huts, the Neolithic stone dwellings. Home to drink Guinness and watch Ireland lose to S. Africa. Heavy rain and wind.

Sunday onwards
Dingle puts on a fine display for the last few days of the holiday and we meet and chat to enough people to fill a book. There are bright mornings, walks and breathtaking scenery; it’s been utterly wonderful. On the last day there’s a final treat. We’re half-planning another trip to Miss Courtney’s Tearooms, but when we arrive they’re giving themselves a makeover so that they’re even more beautiful. We don’t mind too much because we’ve spotted a newly-opened retro-style burger bar which is gleamingly-clean, the service is fantastic and the food is fresh, good and made with care. You can see it was a success...

Coming next and in conclusion: standing above the most westerly beach in Europe watching the wildest waves I've ever seen.

Waterstone's Carmarthen: Round Two!

2010-11-21T02:07:00.000-08:00

‘And you’ve got Matthew Rhys in today too, haven’t you?’ I observe. ‘Er. No,’ says Lovely Tim, ‘that was a mistake on the website. But we do have a lady from The Coal House.’ Introduce myself to Lady From The Coal House who asks me how long I’ve worked in Waterstone’s. Wander back to my table and get asked (1) where the dictionaries are (2) if I would like to buy a CD (3) did I really write my book?

Despite stiff competition from Sleb biogs which seem to be high on customer Christmas lists, I do manage to sell some copies of Turning the Tide. In addition I meet some lovely people and one very cute dog (looking for a copy of ‘Scents and Sensibility’, no doubt. Or ‘The House at Poo Corner'.)

Thanks very much to the staff at Waterstone’s and everyone who stopped to chat.

Ireland Snapshots: A Spot of Tea (but no Craic)

2010-11-19T02:15:00.000-08:00

The view from the Connor Pass was worth waiting for!

Thursday 4 November
Heavy rain thickens the mist so we drive to Tralee, but find no roses just an everyday working town. Just to add a little extra excitement we decide to take the Connor Pass home. Several large signs in different languages advise lorry drivers to turn back NOW! The high, narrow mountain pass links Dingle Town in the south to Kilcummin on the North coast and as we climb it feels as if someone has definitely taken the road in. There are steep rocky slopes one side, sheer drops on the other and the visibility is almost nil due to dense low cloud. Ma enjoys it.

In the evening Tom and I go for a walk along the breakwater. It’s still raining but the mist has cleared and the sea is a beautiful turquoise grey.

Out and about in Dingle

Friday 5 November
Great excitement! Although it’s still raining, we can actually see The Three Sisters range opposite the house! We head for Killarney, this time driving along the corniche. The scenery is ravishing with achingly fabulous colour combinations of vivid russet bracken against dove grey sea and accents of white crests.

The town centre at Killarney is fab with a vibrant atmosphere and lots to see, but our very best decision is going for tea at Miss Courteny’s Tea Rooms – an absolute delight. Loose leaf Earl Grey ‘ Blue Flower’ tea in a vintage tea pot, a silver tea strainer and delicate china cups and saucers. Lemon drizzle cake to accompany. Utterly sublime.

Things you never knew you wanted

In the evening we set out to find the ‘craic’. Alas, the craic is playing very hard to get. In a pub famed for its hospitality and billed as‘a superb place to eat, be entertained and stay, we are greeted by an unfriendly waitress who informs me when I order mussels, that they are only available as a starter. Look round empty pub in astonishment – surely they can double up? No. Order smoked haddock which arrives steamed to the point of exhaustion. Table cleared the moment we lay down our cutlery. Music not due to start until 9.30 but the pub is deserted and utterly miserable so we leave.

Little do we know that we are about to find the craic in the most unexpected place...

On the beach

On a different note
Those lovely people at Waterstone's Carmarthen have invited me back for a second signing tomorrow, Saturday 20 November, from 12-3pm so do please say hello if you're passing. Matthew Rhys fans will pleased to know that he'll be there too, from 1-2pm.

Ireland Snapshots: Fishguard to Dingle

2010-11-17T02:45:00.000-08:00

Tuesday 2 November
It’s a little before 2.45 am when the ferry sets off from Fishguard on a cold, gusty night with the winds set to touch gale force 8. With Ma sandwiched between Tom and me as we climb up from the car decks, I watch her gamely tackle the steep stairs. Her fragile back is even more delicate these days, but she never falters, never holds anyone up and never complains. And whilst I’m fretting to myself about the after-effects of such a long journey for her, Ma’s as excited as a six-year-old. Despite the terrible forecast, I’m surprised that I barely notice the motion of the ferry, or maybe I’ve been hardened by years of being thrown around in a small boat. The crossing is uneventful and we spill out into a wet, Irish dawn and take breakfast in the coldest cafe in the world. Ma laughs when I invite her to sit by the radiator which, we find is turned off. Then it’s a race to eat our full Irish breakfast as it chills on freezing cold plates.

view from the holiday home

It takes the best part of six hours to reach the Dingle Peninsula which juts out thirty miles into the Atlantic Ocean. Through the drizzle we watch the scenery becoming increasingly dramatic as we head westwards, although we can’t help but notice the ghost estates of brand new, pastel-coloured houses – nearly all of them uninhabited – creeping across the country. We find our holiday bungalow hidden up a very unlikely looking track. So unlikely we try someone’s family home first. We retrace our steps along the track towards what looks like a gravel pit – and there it is; huge, modern and very comfortable. Fall into enormous comfy beds and sleep like logs.

Murphys, an early favourite

Wednesday 3 November.
Our holiday home at Baile na nGall has the most spectacular view across to the trio of peaks known as The Three Sisters, although it’s quite hard to see any of them through the mist. So we go to An Daingean, Dingle, a pretty town and fishing port with hilly streets and brightly-painted houses. Ma spends so much money in the first two shops that I fear her bank will think a mad woman is running amok with her debit card in the far west. She is. Within minutes, Tom is the proud owner of new hairy jumper, and my sister and brother-in-law have crystal glass jug, hand cut by master craftsman Seán Daly (who, incidentally, along with his wife Liz, is completely and utterly charming). Then it’s time for proper coffee and ice cream in Murphys.

Ventry Bay on clear day

The mist lifts for one tantalising moment. Encouraged by a glimpse of The Three Sisters, we dash out for a drive round Slea Head to explore, but chase the mist all the way. Never mind, it’s been a great first day, enjoyed by all. Perhaps the mist will lift tomorrow?

Back Home

2010-11-15T02:03:00.001-08:00

Look at this view! I was standing on the hill just above this little bay watching thirty foot waves smash against the cliffs. Ireland was so beautiful - more to report in due course, but today I'm over at Choc Lit's Author Corner writing about how to get those writing ideas flowing.

West to Far West

2010-11-01T07:51:00.000-07:00

We're taking Ma for a much-needed break. None of us have visited the far west of Ireland before, but here's the current forecast for tonight's crossing...

'Lundy Fastnet Irish Sea:
South or southwest veering west or southwest 5 to 7, occasionally 4 at first, increasing gale 8 at times in Irish Sea. Moderate or rough, occasionally very rough in Fastnet. Rain or showers. Good, occasionally poor.'

Gulp!

Painting is 'November Sea' by Tom Tomos

West to East: Every Picture

2010-10-29T03:20:00.000-07:00

I don’t spend very much time looking back; the past is foreign country. Yet on the rare occasions I return to UEA, my impressions, initially, are always clouded by my teen-aged self and the shock of the new. Raw concrete under a leaden sky. Ladsun’s ziggurats slicing into sloping green. It all looks much softer today; climbers and tall trees blur the cutting edges, but the architectural puritan in me disapproves.

We’re visiting the Sainsbury Centre for Visual Arts, taking the opportunity to catch up with some favourite pieces in the Sainsbury Collection whilst we’re in this part of the world. The best paintings, for me, are the ones that evoke an almost visceral response; a resonance like the hum of a tuning fork. Francis Bacon does it for me every time and there are some truly stunning examples here. Henry Moore’s touching images of sleeping shelterers move me too. Antonio Saura’s, Hiroshima, Mon Amour. It’s wonderful to see them again.

