A Light Dawns Over Yonder Hill …

Hi All

I think the light is finally dawning. I am coming to my senses and realising that not everything is hunky dory in this virtual world of ours. But then, think about it. Do we get on with everyone we meet in the real world? No. So why would we think that we can get on with everyone in this crazy, virtual war zone.

I think a part of the problem lies in the fact that I was an October baby and as such I share the sign of Scorpio. Yes, yes, yes, I know, many of you will think it a load of old tosh, but I say, whatever gets you through the night, sunbeam. So take another bite of your eggy toast and listen.

It’s my extremism that is the problem really. You see, there are no grey areas. Everything is black or white. I either like someone or feel totally indifferent towards them. People will either please me or annoy me. And once I have made up my mind about someone or something I am harder to shift than the fairy on the Christmas tree with the point stuck up her bum.

So having said this I have decided to cut back from certain areas of this social networking. I have already left certain groups. I feel that these take up way too much time. Time that I should be spending on trying to figure out why I can’t make sense of the next novel that I am working on. Or rather, not working on and should be!

It no longer pleases me to waste time on unproductive things and on people who create in me the wrong vibe or response. I need to be a happy little bunny, skipping and hopping around in the lovely spring grass, chomping on four-leaf clovers, chatting with my bunny friends.  Actually I’m not too sure what I’m taking about now. I think I have fragmented over night! Maybe I’ll leave it there for now.

Sensible head now on. A friend of mine brought up the subject of e-book pricing and asked if 77p was too cheap. I said that I thought it was. What do you think? And do you think that these freebies are a good thing?

I know when I first started out all those years ago (August 2012) I had no idea what to do and what to price my books at. A good friend advised me on all of this and the advice was sound. She also explained to me that until readers ‘knew your book was out there’ you stood precious little chance of making even one sale. So following her advice I put one of my novels on free promotion for one weekend. At the time I think I had 500 twitter followers and probably 25 Facebook friends. A mere drop in the vast ocean.

I sat at the laptop for most of the weekend and tweeted and watched as my followers (I hate that word. It makes me sound like the great Messiah!) retweeted for me. They pulled out all the stops to help me – the newbie – and I can never thank those people enough. The novel had over 7.000 downloads and went to number 1 on Amazon . Following the promotion the novel sold quite well, because I was now visible. Visibility soon dropped however and now the book sales trickle. But trickle is OK. I just wonder if we are lowering our standards as well as our prices? Should something that has taken us goodness knows how long to create really only be worth 77p? Or even free? Is that truly possible?

This is a tricky one because there are those who say that readers will buy your ‘cheapo’ book, like it and then look for others. What if they don’t like it? What if the author has spent half of his/her life producing that one book?

I feel that I am producing more questions than answers today so I think I will gather up my fragmented brain and spend a little time trying to piece it back together in a more acceptable form. And hopefully, by tomorrow, I may be restored to my former self?

I would honestly value your opinions on e-book pricing and freebies, so if you have the time to leave your thoughts and opinions please do.


Take care my lovelies x





From Every Negative Comes A Positive – Trust Me!

Hi All

I have always said that it is a stupid person who can not learn from past mistakes. And I still believe this. So why, after standing in the bathroom this morning, staring at the scales and telling myself that I shouldn’t get on them – I got on them?

Obviously there is something hugely wrong with them because after they had settled and I had peered, squint-eyed at the bloody things, they still showed  that I had put on half a pound. How the hell did that happen? I’ve been trotting here and there, not eating chocolate, biscuits, sucky sweets or family size packets of crisps  I’ve been watching the soaps in the evening feasting on oranges. I don’t get it and frankly I’m annoyed. What’s the point in not eating rubbish if you are still going to put on weight eating the good stuff? As I stared at the mirror, Golum, from Lord Of The Rings stared back at me and I heard the words, ‘You stupid fat hobbit. Now you’ve gone and ruined it!

I am a firm believer that in every negative there is a positive and the positive to escape from this negative is this – I have to go to my Chiro guy after lunch, the one who works on my soft tissue. Yes you guessed it – at least there will be plenty for him to work on and my money will not be spent in vain.