From Norwich it’s off to Cromer in search of another favourite image – the cover of Turning the Tide! Oh course, I’d have to go out to sea to capture it exactly and there are no rocks at Cromer for Harry to sit on - although maybe there are some at Little Spitmarsh, the sleepy seaside town in my book - but I can see enough to get that tingly feeling. Cromer and Little Spitmarsh both have a pier jutting out into the same sea, but they are not the same place. Little Spitmarsh is an amalgam of all the faded seaside towns that I love, but which are faced with uncertain futures caught between the need to modernise and the risk of losing all that makes them unique.

That dilemma’s at the forefront of my mind when Tom and I escape the rain and dive into a seafront café for fish and chips. The place is tired, feels as if it hasn’t been decorated since the ‘seventies and, despite being almost empty, no one is eating. So whilst we wait for food we sit and drink tea and enjoy the most fabulous panoramic view of the coast. Part of me wonders what someone like Rick Stein could do with a restaurant in a spot like this – the other half wonders, like my heroine, Harry, in Turning the Tide, if I could still afford to sit here if he did.

West to East: Girls' Night In at Waterstone's

2010-10-26T07:16:00.000-07:00

After a seven hour car journey and a near-death experience in the Cambrian mountains where an oncoming driver is trying to create a dual carriageway in the narrow pass, we arrive at our hotel in Bury St Edmunds.
‘You’re in the chalet with the four poster,’ the receptionist tells us cheerfully. I’m less thrilled, ‘chalet’ being something I associate with Butlins not the lovely old building on the hotel’s website. Making our way across the courtyard I hear what sounds like an orchestra warming up from the other chalets; that’s because an orchestra is warming up in the other chalets. Once inside though the chalet is quiet, clean and cosy - if a little reminiscent of eighties suburbia. Still we’re not here to admire the decor, it’s a quick wash and brush up before heading into town for the Choc Lit authors (well, four of us) ‘Girls’ Night In’ at Waterstone’s Bury St Edmunds.
Stand by your Books! Sue, Christina, me and Margaret
It’s not true that all my nerves evaporate when Jen, the manager, greets me, but I’m certainly reassured that I’m in safe hands. Jen and her staff have done us proud, drumming up an audience of fifty, chairs from the coffee shop opposite to sit them in and plenty of wine and chocolate to keep everyone happy. My happiness levels receive another boost when I see the beautiful, smiling face of fellow blogger SuffolkMum coming towards me. We’ve never met before but recognise each other straightaway. Chatting to her is just like meeting up with an old friend. Lovely Lucie Wheeler and her friend Kate, Choc Lit reading panellists are there too and all the friendly faces really set the tone for a good evening.

Christina Courtenay, Margaret James, Sue Moorcroft and I all say a bit about ourselves and our books whilst Tom, the only man in the room, dashes round acting as official photographer. We then take questions from a really interested and interesting audience, leaving just enough time to mingle and sign some books. I hear some inspiring stories from some of the people who’ve been kind enough turn up to hear us and it strikes me, once again, how enjoyable it is to meet new readers. A wonderful evening and huge, huge thanks to Jen and all the staff at Waterstone’s for making us feel so welcome.
Christina and me - looking more relaxed now!

The next morning it’s up and away because Tom and I are heading to Norfolk to meet some friends. We leave our chalet, trying not to trip any members of the orchestra labouring under the weight of their instruments and bags, and look forwards to enjoying a hearty cooked breakfast in the old part of the hotel. ‘Sorry,’ says the waitress. ‘The kitchen’s closed today – didn’t anyone tell you?’ Ah well, I suppose it would be too much to expect everything to go according to plan.

Reflections on the Cardiff Half Marathon 2010

2010-10-18T05:04:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning dawned with near perfect running conditions for my third Cardiff half marathon; dry, cold and still. And if the glorious sunshine was a little blinding at times, it was a price worth paying to see the city bathed in light.

Over eleven thousand runners took part this year, but I struck very lucky when the start was moved to just outside my daughter’s flat meaning I could avoid those loo queues! In theory this should also have made me calm and rested, but I was my usual gibbering heap before the race and still had a pre-race cry.

The new course was extremely congested in places, making it very difficult to get past walkers and groups of three and four running together, and I was glad to get to mile six when we were through the parks and had space to take off. However, the atmosphere was brilliant with lots of people encouraging each other along the way and great support from a fantastic Cardiff crowd.

What I really noticed this year was how many of us carry our loved ones with us. I cry at the start every race because I run for my dad and everything he’s missed, but as I moved through the crowds there were many runners who were not alone. Fallen comrades, lost babies, grieved-for parents and friends were there amongst us – I’m filling up now, thinking of the mum I passed, younger than me, running for her ‘beautiful daughter, Elle’- so many people loved and remembered.

It must have been thinking about family that made me suddenly look up at mile 12 to see Tom, Lily and Stepson Two all smiling and waving at me (the video clips shows how pleased I was to see them!). By the time I finished the race, Gorgeous Girlf had joined them too (she and Stepson Two had come all the way to Cardiff to surprise me) and although I was wearing my medal by then, the real treasure was all around me in the happy memories of the day.

Low point: Feeling in need of an energy boost at mile 6 and discovering that I dropped my Haribo bears!!! Disaster!
High point: Overtaking three young blokes and hearing one comment, ‘Bloody hell, she must be fit!’
Favourite quote: At mile 11 on seeing a runner ambling towards us wearing his finisher’s medal, hearing the man next to me say, ‘F*cking hell! Is he taking the p*ss?’

All in all, another memorable half marathon. Now, do I sign up for the Llanelli half in March?

Summer's Lease

2010-10-13T05:38:00.001-07:00

We’ve been gleaning this late sunshine, taking some time out after work to sit down by the estuary to soak up some summer warmth before the winter. This week has been something of an interlude for me. I was invited to write a short story for a monthly magazine and found it really refreshing to take a break from the work in progress to write something different. I’m pleased to say the editor liked what I sent her, giving me a boost to return to my current novel with renewed enthusiasm.

With the Cardiff Half Marathon on Sunday, this has been the week when the training tapers off with a few days rest before race day. I don’t run for a particular charity as I’m too afraid of not finishing or letting them down, but if anyone feels like dropping a pound in the nearest collection box afterwards, that would be brilliant. As always, I’ll be thinking of my dad on Sunday and organisations like The Royal Marsden,The Princess Alice Hospice, Cancer Research UK and Pancreatic Cancer UK, who helped to look after him in some way.

Good luck to all the runners taking part on Sunday, but especially my writing and running buddy across the hills from me,Preseli Mags.

Good luck too, to Tom who’s completing another year of academic work with an exam on Friday. Fingers crossed for my sister who, after a run of bad luck you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, can see a glimmer of hope on her house. And finally... (because how can I not mention them on the day that everyone’s been waiting for?) the Chilean miners (is there anyone who can watch those scenes without being moved?) here’s hoping they are all recovered safely.

My First Book Signing!

2010-10-03T09:07:00.001-07:00

It’s a fine, dry day and there’s an Italian market in the square outside Waterstone’s. Good for a book signing? ‘Bad,’ says Tim. The stalls are blocking the view of the shop and the fine weather’s keeping everyone outdoors. Hmm, that must be why they’ve only put one small poster up for my event, I mean why waste the Blu Tack?
Tim demonstrates handing off the marauding hordes

After much refolding of a black tablecloth and a rummage around for some books, I’m invited to take up my position at the author table somewhere between ‘fantasy and horror’, children’s books and a poster of the next author, Bobby ‘Iron Duke’ Windsor who’s signing on Monday. Once Tom, Lily, my lovely daughter, and her partner, Russ, are all sure I’m not going to run away, they leave me to it, taking it in turns to make sure I’m all right and bring me tea.

Very soon, I notice a small boy watching me. When he returns with his family I learn that he would like to be a writer. His method, he tells me, is to rewrite his favourite stories, adding his own twists and new characters – amazing! It’s a brilliant start to the event especially when his family buy my book. I’m so grateful I feel like packing up and going home!

But then I would have missed the folks who made such an effort to come to see me; writers and bloggers, Liz Fielding, Preseli Mags and Fennie of Corner Cupboard and Linda, fellow student on the OU creative writing diploma course, all come in, some with family, to say hello. It’s an absolute delight so see so many friendly faces! I am quite charmed too, by the young Asian guy, who makes a bee-line for my table, gives me a sweet smile and passes me a hand-written note which reads, ‘Apollo Cinema’, then asks if I know where it is.

The author and her lovely assistant, Lily

Alas, Tim’s prediction about customer numbers is proved correct; it’s a quiet day and my ‘target’ readers are thin on the ground. However, those I do spot are happy to chat to me, interested in what I do and one or two even buy a copy of my book; it’s a huge delight and privilege. I’m relieved and Tim’s happy too. He invites me back later in the year because he thinks Turning the Tide will make a wonderful Christmas present (it will, it will!). And, who knows, if I’m very lucky, next time I might even get my own poster...

All Sorts, Out of Sorts

2010-09-29T04:01:00.001-07:00

Friday 24 September
With just over a week to go before my first book signing, I phone Lovely Tim at Waterstone’s to make sure everything’s in place. ‘Er,’ says Lovely Tim, ‘remind me, what book is it again?’. After a pause, whilst I listen to some electronic pips with sinking heart, LT returns to tell me that everything to do with my book signing appears to have fallen down a black hole. Reeling, I contact Lyn at Choc Lit and in the blink of an eye everything is back on track. What a woman!

It’s a chilly evening so we break out the heating. We’ve been trying to make our oil last (1) because it’s fiendishly expensive and (2) because we were hoping to move and didn’t especially feel like donating a lavish gift of a full tank of oil to someone who was messing about. Anyway, now prospective buyer has pulled out, we treat ourselves to some heat. Except that some gremlin has got into the system. And we don’t notice until 2 a.m. when we both wake up boiling alive. Three attempts to thwart the gremlin fail and by the time we conquer it, we’re both wrung out and it’s time to get up.

Saturday 25 September
Saturday mornings are Saturday papers for me; Guardian and the Telegraph. Telegraph because it’s brilliant for crazy filler stories (like the bosom-knitting granny – classic!). Buying the papers, however, involves an 8 mile trip to our nearest shop... Tesco. So I’m not thrilled to bits on our return to discover that, once again, I have a combo paper of any old bits and pieces shoved inside a Telegraph skin. Surely I shouldn’t have to stand there every week making sure my paper’s in one piece. How berludy hard is it to put a paper together anyway??

Postman arrives with my race pack for the Cardiff half marathon. A quick look at the booklet freaks me out; it’s full of photos of serious runners all looking lean, mean and raring to go.

Sunday 26 September
Go for my LSD; my long, slow distance run. Am three years older than when ran first Cardiff half. Horribly aware that tempus is fugiting but I’m not. Wah!
In the afternoon we go house-hunting. Theoretical house-hunting because no bugger’s buying ours. Maybe there’s a reason why we haven’t sold? Although that smacks of predeterminism which bothers me. Something’s changing though. I love this part of the country, but after five years, I beginning to wish I was closer to my loved ones and worry about our parents being so far away. Is it time to move a bit nearer to them or am I just out of sorts?

And finally... Saturday 2 October
If anyone’s in Carmarthen, I’ll be in Waterstone’s from 12-2pm signing copies of my book, Turning the Tide. Do come in and say hello!

Painting is Oak Leaves, by Tom Tomos

Cats, Dogs and Hounds at Home

2010-09-22T03:24:00.000-07:00

Although we have four children between us, Tom and I will never have our very own bundle of joy. Pets (what else?) are not us. Specifically, they are not Tom. Whilst I’m fine with cats, heck I even gave the kiss of life to one of mine after she was hit by a motorbike (sadly her internal injuries were too severe to save her), it’s dogs I really love.

My favourite family dog was Zorba (Ma’s Greek Island period), an absolutely adorable miniature dachshund who could melt the stoniest human heart. We also had Rima, a dazzling red setter, who liked nothing better than to sneak up on unsuspecting visitors and goose them and, briefly, Sam a naughty standard dachshund. Sam came to us for a trial run when his old lady owner was finding him a bit too energetic. He shot through the house, eating soap, drinking from the toilet and jumping up the curtains before racing outside to gobble some bread left on the lawn and crunch a few snails. Then he got a bit above himself and tried to stop Dad coming in the house, growling at him furiously, soapy snail-green slobber foaming from his mouth, and that was the end of the trial.

These days I mainly meet dogs on my run. I have had the odd bad encounter with scary farm dogs, and, of course, Dorothy, the Jack Russell who bit my bum so thoroughly that I had to get patched up at hospital. But I’ve also met some lovely dogs like Ben and Whisky who got to know me before their owner, wagging their tails when they saw me approaching (actually, they were probably laughing). My absolute favourite though, because I’ve always wanted one, is Max, a beautiful and gentle rescue greyhound who loves a fuss.

Since I can’t have my own dog, reading about other people’s rescue greyhounds is the next best thing so I was very happy to support the Wimbledon Greyhound Welfare kennels at Hersham, Surrey by buying a copy of Hounds at Home a new collection of true stories about adopting and living with greyhounds, by Victoria Kingston and Hilary Johnson. It’s available from the Wimbledon Greyhound Welfare website (£4.50 plus £1.50 P&P) and describes the ups and downs, the funny and the sad of adopting a hound needing a home. There are some gorgeous photos – Darius with stegosaurus is irresistible - but it’s the stories that are so touching and one or two of them sent tears streaming down my face. If dogs are you, you might like it too.

Wardrobe Malfunctions

2010-09-15T03:40:00.000-07:00

With clothing prices set to increase by between 5 and 8 per cent next year, it looks as if the age of ‘throwaway’ fashion is at an end. We’re all going to have to be a bit more frugal about our buying - although you don’t need to be Gok Wan to look at my shrunken T-shirts and tired jumpers to realise that I’ve never had enough disposable income to bin anything for being ‘last year’. Nevertheless there are some items lurking in the back of my wardrobe that, even in west Wales, will never see the light of day...

For many years I wanted to be a Rock Chick when I grew up. Even when I was grown up. Little did I know, as I strutted around in these leather bad boys channelling the spirit of Jim Morrison, that my daughters were cringing behind my back and suffering excruciating embarrassment every time I left the house in them. I tried them on this morning, wondering what the fuss was about, then looked in the mirror and found a short woman in waders looking back at me. Please accept my profound apologies, Rose and Lily.

Well, look at this. My investment coat, wool and cashmere, purchased after months of careful saving. Very this season, don’t you think? Strange mousey colour, military references. Lovely. It’s also like a berludy tent on me! How I ever convinced myself it fitted, I don’t know! I can only think that, costing as much as it did, I thought I’d get as much fabric as possible for my
money.

How about these then? I know! What was I thinking of? These things happen. It was my lunch hour, I was fed up, they were in a sale and the next thing I knew they were accompanying me back to the office. I can’t even walk in them – that four inch heel is a killer.

I suppose the lesson of this morning’s rummage in my wardrobe is that there are some items that should be thrown away... but in the meantime I’ll just put them back where I found them. I’m not sure about the practical value of those boots, but if clothes prices go up that much, a pair of leather trousers and a huge military style overcoat might just come in handy!

Counting Down to the Cardiff Half Marathon

2010-09-08T04:05:00.001-07:00

Saturday 4 September.
With six weeks to go until the Cardiff Half Marathon, my running shoes have had enough. At £50 - £60 a pop, I do have to take a deep breath when the time comes to renew them, but, hey, they do a pretty good job of pounding the roads round here. The internet, once again, seems to have run out of Asics 1150s in my size so we head for the wilds of Sports Direct at Haverfordwest. Inside it’s complete havoc; mountains of shoeboxes, zillions of mum and small daughter combos, forlorn single shoes abandoned by their other halves. I am not hopeful. With sinking heart I nab the nearest assistant, who happens to be up a ladder. To my immense surprise there is some sort of order and efficiency behind the chaos and two minutes later I’m standing at the till with my new shoes. Well done Sports Direct and a big thank you to a very helpful assistant.

When I get home I’m slightly freaked out to find that the route for the Cardiff Half Marathon is a new one this year. I tweet my distress and @Cadrieu responds out the blue with a reassuring message. How kind people can be.