Putting all that aside – quite difficult because I still think those stupid scales were wrong and that actually Richard has been bouncing on them, attempting to make them read less. I’ve told him time and time again NOT to use the scales as they only weigh up to twenty-two stone. OK so he isn’t quite that big but I’m not in a very charitable mood this morning. And I’ve just injured myself trying to get Chea’s favourite tiny felt bird from under the fridge with a carving knife. Attempting to avoid chopping off her right paw I stabbed my thumb and made it bleed.

So, as I said, putting all that aside perhaps one of you lovely people could help me with this. Yesterday my little package of 10 Mulligan books arrived through the post, at least I’m assuming that’s what the package is, I haven’t opened it yet. I have people who want a signed copy. And NO I haven’t twisted their arms or threatened to curse them with the help of my tarot cards. They are not wishing to buy a copy just to shut me up and get me off their backs. Mind, thinking about it, there could be some truth in it?

What I would like to know is this – how do you sign a book?

I mean, do I need a fancy fountain pen? Should the ink be black or blue? Which page do I write on? Do I make it personal and write the purchasers name? And what do I do with all the copies that I bugger up? I can’t even write a freezer or a wine bottle label without going wrong sometimes.

Am I going to have to rip out the botched-up page and then sell my beloved Mulligan for 10p at a car boot? Oh Lord, what if I start seeing them at car boots? There are millions of books at car boots. I saw poor old Terry Wogan on sale last year for 5p. And if that’s all they are asking for dear Terry I stand no chance, do I? But maybe it won’t come to that if I’m careful and concentrate. Huh! Who am I kidding? I’m going to screw up, aren’t I? No! I refuse to let that thought remain in my head. I am going to be fine – as long as someone can answer all of the above questions.

I’m off to open the box and then to throw another log on the fire. I am feeling very cold. I think it is a symptom of fear? Of the unknown? Of not knowing how many copies I am going to destroy.

But again, a positive can come from a negative. Did you see The Day After Tomorrow? The whole world was freezing over and a splinter group, led by Jake Gyllenhaal, shacked up in a library. They survived by burning books. So, dudes, if the worst comes to the worst, I can always chuck them on the wood burner. Simples!

Take care my lovelies xMP900446574

PS A big welcome to new followers! xxx

I Would Like To Thank My Family, My Friends, The Dog And Er…You!

Hi All

Judging by your comments to my previous post it appears that I am not alone in my discovery and damnation of the Queen Bee. She isn’t the rarity that I had hoped she might be. But, thankfully, it also assures me that Queen Bee-ism isn’t all in my mind – as I fear so many things are these days!

To keep the balance right I have to mention the other side of the scales – the nice people. The ones who lurk and dwell in this dark world of writing. Do you know any? I do.

I would like to name these people but frankly some of them are so nice that they wouldn’t want to bathe in the glory for a single second. And not only that, they would deny to the death that they had done anything out of the ordinary anyway. Because to these people, charity, help and advice is second nature. So I’ll just use the initial of their first name.

First up is ‘A’. ‘A’ opened up her home to me, made me endless cups of tea and formatted my books. She answered every stupid question that I threw at her even though there were times when I knew it was a stupid question but still had to ask it. She also proofread – for free. She replied to all my emails, corrected the stuff that I tried to do myself and failed miserably and generally made me ‘keep the faith.’

Second up is ‘C’. ‘C’ was the first person to review Mulligan’s Reach. She gave it a glowing review (obviously, because it’s an OK kind of book) and 5*. And if I ever lose the original draft and subsequent copies I only need to go to her because she knows it so well that she could rewrite it! So ‘C’ gave me confidence.

Then there is ‘J’. ‘J’ is mad and keeps me sane by comparison. End of!

Next there is ‘P’ ‘G’ ‘M’ and ‘P’ All top guys who offer words of wisdom, words of encouragement and generally insist I move away from all sharp implements and that things are never that bad.

Then there are the twitter guys and gals. These people are lovely. They re-tweet my nonsense  They helped me to get Starfish to #1 best seller on Amazon. Without them I wouldn’t have achieved it. They are a friendly bunch and I have yet to meet a Queen Bee on there. There may be one or two lurking but as long as they stay lurking and don’t attempt to sting me or my lovely twitter followers that’s OK.