Sunday 5 September.
Decide to run a practise half marathon – but not in my new shoes. All goes well until mile nine when I accidentally swallow a bug. Whilst it can’t be much fun for the bug to be sucked into an enormous black hole, it certainly doesn’t do much for me – especially when the bug fights back and flutters around in my throat – aaarrrghh! There is a tussle by the side of the road after which both of us emerge slightly worse for wear.

So whilst training has taught me that bugs are definitely not good to eat, Haribo Gold Bears are amazing – just the right size and long lasting! However something called a ‘Wild Mouse’ from Lidl is truly horrid – like eating an alien with a huge foamy body and a nasty jelly tail – nearly as bad as the fly.

Wednesday 8 September.
Take my new shoes for a six mile spin – I realise how flat my previous pair are when I set off and feel as if I’m running in platforms. Absolutely rubbish run, but at least I beat the rain and manage not to eat a bug. 38 days to go...

And finally...
A couple of thanks. Thanks for your good wishes to Rose, who has started her new job. After three years of diligently working in a silent, formal office where hardly anyone knew her, it’s now jeans, Macs, music and enthusiasm. Great – long may it last.

And thanks from me for supporting Turning the Tide. I’m very grateful to all of you who’ve bought the book or said nice things about it. Getting too hung about Amazon rankings is a very dangerous game to play – but it doesn’t half make my day when the book gets a boost. Thank you!

High Heels and Book Deals

2010-09-06T00:41:00.000-07:00

I'm delighted to be over at High Heels and Book Deals today, because:

1. I get to chat to Mel which is always a pleasure and
2. I've been allowed - encouraged even - to talk about my favourite shiny red shoes. Yay!

Moving, Not Moving

2010-09-02T04:40:00.001-07:00

Only a month ago, my sister was thrilled to have an offer accepted on her dream home. When I saw the details I could see exactly why she’d fallen in love with the property, a beautiful Edwardian gem, treasured not trashed by the couple who’d lived there for many happy years. Last week, my sister and her family went on holiday for a much-needed break as my youngest niece has been quite poorly. They could relax knowing that a moving date – 14th not 13th September, as her buyers were superstitious - had been set and they were about to exchange contracts. And then, the day before exchange, the buyers had second thoughts and pulled out. Just to make things even worse, it rained all week and my sister discovered that something was moving – they’d taken a family of nits on holiday with them. Where did the good luck fairy go?

Our own attempt to move has been thwarted at every turn by the most bizarre and unexpected twists; a house with a private water supply... but, it appeared, no legal entitlement to the water, houses that are for sale one minute and not the next, potential buyers who... no, don’t get me started. In the process we’re racking up legal bills and throwing money down the drain. There must be a better way of doing this?

On a happier note, my lovely younger daughter known here as Rose (or PonkyRose – do all families have their own language?) has given three years of very solid work to a company who have, quite frankly, given very little back. Tomorrow she starts a new job that she’s very excited about, with a publisher of high quality books for children, and the good news is they seem very pleased to have her too! Here’s to you, Ponky, well done, darling, we all hope you’ll be very happy!

Painting is 'Under the Pier with Nets' by Tom Tomos

Absence note

2010-08-25T01:41:00.001-07:00

Please excuse me this week... lots to be getting on with.

Sign Here

2010-08-18T04:53:00.001-07:00

A large crowd is gathered outside Waterstone’s Carmarthen store. The last time I saw huge numbers of people outside a book store, John Barrowman was being mobbed in Borders whilst, a couple of doors down, there were queues round the block and bouncers keeping an eye on the hungry hordes waiting to meet Katie Price. Since I’m about to wander in to ask for my first book signing, the sight of all those people is a tad daunting. If only I’d remembered to get a Day-Glo makeover first.

Getting closer we see that it’s not Captain Jack Harkness or Jordan pulling in the punters, but Michael Jackson or rather a Michael Jackson lookie-likie, who isn’t actually in the store, but on a stage outside. Something to do with the Carmarthen Merlin Festival celebrating ‘the legend and lore of Carmarthen’s ancient links with Merlin.’ Eh?

I take a few deep breaths, get a pat on the back from Tom and, clutching a business card and a copy of Turning the Tide in my shaking hands, brace myself to do battle. ‘Yes,’ says Tim (forever known now as Lovely Tim) as soon as I’ve explained why I’m there. ‘It’s a great-looking book, beautifully produced and it’s mass market fiction. We’d be happy to arrange a signing. Have you done one before?’ My brief burst of elation collapses; this must be where they suss me out as being a complete novice and kick me out the store, but no, Lovely Tim is kindness itself. ‘Don’t worry,’ he says, ‘We’ll look after you. We’ll put you in a good seat and send you lots of customers.’

I feel like weeping with gratitude, but hold it together whilst we arrange a date:

Saturday 2 October 12 - 2pm Waterstone’s Carmarthen.

Fantastic! And huge thanks to Lovely Tim for making it so easy for me.

Painting is Totem Gymreig by Tom Tomos

Sailing Against the Tide

2010-08-11T03:25:00.000-07:00

One of many factors that made sailing on Veryan, our wooden boat, so interesting was that she was a very heavy boat with a very feeble engine. If the tide turned against us we simply didn’t get anywhere. This happened on one occasion just as we were trying to get into Bembridge Harbour on the Isle of Wight. It’s a harbour that the guide books say requires ‘close attention to detail’, but running out of horse power adds a touch of additional excitement. As the wind and a ferocious current tethered Veryan to one spot, Tom and I stood in the cockpit gritting our teeth against what felt like a full gale willing her to inch forwards. On the beach, just a few feet away, a little old lady and her dog, untroubled by the tide, stood in the sunshine watching us and wondering what the fuss was all about.

Life’s felt a bit like sailing against the tide, despite last week’s fleeting visit from the Good Luck Fairy. This morning we woke to the news that archaeologists have uncovered Britain’s oldest house. ‘Does it have a ‘For Sale’ board next to it?’ asks Tom. It certainly feels as if we’ve been on the market for eleven thousand years. But whereas we’ve also woken up to the fact that the only way to sell a house in this part of the country is to take a savage price cut, many vendors are covering their eyes, ignoring the financial warning signs and thinking they can hold out for the full asking price. Until everyone gets real, no one in the current housing market is going anywhere.

Whilst not exactly sailing against the tide on the writing front, I’m certainly aware of conflicting forces. Writing the next book whilst promoting Turning the Tide is a bit like being helpless with morning sickness whilst watching a small child cross a busy road. It’s frustrating, too, not to get the promotional chances you’d hope for. Our nearest Tesco is tiny and, at this time of year, entirely geared to holiday makers. It’s hard to park and hard to shop – unless you want sun tan cream, barbecue food or a bucket and spade. A few local items do creep in, designed to attract the tourists, so why not include a really lovely holiday read – ie my book?

I put this to Tesco, after all it’s available online from them here, and had an email back saying ‘I am sorry to hear that we have not yet dispatched your books order. I appreciate how disappointing this must be for you’ and advising me to write to their Buying Team whilst making it very clear that the Buying Team probably wouldn’t write back. Somehow it’s just like being back on Veryan struggling against the tide!

Anyway, before you think I’ve turned into Mrs Moany-Moanisson, I was reminded again of how very fortunate I am when I read Joseph O’ Connor’s Once Upon A Life in this week’s Observer. He concludes, ‘If you have enough to eat, and a safe place to sleep, and nobody wants to kill you or take you from your family, you are among the most fortunate few of a troubled world, and you should never forget your sheer luck.’ Too true.

Painting is 'Two Pebbles in a Landscape' by Tom Tomos

A Good Day!

2010-08-03T15:00:00.000-07:00

Today...

1. My daughter, Rose, was offered the job she really, really wanted.

2. My sister had an offer accepted on the house she really, really wanted.

3. I was awarded a Distinction for my OU Diploma in Literature and Creative Writing.

With 55 mins of the day left to run, I'm quitting whilst I'm ahead!

A Near Miss and a Surprise Hit

2010-07-28T02:09:00.001-07:00

Poor DiL’s been in the wars since leaving us last week. He was pootling around on his allotment on Monday when he decided to lift a piece of old carpet, inadvertently disturbing a wasp nest. In the mayhem that ensued DiL was stung repeatedly on the head and face. No one else was about, but somehow DiL managed to grab a garden hose and turn it on himself until the wasps had had enough. He then drove himself the short distance home where a horrified MiL, who doesn’t drive, summoned a friend and got him off to hospital. Fortunately DiL’s not allergic to wasp stings and various pills and potions have patched him up, but it’s one of those incidents that has shaken us up too and made us appreciate – even when their undercrackers turn up in unexpected places – how very precious our loved ones are.

Ma’s been having an exciting time too, although her experiences have been rather more positive than DiL’s. My brother-in-law whisked my sister off to Venice for a long weekend to celebrate their silver wedding anniversary (well done, you two!) leaving my nieces, aged 10 & 12, with Ma. Not being close enough to pop in, I started ringing every day to make sure they were all coping. Well, I don’t know about my nieces, but Ma’s had a lovely time, with Izzy (12) getting her on the internet, showing her how to book cinema tickets, telling her where the best seats are and persuading her to buy a Chinese takeaway on the way home.
‘What did you see? Toy Story 3?’ I ask Izzy.
‘No, KitKat (my nickname),’ she says with contempt. ‘That’s for little kids. We saw The Karate Kid.’
‘And very good it was too,’ says Ma, in the background.
Hmm, if my mother turns in to a junk food, junk film addict I shall know who to blame.

Painting is 'Sunset - Bardsey' by Tom Tomos

Cool Running

2010-07-21T03:41:00.000-07:00

After a night of heavy rain, the west Wales coast was at its most beautiful this morning when I went out for a run. Blue sky, fluffy white clouds and hedgerows bejewelled with harebells, cornflowers and diamond-chipped feathery grasses shimmering in the watery sunlight. Not so great sights included a poor little dead mole lying on its back, forlorn starfish hands reaching for the sky, and a banana skin. (Note: always avoid the banana skins.)

Hotel H has been heaving. I’ve finally got round to unpacking my bag from our recent trip to the south (don’t worry – I did unpack the manky bits on our return). We’ve had MiL and DiL here (on the ‘go-to-south-to-catch-up-with-one-set-of-rellies-bring-another-lot-home’ basis) and they like to spread out a bit. Surprise entertainment this week has included DiL suddenly being afflicted with an inability to walk – his slippers were on the wrong feet – and a mystery object falling out the washing machine with my tea towels – DiL’s undercrackers, leftover from MiL’s wash.

But now, with a book to deliver and the Cardiff half marathon in October, I’m glad to get back in the groove of steady work. There are no short cuts, at least not for me; to run 13.1 miles you need to build up slowly and train regularly. To write a book, you need to put the hours in and watch the word-count build. I’m naturally impatient and always want quick results, but running’s taught me the value of taking life a step at a time. Just watch out for the banana skins.

And finally...
My sister and I always used to dread exam results. Not because we were bad scholars, but because there was no pleasing Ma. Even 99% would have her sighing and saying something like, ‘Oh well, perhaps you’ll do better next time.’ I don’t think even Ma would find fault with today’s marks for Turning the Tide over at Novelicious – I’m thrilled to bits. So, with Miss Write's review yesterday, it’s been a brilliant couple of days for the book. It doesn’t half feel good too!

My thanks too, to lovely Wordtryst who was kind enough to give me an award – I’ll collect it as soon as poss, but do go and read Liane’s blog for wise words about writing, reading and a dash of Caribbean sunshine.

Painting is ‘Rain setting in – Pembrokeshire Coast’ by Tom Tomos

Why I love writing...

2010-07-20T04:57:00.001-07:00

'As the last chapter came to a close, I got off at my station, sat on a bench in the sun and postponed my walk home by ten minutes or so to enjoy the last few pages uninterrupted, a little oasis of sublime romance in my rushed day.'

A lovely, lovely comment from a review of Turning the Tide by Miss Write. Check out her blog for sharp, clever writing.

No-one Died

2010-07-14T03:31:00.000-07:00

I worked for several years in the research department of a large trades union. It was my first job after my daughters started school and I shared it with Maureen who also had children, unlike most of our colleagues within the department. Maureen was one of those incredibly serene, unflappable people who was wonderful to work with. Just as well, really, since we were the jugglers of Research, trying to cram full time work into part-time hours to prove our worth, whilst fielding the inevitable calls from school. The one that particularly sticks in my mind was an office lady ringing me up to say, ‘Could you please collect your daughter? She’s fallen off a log.’

Maureen and I built our joint career together, starting as research assistants and fighting our way to become trades union officials. Along the way we had to put up with a lot of rubbish, such as other officials sticking their heads round the door of the department, seeing me or Maureen and saying, ‘Oh, no one in!’. I always had a feeling that as mums and part-timers we were never taken quite as seriously as the hungry, straight-from-university, twenty-somethings who began to fill up the department, hoovering up experience before moving on to the next job. At times, I got pretty fed-up about our treatment, but Maureen always managed to remain calm. ‘No-one died,’ she’d say, with a tranquil smile.

Maureen’s words came back to me after my stint on the Choc Lit panel at the Romantic Novelists Conference 2010 on Saturday. The talk that I had practised in my study went straight out of my head when I looked up and saw... faces! Where did all those people come from? I thought that caring about my subject would make it easier, as opposed to talking about some old employment nonsense, but in fact it made it twice as hard! I’m afraid I stammered and stuttered through my piece before staggering off wondering how it had all gone so wrong. And Maureen’s words came back to me. So what if I’d made a bit of chimp of myself? I got through it. No-one died.

Painting is 'The Tomb of St Basil - Westminster' by Tom Tomos

My Guy

2010-07-07T02:50:00.001-07:00

Excuse me if I FREAK OUT just a little, won’t you? My keyboard should be smoking with activity, but today I’m having a bit of a moment. We’re off to the south east on Friday which is good because I’ll catch up with Ma. My sister and I are both trying to sell our houses at the moment so Ma’s been something of a Freak Control Red Centre, fielding calls from both of us and handling all the ‘It’s on/off/pile-of -cr*p/best-thing-I’ve-ever-seen/b*stards/heroes’ calls with appropriate pigeon noises. A very diplomatic approach, actually, since neither of us can throw her words back at her.

But what’s really creeping up on me is Saturday, Day Two of the Romantic Novelists’ Association Conference 2010, because I’m joining the Choc Lit panel where we’ll be talking about our heroes. ‘But, mummy!’ said Rose. ‘The expert on your hero is you! What are you worrying about?’ And the answer is that I don’t know really, after all I’ve got up on my hind legs in a previous life and talked about such thrilling topics as sick pay and millennium payments and I knew a lot less (there, I’ve admitted it now!) about either of those than I do about Matthew Corrigan, the hero of ‘Turning the Tide’.

I suppose the answer is because I really care and I really want people to engage with my guy and to see why he and my heroine, Harry, would be attracted to each other. On that subject (terrible trumpet tootling alert), my Mslexia magazine arrived yesterday, (would heartily recommend it – and not just on a sucky-up note; every issue is packed with useful information and writing exercises... although they never pick my poems when I send them in. Sigh.) and it included a really wonderful write-up about ‘Turning the Tide’ (page 51 ‘Independent Press: Choc Lit’) which set me up for the whole day. I must remember to think about that before I do my bit on Saturday.

Painting is 'Late Light - Preseli' by Tom Tomos

Champagne, Chocolates and Crazy Horses

2010-06-30T06:53:00.001-07:00

Well, this is it; it's Turning the Tide's official publication day today – yes, I know it first appeared at the beginning of June, on the fifth anniversary of my dad’s death, in fact, but this is its official birthday.

I began the morning with an early training run keeping my eyes open for escaped wildlife after a truly exciting run on Sunday morning when I could see a blockade in the road ahead of me. ‘Are you moving cows?’ I asked, as a born-again country girl in tune with the rhythm of nature. ‘No,’ said one of the fielders in a very strong Welsh accent. ‘Ment-al 'orses.’ After checking further down the line I got the all clear to ‘go, if you’re quick.’ At which point I shot off like a woman possessed.

I was just congratulating myself on getting out of trouble when there was a huge commotion just in front of me and two horses charged out of a gap in the hedge! Fortunately, they galloped away from me rather than towards me, all I had to worry about then was the cavalcade of cars and quad bikes speeding after them. Anyway, today I got home without any extra excitement from fierce dogs, smelly dead things (you really don’t want to know) or crazy horses.