And last but absolutely NOT least, are my friends on here – on my blog/web. You all take the time to read my crap and many of you are ‘liking’ and commenting – which is brilliant.

We are all on this ‘journey,’ this ‘roller-coaster,’ together. I’ve creased up laughing and just had to slap myself because I HATE those two words so much. I swore I’d never use them but the naughty typing finger took over and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Everyone on these TV reality shows has been on a ‘journey.’ They have all been on a ‘roller-coaster.’ NO YOU HAVEN’T!! Pillocks. You put your name forward in the hopes that you could become famous and grab a fortune and live the ‘rock star’ life style! That’s probably a bit cruel? There are some nice lads and lasses who only want to be famous so that they can buy their parents a bungalow by the coast!

There I go – digressing. For once I was attempting to be serious. I should have known better. Two serious blogs on the trot? It’s never going to happen is it?

I know today’s rambling reads a bit like an Oscar acceptance speech but I have to give credit where credit is due. Because for every, pompous, self opinionated, big-headed, fat Queen Bee, there are hundreds of lovely, genuinely nice, selfless people out there. And fortunately, my ‘journey’ (yuck!) has brought me into contact with many of them.

Whoop woo. End of.

Take care my lovelies x

How Do We Know. Do Others Have The Right? …

Hi All

Stand by your beds because this is a quick, writing orientated blog today.

I guess it all has to do with the genuineness of people. And people in the writing profession in particular.

You see, I think I am a genuine person. If someone asks me something I reply with what I consider to be the truth. If someone asks my opinion I give them my opinion  This can sometimes cause varying degrees of discomfort and/or displeasure because, you see, if someone asks for my opinion that is exactly what they get – my opinion – based on the evidence that I have to hand at the time.

Yes, sometimes I sugar-coat it slightly, especially if the person asking is prone to beating their head against a hard rock at the slightest unkind syllable. But it is still my honest opinion, be it sugar-coated.

I was one of the founder members of a local writing group many years ago. The group started out lovely. Happy virginal writers all there for the same reasons – to grow and produce something worth publishing. Before long one person set herself up as Queen Bee, commenting on people’s work, advising them on this, that and the other. She loved quoting bits from her writing mags, pretending they were her own. In fact she loved the sound of her own voice – period.

She took it upon herself to set stupid assignments that were of little or no value to anyone.  ‘Let’s all write a sentence without using vowels.’ ‘Let’s all jump up and down and wave our knickers in the air!’ OK that wasn’t an assignment but it could well have been. It was along the lines of her usual suggestions!

The person in question came down hard on one member of the group, slamming into her with nasty comments that were of no use whatsoever. The member in question was the best writer in the group. Fact. Not opinion. She is now a published writer.

Queen Bee wrote a load of stilted, old-fashioned crap. No Horlicks needed there. No two ways about it. Just take one of her short stories to bed with you and you’d be in the arms of Orpheus in two seconds flat.  Because of her, the group splintered and members left, myself included. In fact, I left first. I never could, never have and never will, cosy-up to self-centred, big heads who think that they are the meaning of life. Many writers, who didn’t know any better, listened to this woman’s crap, briefly believed it and then abandoned writing altogether. Queen Bee left the group eventually because it wasn’t good enough for her. She needed to hang out with ‘proper’ writers. To this day she still hasn’t produced anything.

How can these people set themselves up as oracles? Hey? Riddle me that, sunbeam. No don’t bother because I’m going to tell you. They set themselves up as oracles because …wait for it …big breath …WE LET THEM.

Do you not think that maybe we should question these Queen Bees? Should we not look at what they are producing before we let them rip our work to shreds and advise us? What if the only things these winged wonders write, on a regular basis, is a shopping list – badly?

If you wanted your house rewiring you would ask for references. If someone turned up at your door wanting to read your gas meter you would ask to see identification (hopefully) so why wouldn’t you question your unfriendly neighbourhood Queen Bee? Why would you let her (I’m using her it could just as easily be he ) give her unqualified opinion on your writing? Because, trust me, unqualified opinions will smash the delicate and  faint-hearted to smithereens. I’ve seen it happen. It happened to me.

There may be some reading this that will disagree with my final comment but I will make it anyway. There is a certain degree of jealousy harboured in these people. They think that if they can keep you down to their level, or just slightly below their level, they will continue to be better than you. And you will continue to worship at their shrine. Well I say don’t!

Ask for advice. Ask for opinion. Ask for help. BUT check the qualifications of the person/persons you are asking – and if they are prone to wearing yellow and black striped sweaters avoid them like the plague. Ah! Now then, is that a wasp? Could be. Wasps are a whole new ball game! But at least you hear those buggers coming …

Loving the likes and comments from you all. We are growing daily. Thank youMB900216946 xxx

Take care my lovelies x

Clucking Chucks And A Conifer Climbing Cat …

Hi All

I’m not sure if this is a late Thursday blog or an early Friday blog. I do know that it is quite late Thursday night as I write it – but knowing the way I faff about, breaking off to empty pooh from the litter tray and making yet another mug of tea, it will probably be well past the witching hour when I finish.

I’m not too sure where today went to. I was up with the lark and trotting into Morrison’s as they opened their doors at seven this morning. I wasn’t planning on shopping but Richard had this bee in his bonnet about there being no food in the house. A slight exaggeration on his part. What he actually meant was there was no ‘nice’ food in the house. By ‘nice’ food he means crisps, biscuits, chocolate, cake, etc. You get the picture? The fact that the freezer is full to busting is of little importance. Food that requires cooking doesn’t count – apparently. Unless of course it happens to be oven chips. He’s a master chef with oven chips. What that man can’t do with a baking tray and a bag of McCains  is no ones business. Straight cut. Crinkle cut. Nothing phases him. He has even been known to whack in the odd bit of battered cod and half a saucepan of Morrison’s value garden peas.

At least there aren’t many people in the supermarket at that time of the day. I can chat happily to the cashier lady without the huffing and tutting queues forming behind me. Although, to be honest, they usually join in the conversation. This mornings little discussion was about the cost of electricity, gas and the good/bad points of a wood-burner. Riveting?

After that I came home, loaded up all the cupboards, had a mug of tea and had Chea out in the garden. – not all at once, obviously. I let the two chucks out and they buggered off up the garden to murder their daily allowance of worms and bugs and I set about refreshing water and pellets and such like. I left Chea to her own devices. She’s been toddling round the garden on her own now, with me watching her like a hawk. She has no idea of danger. She thinks ponds are for walking on and conifers are for falling out of.

I did lose sight of her for a time and if it wasn’t for a tinkling bell and a wildly waving conifer I would never have found her halfway up it. She has no idea of how to put her body into reverse, so right now she can go up trees  – but she can’t come down.

After I’d rescued her she tore off up the garden, under the arch and collided with a chuck coming the other way. I’m not sure who was the most alarmed, Chea or the chuck? The chuck certainly made more noise and one or two feathers flew. Chea stopped  dead, shook herself and after thinking about it for a second carried on her mad dash up the garden.

The real confusion sets in when Chea and chucks are all heading in the same direction. The chucks bat off shouting and clucking and Chea gallops innocently behind with an expression on her face that says, ‘What? I wasn’t chasing them. I was just going the same way.’ Her favourite trick is stalking them through the shrubs.

After that I decided to move the furniture around in the lounge – with Richards help. He was in a bad mood and grumped and moaned and grumped some more. When I was happy with it I said, ‘What do you think?’ He just mumbled something about it didn’t matter what he thought because knowing me it would all be put back to its original position tomorrow. Honestly. You try to do your best to be the home-maker and that’s all the thanks you get.

The situation got a tad out of hand from that point. I threw a tantrum (hard to believe, I know) swore at him and proceeded to put everything back to where it had been thirty minutes earlier. In my manic tantrum I knocked over the bloody internet  box thingy and later discovered that we had no internet connection.

As you may imagine, that didn’t please him much either. He had another rant while he attempted to retrieve the connection and I kindly informed him that after he’d done that, and he’d made me a cup of tea, I wouldn’t be speaking to him for the rest of the day because he was a mardy git. So it has been a lovely peaceful night and he has now sloped off to work. But at least the internet is working!