Anyway, I was just sitting here having a quiet post-sausage-sandwich write when the doorbell went and a delivery man (actually, that’s another story, but I don’t want my publication day to scar me for life) handed over (finally) a parcel. Inside was a box of yummy Belgian chocolates, a bottle of Moet and a card wishing Turning the Tide a happy birthday from my lovely publishers, Choc Lit. Isn’t that lovely of them?

Since it is Turning the Tide’s official birthday, I’d also like to say a big thank you to everyone who’s supported me along the way – I really appreciate it.

Sed Non Culpa Mea Est

2010-06-23T01:45:00.000-07:00

It’s typical that after weeks of inactivity on the house front, there’s a rush*of viewings the very week that Stepson Two and Gorgeous Girlf are staying with us. Given that I’m fretting about how one book baby is faring in the big wide world whilst frantically gestating the other (actually that sounds a bit yucky, let’s not go there) there’s a fair bit on my mind.

On Monday afternoon the estate agent rings to make an appointment for the following evening. Or so I think. ‘6.30 tomorrow !’ I announce. On Tuesday afternoon we clear the house of clutter and people and I sit and wait for our viewers. I wait for half an hour and nothing happens so I summon the family home. Stepson Two and GG shrug it off, but Tom and I are both grumpy about the wasted time. I want to have a big rant at the person who stood us up but can’t because of a slight suspicion that I got the message wrong. After a night of wondering if I’m starting to crack, I ring the estate agents and get the happy news that it wasn’t me – hurray! Now I can have a rant!

*3

Painting is 'Dinas Head' by Tom Tomos

Wistful Thinking

2010-06-16T02:43:00.000-07:00

Part of my daughter’s poorliness has meant a trip to hospital. When everything is done and dusted, Lily and I retreat to where the lovely WVS ladies are serving refreshments whilst we wait for Tom to collect us. The teas are 80p each and we ask for two. ‘£1.80!’ says the dear lady. We give her a surprised look and she has another bash, except I then throw everything into chaos by asking for a bag of Jelly Tots as well.

A young Asian man wanders in looking punch drunk, clutching a shiny, black and white image which is drying in his hand. The image is of what looks like a satellite picture of the weather forecast, all swirls and mists. It is, of course, an ultrasound image of his child and looking at the father-to-be's face as he gazes as it makes me feel both privileged and unintentionally intrusive. I tell Lily about the moment I heard her heartbeat for the first time, when I barely believed I was pregnant, now here she is, a grown woman.

For many months now a huge stack of paper has been sitting in a filing tray on the floor of my study. It’s the ‘final’ version of Turning the Tide, well, the one that was the final version before the editing process which was all done electronically anyway. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t need to keep it anymore, yet it was still quite a wrench to switch it to my recycling pile. Although I do most of my work straight on the computer, I still like to print out the WIP from time-to-time as reading a hard copy gives me a fresh perspective and I can sometimes hear the rhythm of the words better.

The other thing I like to do is set up a box file for each book filled with anything that makes me think about the plot; photographs, cuttings, maps, legal points. I felt a touch of sadness as I closed the box file for Turning the Tide, but at least the new one for the WIP is coming along nicely and that feels quite exciting.

And finally...
Phew! I can relax at last. MiL, who gave up reading novels, has made an exception for Turning the Tide. Although it was very sweet of her I was a tad worried as MiL is less than keen on dogs, boats, bad language and vigorous horizontal romps all of which feature at least once in the book. Fortunately, we both seem to have survived with MiL declaring it ‘quite good for a first effort’. I wonder who was most relieved?

Painting is 'Offshore Surf' by Tom Tomos

And the winner is...

2010-06-13T04:07:00.000-07:00

Thank you to all of you who entered the draw to win a copy of Turning the Tide. All the names were placed in a hat (one of my berets, in fact. I wasn't wearing it at the time 'though) and the one Tom picked out at random was... Elizabethd! I hope you enjoy it, Elizabeth.

Threading and Drawing

2010-06-09T03:43:00.000-07:00

It’s all right, you can look – I’m not even going to mention You Know What ... well not until the end, anyway. Lily is poorly so we’re off to Cardiff today to give her some TLC. Looking after Lily means I won’t be a danger to myself in Cardiff, which is what happened a couple of weeks ago.

I had a few minutes before I was due to meet Tom so thought I’d wander round the new John Lewis store to look at all the things I can’t afford. But before I got there, I noticed a bevy of gorgeous women offering some sort of beauty treatment. For someone who’s resisted all that stuff all their life (and it shows, dear reader), I’ve been slightly seduced by my ten pound manicure in New York so I decided to take a closer look.

‘You want eyebrows threaded?’ said one lovely lady. Did I? I’m pale-skinned with fine hair, not exactly a rain forest among women, yet when I took a close look at the rest of them with their perfectly-arched eyebrows, I had a real desire to be in the Beautiful Eyebrow Gang.
'I don’t think there’s much to work with, is there?’ I said.
‘Oh yes. Here, here, here and here.’ What? Had I developed a werewolf gene when I wasn’t looking? The first tweak wasn’t too bad, but as what felt like millions of tiny downy hairs rained down on me, it really began to sting. No wonder women all around me were getting up from their treatment with red eyebrows and streaming eyes!

Fortunately it was over with very quickly and I was looking forwards to seeing my beautiful new eyebrows when I heard my technician say, ‘And now I take out the greys!’ What greys? Okay there is a little patch, like a clump of daisies growing in the grass, where I tobogganed downstairs in a grocery box (not recently, I hasten to add) and went through a glass front door, splitting my eyebrow open, but I didn’t think it was a problem!

At last my eyebrows were deemed gorgeous enough for me to join the Beautiful Eyebrow Gang and I was shown the result. And I have to say my eyebrows have never looked so amazing – shaping two clumps of hair I’ve never even thought about before made a huge difference! Or so I thought, until I met Tom - who didn’t notice!

And finally...
To make up for boring the pants off everyone about Turning the Tide, I’m giving a copy away. Just use the contact button my website and I’ll stick the names on a piece of paper and get Tom to draw one at random at midday Sunday 13 June.

Painting is ‘Sea, Sky, Early Heather’ by Tom Tomos

Turning the Tide

2010-05-25T06:01:00.000-07:00

Look what the postman just delivered! For someone who’s supposed to be able to tell you about these things in words, I’m really struggling to describe the feeling of seeing everything I’ve worked and hoped for come together. Choc Lit produce the most beautiful covers; I’m utterly thrilled with mine and I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to hold a copy of Turning the Tide in my hands at last.

Bar to Car

2010-05-19T01:51:00.000-07:00

My sense of direction, never wonderful, fails completely when I’m in London so, despite detailed instructions from Tom, I still end up walking in the wrong direction and have to phone to be reoriented. Still, at least I’ve got as far as St James’s Park without falling down the gap boarding the train at Epsom, laddering my tights or snapping the heel off my shoes – all fears which have been haunting me. Reaching the Institution of Mechanical Engineers, the venue for the RNA summer party, my next fear is that no one will talk to me and I’ll be left standing on the side like the girl nobody wants to dance with. Fortunately this too becomes a needless worry. The problem isn’t about having no one to talk to, but rather the opposite; there just isn’t enough time to catch up with everyone.

It’s a great delight to meet my fellow Choc Lit authors Sue, Christina and Margaret for the first time (Jane and Juliet, we missed you!) and to catch up with Lyn, Publisher Extraordinaire. We share a few collective ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ at the cover of Sue’s All That Mullarkey and I realise that it won’t be too long now before I’m holding a copy of Turning the Tide.

My shiny red shoes are another ice-breaker, with one lovely lady crossing the room to talk to me because of them. When Janet Gover photographs them for her famous Shoe Blog, along with Christina’s gorgeous floral platforms, I feel very honoured. Shoes, champagne and Choc Lit, I think, as we raise our glasses to Lucy King, the winner of this year’s Joan Hessayon trophy; what a night!