And as predicted – Chea is scratching in her tray preparatory to … well … you know what. So I’m off.

Take care my lovelies x


Cud-Chewing Cattle Stood And Stared …doo doo doo …

Good Morning All

Well, well, well, what a day yesterday turned out to be. I told you all I was off to see my brother but what I didn’t tell you is that I have never actually visited my brother at his house for the last fifteen years or so. Reason? I won’t bore you with the reason.

So, off I toddled to see him, after I’d been on a life-saving dash to the pet shop to get the chucks some layers pellets and to Morrison’s  on a life-saving dash, to get Richard a pork pie and a bar of chocolate. I stopped off briefly at Marks and Spencer for the undergarment which was mentioned yesterday and then off I tore.

My brother lives slap bang in the middle of my old life. What I mean is, when I was married I lived that way too and the drive took me along familiar roads – physically and mentally. I passed the farm where a dear farmer friend had lived until he had been taken by cancer. I passed the petrol station where I used to ‘fill up’ and charge it on account. Back then a little man popped out, filled up the car, had a bit of a silly flirt and divulged to me the weather for the coming week.

But the weirdest thing – the moment I was on familiar roads, a song came on the radio that was ‘my song,’ way back then. Whenever I hear this song on the radio I am transported back faster than Dr Who to that time and place of my earlier life. The song hadn’t quite finished as I pulled up outside my brother’s house.

I don’t know why this happens to me? It certainly isn’t the first time.

When my father died, six years ago, I associated the Michael Buble song, Lost, with dad, in particular the lyric, ‘You are not alone I’m always there with you.’ I played this song all the time on repeat. One morning I was getting dressed and dad was on my mind more than usual. I did a few bits upstairs, as you do, before going downstairs, and I still couldn’t kick the sad thoughts of dad out of my head. I felt totally alone. As if I was the only person on the planet that felt like I felt. I went downstairs and into the kitchen, flicking on the radio as I passed it and not only was Lost playing but the first words that came from the radio were, ‘You are not alone, I’m always there with you.‘ I just stood and cried.

I love music. Especially the songs that bring huge emotions to the surface. It is almost like a cleansing process.

Last night I decided that I’d have an early night, so I returned to the laptop to close it down after checking emails. That was my big mistake. Sitting there was a twitter notification from my cousin and it made a reference to a song that was ‘our song,’ back in the early days of separating from my husband. We had our own version of it! Well, I was young and silly once! Nowadays I’m just silly. I stood no chance of not HAVING to hear that song so off I toddled to YouTube and there it was. ‘I’m in the mood for dancing,‘ by the Nolans.

Hah! Blown my cover. Now you all know how mental I am. But once that, doo doo doo started, I turned up the volume on the  headphones and my cousin and I were belting along sunny country lanes, sunroof open,  warbling at the top of our voices. Whole herds of cud-chewing cattle  turned their heads and blinked as we sped past. We were probably directly responsible for the milk yield dropping that day!

That was the end of my early night. I then found – shit, how do I say this? …  er …Val Doonican singing, ‘If the whole world stopped loving.‘ Help! But it was soooo lovely. I know you’ll all be blocking up YouTube looking for it.

On a positive note and to attempt to bring back some credence, I finished the night with Pink’s Try. I love her. See. I’m normal.

I crawled up the stairs well after midnight, all emotioned out … and yes, that is not a word. But it should be because it sounds perfect for how I felt.

I still have the headphones attached to the laptop and I reckon, if I’m quick, I can just fit in one more doo doo doo, before I have to go and let the chucks out for a worm-murdering session Yeah. Go Nolans …

Take my care my lovelies x



PS Oopps! Still forgotten to leave a million links to Mulligan’s Reach. Never mind, there is always tomorrow.






Frozen Chuck Pooh And Warm Eggs …

Hi All

It was pretty chilly last night here in Leicestershire. I tend to watch the weather forecast these days just to see if the chucks are going to survive the Arctic blasts or if they need a bit of pampering. Last night I decided that they needed pampering, so the pop hole was closed and their little heater that stops their water from freezing was turned on. They seem to appreciate it and it allows me to sleep without worrying if I’m going to get up in the morning to two frozen chickens. No jokes, thank you!

I always go to them first thing – a good stock-man always checks his stock at daybreak and dusk – or so I’ve been told. Not sure if two chucks makes me a stock-man but hey ho … They tend to lay their eggs in the same area in which they roost so I like to remove the overnight pooh before the eggs arrive and get smeared. Quite often they beat me to it and the eggs are already there when I arrive, deep brown and still warm. I usually pop one egg in each pocket of my dressing gown (yes, dressing gown. I did say I went to them at daybreak!) and then that leaves me two free hands to secure doors behind me. I have only once forgotten that the eggs were in my pockets and that was after I’d thrown the dressing gown into the washer and turned it on. It wasn’t  a pretty sight. Poor Richard’s undies didn’t fare too well.

My mission of yesterday was accomplished. Richard’s Ma was so impressed with the Mulligan paperback that she insisted on buying it! Whoa. Go Betty. She said she would share it round the family. I told her to do no such thing and to make them buy their own copy! I’m no salesman but even I can see the stupidity of agreeing to that. I told her that it was the first book to come off the press and I would happily sign it for her if she wanted me to. She either didn’t hear me or didn’t want my scrawl in her super-duper newly acquired paperback because no answer came from her delicate mouth. But she was working her way through a very disgusting looking cream shortbread thing at the time. I really should know the name of it having been in the catering trade for many years but I tend to remove information from my brain if I think that there’s a chance I won’t be needing it again. Trust me, there is only so much info and rubbish that my old grey cells can compute.

Today I am going to see my brother. It is a twenty-mile drive, via Marks and Spencer, where I shall pop in briefly to purchase a certain item of ladies underwear. Richard has equipped the car with a tank-full of petrol and has programmed the sat-nav with appropriate postcode. He has probably, also, thrown a shovel into the boot and a Thermos of hot soup just in case the weather changes and I get stuck in a snowdrift.

You see, I go along day after day making out that I’m this big horrible baddie that won’t let the poor soul have a £1,000 tooth fitted in his orifice and you get the impression that he must hate me  – and you are so wrong. The man adores me. Worships the water that I walk on. At least – that’s what I tell him. And you know what they say – if someone tells you something for long enough you actually start to believe it. Don’t they call it brainwashing??  Hah! Whatever.

I’m off to get ready for my journey into the wilds of deepest, darkest Leicestershire  I may or may not be back. And you know what? I know that I should equip you all with a million links to my bloody books and act like an author – but I can’t be bothered. So if you want to buy one you’ll have to find it for yourselves.

You can see that I’m going to be mega successful with that attitude, can’t you?


Take care my lovelies x007


With A Selfish Ulterior Motive? …

Hi All

This morning I am being dragged, kicking and shouting, away from my laptop and out into the big wide world to visit Richard’s mother. The dreaded night-shift starts again this week and rather do what any sensible person would do – rest through the afternoon in preparation for working all night – Richard sees it as a day off.

He would normally visit her at the weekend but yesterday produced a local Land Rover show that he wanted to go to. He was back within a couple of hours moaning that it was crap. He said it was OK if you wanted tyres of mammoth proportions and other silly gimmicky stuff but there was nothing there of interest to him. Richard would never dream of tarting up Betsy like that. Betsy is an original. A traditional piece of ancient engineering. Sounds a bit like me so I think I’ll move on.

I think my motive for tagging along today is a wee bit selfish. I want to take my paperback copy of Mulligan to show her. That is selfish isn’t it? But hold on. I will pay for it. We will take Richard’s mum out for a coffee or whatever at a local garden centre and I shall have to clamber, struggle and squeeze into the back of our titchy VW UP. She (Betty) could never manage to get into the back of the car, having had both hip joints replaced, and if she did she would never get out.

And riding in the back of the car makes me feel sick. That and the fact that Betty showers herself in Estee Lauder’s Knowing and it is like sitting trapped in a bottle of perfume. Richard moans like hell about it – well in all fairness it does bring on the poor things asthma and he’s sucking on his inhaler like a creature demented. The price we have to pay for our mothers, hey?