Now all I have to do is get home. After the party Bird Cage Walk seems much lonelier and darker than it was before (well, of course it is darker – because it’s later, but it feels dark too). My moment of relief at finding my way back to the Tube is short-lived when I discover that all trains are cancelled. ‘What are we supposed to do then?’ someone asks. ‘Walk,’ comes the succinct reply. After another quick call to Tom to find out which way to go, my shiny new shoes and I find our way (quite carefully, it must be said) to Victoria. Happily I’m just in time for the fast train. Someone’s even left their new ‘Hello’ magazine behind for me which is a bonus, even if it is a little heavy on royalty. The only slight problem comes when we reach Epsom and I lose the station, but then I realise I’m facing the wrong way so am pleasantly surprised when I turn round to see it’s still there, huge gap and all.

And finally...
Oh dear, we’ve had to face up to the fact that running two cars is a bit of a luxury so, last night, Lester The Fiesta was driven away by the father of one very happy new driver. I hope they enjoy their life together. Farewell Lester, a good and faithful servant.

'Abstracts' by Tom Tomos

Party On

2010-05-11T13:20:00.001-07:00

So there we were, fish and chips from the Hake Inn at, er, Hakin, balanced on our laps watching the fondant colours in the sky and an unusually flat, calm quicksilver sea. ‘We’ll always remember this evening, won’t we?’ we said, pausing only to blow on piping hot chips.

A romantic tryst at Milford Haven? Not as unlikely as it sound, I’ll have you know. We’ve spent many happy hours on or around the Haven. In fact, we’ve come to some of our best decisions bobbing around in a little wooden boat there. But this time we were looking across the Haven pleasantly passing the time whilst the country made a decision. Well, we will remember Election Night 2010, not because we sat up through the night (all right, I did grab a couple of hours kip at 3.am, but Tom was a real trouper) to watch the dawning of a new government, but for reasons that everyone’s all too familiar with by now.

Ah well, what Laura Kuenssberg (what a star!) has been referring to all day as the ‘fluid situation’ is playing out as I write so my thoughts are now turning to another party. Tomorrow we’re heading south so that, amongst other things, on Thursday I can attend my first Romantic Novelists’ Association Summer Party. Yesterday, in Cardigan, I thought I heard faint cries from the Factory Outlet store and felt it was my duty to investigate. And there they were, these shiny red shoes, cruelly abandoned on a bottom shelf. I felt it was only fair to rescue them and bring them home with me. Shiny red shoes – you shall go to the ball!

School's Out!

2010-05-05T06:19:00.001-07:00

Well, that’s it. A few days of absolutely no peeping so that I can spot any mistakes when I sit down for a final read-through, then it’s print it in triplicate and send if off to the OU. My End of Course Assessment, the culmination of two years of hard work towards my Diploma in Literature and Creative Writing. Sheesh! I’ve worked hard for this, much harder than when I went through the sausage-machine of university the first time – just goes to show what you’re prepared to do when you really want something as opposed to thinking you want something.

It’s going to be very strange not always having the next Tutor Marked Assignment ahead of me, but there’s lots to look forwards to on the writing front. I’m going to really enjoy concentrating on the current novel, but I’m also hoping to find time to write and submit more poetry too.

The photo is a summary of two years work. My trusty knitted monkey sits on my printer – goodness knows I’m not a soft toy person, and my preferred tea is Earl Grey, but when I opened the tea box and saw this sad, squashed face looking up at me, I just sort of... fell in love with it. The pencil tin used to belong to Dad, so it’s another personal talisman. However, there’s also a pile of notebooks there which probably point to the most useful tip I can pass on to other writers. If you don’t already do it, buy a notebook and write anything you like in it – but keep writing, keep adding to it. Fill it with cuttings – mine contains everything from a gran who knits bosoms (don’t ask me) to how to arrange your own funeral. Don’t censor yourself – just fly. You’ll be amazed at where your notebook will take you.

Something Very Like ...

2010-04-28T02:02:00.000-07:00

THIS is happening to 'Turning the Tide' at the moment!

If you click on the picture it enlarges... not sure 'Turning the Tide' will reach any schools though!

Ooh! Sorry to do a bit of Trumpet Tootling but I feel very honoured to have my own Author's page at Hilary Johnson's Authors' Advisory Service. I was very fortunate to meet Hilary through the Romantic Novelists' Association's New Writers Scheme and used her service when I wanted a professional opinion of my initial draft of 'Turning the Tide'. I can honestly say it was Hilary's belief in my work since those early RNA days that gave me the tenacity to keep going!

A Very Proud Moment!

2010-04-26T08:38:00.000-07:00

Thirty-four years after an extremely homesick Tom dropped out of his studies at the University of Swansea (those were the days of snail-mail, public phone boxes and student digs in the middle of nowhere) this is the moment when he was finally awarded his degree by the Vice-Chancellor of the Open University.
Tom’s battled not only with the usual trials and tribulations of life, but has also overcome cancer and serious illness to reach this point – we couldn’t be more proud of him.

Whirlwind week

2010-04-21T01:41:00.000-07:00

Friday 16 April
a.m. Up at crack of doom to go to hairdressers for Big Night Out in Cardiff. On return, have quick sitting with Stepson Two and Gorgeous Girlf, for a round of possible PR photos. Stepson Two takes photographs while Gorgeous Girlf smiles encouragingly just behind him. Ask Stepson Two if he can take out all bags, wrinkles and blemishes. ‘Yes,’ he says, ‘but what would be the point?’.

Midday. Drive Stepson Two and Gorgeous Girlf to Carmarthen to catch their train. A series of diversions mean we make the station with two minutes to spare. The best part of is it that they have booked this train so they can drive to Heathrow to collect GG’s parents... except that GG’s parents are now stuck in Egypt due to Volcanogate.

p.m. It’s too early for us to meet Lily in Cardiff so we head for Penarth which is fabbity-fab-fab. We sit in glorious sunshine on the lovely old pier enjoying two cups of tea and three Welsh cakes for a truly bargainous £2.50. Perfick! Ring Lily at work to make her jealous.

Off to Cardiff Bay. Lovely Lily and Russ are taking us out for a meal to celebrate Lily’s promotion (yay!) and as an entirely undeserved thank you for the very little we have done for them. A very good time had by all. Thank you so much, Lily and Russ.

Saturday 17 April
Up and out for bracing walk along Cardiff Bay to the Barrage and back. Have lovely time spotting dogs and babies. Yummy sushi for lunch. Tom and I walk into town where Tom has an OU lecture. I decide to walk round the shops. By the time I meet Tom and we walk back to the bay my feet are almost on fire.

Sunday 18 April
Give house a thorough tidy for house buyers viewing at 3pm. They do not show up. Total berludy waste of a day... but at least the house is tidy.

Monday 19 April
Kate Harrison, super-talented author of six novels, has been reading Turning the Tide for me. Receive really lovely email from her saying all kinds of nice things about it. Happiness levels soar.

Tuesday 20 April
Workworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkworkwork.
Wednesday 21 April
More visitors, the last for a little while, but this is for a very special occasion. Ma, MiL and DiL are coming down for Tom’s graduation on Saturday. Prepare for much bursting with pride in Cardiff that day!

And over at Choc Lit we’re blogging about the joys of publishing today with each of us writing about what stage we’re at.

Painting is one I’ve posted before. ‘Silence Katyn’ by Tom Tomos

An Emotional Day

2010-04-14T02:26:00.001-07:00

Yesterday started on an emotional note; I’d finally caught up with Saturday’s Guardian magazine whilst making an early morning cup of tea (visitors have been arriving in droves at Hotel H since the middle of March. It’s been lovely to catch up with everyone, but it’s been quite tricky trying to fit everything in). Then I turned to ‘Saying goodbye with my camera’, Briony Campbell's moving record of her father’s death from pancreatic cancer and just couldn’t hold back the tears – it was just like saying goodbye to my own dad again and brought back so many memories.

Maybe I should be ‘over it’, (and a few regular readers of this blog will probably think, ‘God! Here she goes again!’). But I honestly don’t think time is a healer. It feels as if Dad’s been away too long and I just wish I could talk to him. Quite simply, there’s a huge hole left in my life that can never be filled and I just try not to fall in it too often.