This trip out will really pee off Chea. She doesn’t take too kindly to being left alone in the house. She has started running up the wallpaper now and grinning at us from her very high position. I thought that after falling out of the conifer a week ago she might have contained her antics to ground level, but no.

She has progressed, however, from a harness with attached string, to a harness without attached string, and now to a lovely little purple collar with a tinkly bell. She has no problem with the collar – but hates, with a vengeance, the tinkly bell. A necessary evil I’m afraid.

I don’t hold with the theory of attaching bells to the collars of cats as a warning of their presence to the bird population. Anyone who owns a cat knows, as I do, that cats will hide and silently watch birds for hours if necessary and no bell will be tinkling while they are still. When the time is right and the cat attacks, any bell tinkling a warning comes too late. By the time it takes for the bell to issue forth a tinkle the poor little bird is in the cat’s jaws.

No, the reason I make her wear the bell is so that I know where the little demon is. So far she hasn’t attempted to access gardens beyond our fences but she will, of that I am sure. And then I’ll be knocking on doors asking if I can have my cat back. And she will bugger about and refuse to let me catch her. All these joys to look forwards to! But first I must prepare for my trip out with Richard and his Ma. Wish me luck. They truly are two of a kind. Perhaps the back of the car is a good place after all. They can chat away and I can read my book.

Take care my lovelies x

P.S. I’ve popped an interview with the characters of Mulligan’s Reach on here for anyone interested. Go to the page that says, Interview with the characters of Mulligan’s Reach. Simples!


Life’s Too Short …Is It? ….Really?

Hi All

Yesterday I met up with a friend for coffee. Actually that isn’t quite true. I met up with a friend for 2 cups of tea (me) coffee, an everything-included-fried-breakfast  and a medium hot chocolate for said friend. And here is the irony – she is the one of slimmest beings on planet earth.

Actually I’m beginning to think that maybe she isn’t from planet earth but an alien come here for experimental purposes. Like, the leader of the ‘slim people’ said, ‘Go to that green and blue planet and discover what that crap is that they all fill their orifices with that makes them almost as wide as they are long.’ And off my friend toddled – or rather – down she beamed.

I digress – as usual …

The reason I mentioned my friend is because we were having a good old chat about the world and his dog, injustices – imagined and real, men ( I can’t divulge what was said on that topic!) and everything and anything else that took our fancy. It was the injustices bit that rattled my cage. It has become hugely apparent to me over the last year that of all the ‘lifting,’ positive affirmations, the one that is used the most and also the most detrimental is, ‘Life’s Too Short.’

Everything sails under this flag. Good and bad. Frankly I am beginning to hate the bloody saying. And here’s why. I won’t bore you with details, names or he said, I said.  I don’t believe that social platforms are the places on which to bare your soul regarding things that matter to you – but have not the slightest interest to anyone else.

A year ago I had a massive disagreement with someone. This person hurt me beyond words. Cut into my heart, ripped it to shreds. You get the picture? I am a Scorpio. We rarely forgive and we never forget.

When my cousin died, late last year, her husband sobbed on the other end of telephone and blubbed, ‘Just do me one favour, will you?’

I said, ‘Absolutely, you know I will, if I can.’

‘Make it up with (no name) will you? Because life is too short.’

He then broke down and sobbed. I waited until he was able to go on and he repeated the words.

I said, ‘I’m sorry. No. I can’t do that.’

You see, whereas I am totally fine with the ‘life is too short bit,’ what I’m not fine with is the idea that those words can undo the hurt. We have to have principles. Come judgement day we have to stand up and be counted. I believe that I was not to blame for what happened and I will not ‘make things up,’ when the ‘baddie’ in all of this wasn’t me. So I informed him that yes life is too short – too short to allow shits in it that use you to their own ends and cause you crippling pain.

You hear it all the time. Life is too short to hold grudges. Life is too short for this. Life is too short for that. It is a free rein for people to dump on you and get away with it.

Don’t do it just because a few sentimental words are tossed at you.

My affirmation is simply this, Life is too short to keep anything in your life that FEELS WRONG.

I’m not saying that you should spring-clean your life and chuck out the chintz – or maybe that is exactly what I’m saying? I’ve never been too keen on blood-sucking leeches – animal or human.  I quite like the idea of vampires – but that’s it!