Anyway, I pushed the tea past the lump in my throat, said hello to the guests and got on with some work. Then a message from my publishers popped into my inbox... and there was the PDF of ‘Turning the Tide’. So what? You might think. That’s what I would have thought and yet it just seemed to elevate my typescript into, well, a real book. It was a truly thrilling moment. I had another howl then rushed round the house summoning folks to admire it – I just wish my dad could have been here to see it too.

Paranoid Activity

2010-04-11T05:01:00.000-07:00

Along with the more familiar night terrors, like dreaming I haven’t revised for a Very Important Exam or that I’ve turned up at some glittering occasion in scruffy clothes and dirty hair, I’m now tormented by a new fear. As the process of pre-publication continues, it’s been easy to lose sight of the fact that I have a real live novel coming out this summer!! Each step has meant concentrating on a something new – looking at jacket designs, thinking about publicity, doing copy edits etc and in all the activity I’ve hardly dared imagine what it’s all for. I’m still haunted by the fear that someone’s going to tap me on the shoulder and say, ‘Nah! Not you!’

It’s not surprising then, I suppose, that I’ve invented a new nightmare for myself. Last night I dreamed that I was summoned to appear before some big chief. I couldn’t actually see who it was; all I could see were the legs of an enormous desk towering above me and a voice booming out, warning me not to let everyone down. Eek! How scary is that? The thing is, as publication comes closer, I’ve started to worry that no one will like Turning the Tide - is this normal, do you think? Or am I just particularly good at scaring the bejeesus out of myself?

Painting is ‘West Coast Surf’ by Tom Tomos, whose lovely work can now be seen here at the Venetia, a restaurant and boutique hotel at the tip of the Llyn Peninsula http://www.venetiawales.com/

Eyeballs...

2010-03-31T08:47:00.000-07:00

... I am up to them today. In view of author blog nomination thingy should probably be jumping up and down doing the 'oooh, look at me!' bit, but not v.comfortable doing that sort of thing anyway.

However, I have joined my fellow Choc Lit authors for a blog on how we got started. There are photos too. Sigh.

A few of my favourite books...

2010-03-26T05:08:00.000-07:00

... can be seen at Choc Lit's Book Club this month.

A word from Mrs Grumpy-Grumpison

2010-03-24T03:38:00.000-07:00

I’ve been a right old Grotbags this week. After the excitement of an imminent offer on our house at the end of last week which failed to materialise after our prospective buyer’s sale fell through, it was back to the trauma of showing folks round. ‘Oh, we’re cool about the social housing opposite,’ say the latest couple. I point out that the ‘social’ houses are affordable homes for key workers namely one teacher, one deputy head and a local government officer, but I can see they’re not convinced. A little later the estate agent phones to tell me that the couple like the house but ‘can’t say’ why it’s not for them. Well, I can. People, do your homework first and get real! The fact is that even in this part of the world you will not get a house this size and six acres of land in the middle of nowhere unless you have a much bigger budget or a time machine. Grrr!

Key worker homes are out then. But what about chickens? Surely it’s nice to have a few chickens in the garden? Well, yes – but not if the chickens don’t belong to you. Next-door’s hens have worked out that there’s a gap in the wire which leads to the paradise that is our garden. Whilst I don’t mind a few hens clucking about the place, Tom absolutely loathes them. But what I’m not terribly keen on is the amount of chicken-poo piling up around the place. I particularly don’t like it when I scoop some up on my skipping rope whilst having a little work out. Skipping is quite enough exercise on its own so I can do without the extra excitement of dodging flying chicken muck.

And talking of poo, I’m currently at that really horrid stage with novel#2 when it feels like our wormery. You add lots of good ingredients in anticipation of a glorious end product and forget you have to go through the stage where all you’ve got is the most disgusting mess. The only answer is to keep the process going. Sooner or later some alchemy starts to work and you get a tiny glimpse of magic and, in my case, cheer up immediately and feel wonderful. So, for Tom’s sake, I’d better get back to it...

Before I go we’re blogging on the subject of research over at Choc Lit’s Author Corner this week for anyone who’s ever wondered what you have to do to make your book feel real!

Painting is 'Coast near Dinas' by Tom Tomos

Thrice Upon A Time

2010-03-17T05:36:00.000-07:00

The way things have been this week I’m going to consult the wise and witty Little Brown Dog in her astrology mode to see if pesky planet Mercury is misbehaving again. Now one of the ‘rules’ of story-telling is the rule of three, you know the one. The eldest princess sets out to save the people and comes to grief in the deep, dark woods. The middle princess sets off and has such a good time she forgets about the people. And so it’s left to the plucky youngest princess to do the decent thing, complete the trial and save the people. (As the member of the family most likely to come to grief, I used to get rather fed up on behalf of the eldest princess).

Lately, life has been a fairy tale in many ways, but it’s also true to say this week has thrown up its share of frustrations. Monday saw me slaving over hot edits only to find that some naughty hand in cyberspace had performed some evil trickery which meant that I was busily editing the wrong version. Eeek! At the same time I was also trying to send a photo to the nice man at Fantastic Fiction who was kindly creating an author page for me. Nothing I did seemed to make the photo load properly. For a while I concluded that their system was taking fright at the sight of me, but I seem to be there at last, albeit in a rather kindly soft focus. My third trial with technology came yesterday, trying to send off one of the last big pieces of work for my OU diploma which, of course, took me three attempts. Grrr!

We also, it appears, have three potential buyers for the house, although they have properties to sell. I ought to be excited that things seem to be happening, but in the meantime I’m having trouble finding somewhere I would like to move to. Our initial hopes of finding ‘something remote’ seemed to have been well and truly dashed. Either someone else has pipped us to the post or there’s planning permission which will place the ‘remote’ property slap bang in the middle of a housing estate.

So it was with great excitement that we noticed a new to the market, uninhabited and astonishingly cheap property on a good-size plot. Although it was dark, we immediately set off to find it. After a bit of a hunt we located an unlit and uninviting tree-shrouded track.
‘Looks a bit creepy’ I suggested.
‘Nonsense!’ said Tom. ‘It’ll look completely different in the daylight.’

The next day we arranged to meet the estate agent at the property. Whilst we were waiting we explored the outside. The front of the house, bathed in sunshine, did indeed look very different, although it seemed to me that the back of the house was particularly cold. Then I noticed an alcove in the stone wall containing a statue. At first I thought it was just a bit of whimsy, but looking closely it appeared to be some sort of shrine and at the foot of the statue were offerings; a few silver coins and a silver earring. I didn’t think anymore about it until the estate agent arrived. She unlocked and went ahead of us turning on lights, but returned visibly shaken. No, there was nothing to see, but I knew within seconds of setting foot in the place that I could never live there. As the eldest princess, I have to be particularly wary of the deep, dark woods and that was one house I never wanted to see again!

Image is 'Welsh Landscape' by Tom Tomos

Sweeping Through!

2010-03-11T01:35:00.000-08:00

‘Well,’ said a friend, recently. ‘I suppose you’re just sitting round waiting for the book to come out now.’ Hmm, not quite. To be fair to her, I didn’t quite realise that having a novel accepted is just the first part of the process. Although you have to allow yourself a little time to enjoy that lovely warm glow, there’s plenty to get on with like cover designs, copy edits and (blush) PR stuff. There’s also the next book to write and, in my case, the final pieces of OU work to complete. I do feel as if someone just pressed the Busy Button, but, having ached for this for so long, I’m enjoying every moment.

And talking of buttons, Jenson Button features in the Choc Lit Author's Corner today. I’m still flying the flag for rugby but Christina and Sue are trying to persuade me that there’s magic in Formula 1.

I don’t know about fast men (or if I do I’m not saying here) but my 76 year-old Ma won a supermarket sweep which took place this morning. ‘Oh,’ said Ma on being informed of success by a thrilled Take A Break representative that she’d won. ‘I didn’t want to win that!’
So because the poor love has such a bad back and can’t walk properly they’ve allowed my brother-in-law to do it for her. I haven’t heard how they’ve got on yet – but I do know that from now on we’ll be trying to convince her to only enter competitions she does want to win!

Stop press! Ma & BiL scopped £450 in goodies and a £250 cash bonus! Not sorry now, eh, Ma?

Image is 'Beach' by Tom Tomos