So, when someone knocks you to the ground physically or hypothetically,  stamps on your head, has great delight in seeing you flattened and then laughingly offers you a hand-up, saying,  ‘Let’s forget it mate. Life’s too short.’ I hope you tell them to bugger off!

Yes I know, ‘Forgive them for they know not what they do,’

Well I’m sorry, sunbeam, but I think they know exactly what they do.

Take care my lovelies x



Whistles And Honks …

Hi All


Just when you thought I was hanging over the loo, throwing up the excess of chocolate love hearts, you are proved wrong and here I am! Ta dah!

I’m late today because I had to trot off into town first thing to get the old locks chopped off. I say trot. That isn’t strictly true – I walked. Yes walked! But I’ll tell you something – I feared for my life. It was only my quick thinking that saved me from ending up a statistic.

About half-way into  town, there is a bridge over the old railway line and the footpath is roughly a foot wide. So you have the brick arch one side, the busy road the other and a tiny narrow path on which to balance. I was a little way from the bridge and I suddenly heard a clicking noise. After confirming to myself that it wasn’t my hip clicked out of joint, I carried on.

The click, click, click, click was still behind me. I turned my head very slightly as I walked and my left eye caught sight of a man following me. The bridge with the titchy path was getting nearer and nearer and the click, click, click, was also getting nearer.

And suddenly I had this very irrational thought – what if I was half-way across the bridge and this person caught me up and hurled me into the road and under a passing HGV. Yes, I know. Doubtful. Ridiculous. Bloody stupid idea. But these things happen.

You might have all been watching tonight’s news and there I’d be – what was left of me. A flattened scrap on the road, having had my mobile nicked and my money stolen. All that would be distinguishable would be the fur (imitation) trim from round the edge of my hood. People would just assume that a cat had ended its life in the middle of the road. No one would know that a kind, dear, harmless, struggling author, who really needs people to buy her books, had been pushed to her death by an inconsiderate pig who wanted to walk faster than her across the bridge …

I stopped dead. No way was this person going to do that to me. I turned to him and said, with a smile, ‘Ah, you go first, you’re walking faster than me!’ He gave me a weird look, like I was nuts and muttered, ‘Huh?’ I caught his breath and it wasn’t pleasant. He definitely needed to get some of those nicotine patch things and quit that smoking habit – or swill his rancid chops with a pint of Listerine before he ventures out in public!  Anyway, he went on ahead of me and I followed at a safe distance.

You truly can’t trust anyone these days. I think I had a lucky escape. And what if the HGV HADN’T run over my head? I would have been lying there with bad hair!! Not even a good-looking, tidy corpse!

I wobbled on, past the traffic lights and along the path where new houses are being built. I was a bit distracted because I’m supposed to be going to my writers’ group tonight. I was a founder member – and then I left for seven years because I didn’t like one of the up-her-own-posterior-types who frequented said group.

I can’t stand big-headed people and especially those that bull themselves up and then have the God damned nerve to believe it. Oh! How mad do they make me?

Back to the path.

I was walking along, practising in my head what I was going to say tonight to explain why I hadn’t been to the group recently and why I was the only one who hadn’t seen fit to do the ‘assignment,’ AGAIN, when a wolf whistle pierced my  ears. I didn’t turn to look at the workmen immediately, that would have been too presumptuous and I’m not THAT easy.  I took another couple of strides and just as I was about to turn their way and flash them a beguiling (grateful) smile, this greyhound shot past me faster than pooh off a shovel, followed by its idiotic owner, holding a slipped collar and lead in his hand! Why don’t people make sure their dog’s collars are on properly? Actually, I had to giggle, because there was no way that short, fat owner was ever going to catch THAT dog. Which lead me to doubt my age-old belief that dogs are like their owners. It ain’t necessarily so!

My hairdresser seemed pleased to see me. I always feel a bit of a slob though because she says things like, ‘So, what have you been up to?’ And at that point I have to admit to her,  and myself, that other than mess around on the computer, bake a few cakes and have a few rants at Richard – not much. But that’s OK isn’t it?  Life doesn’t HAVE to be complicated, does it?

I know you won’t believe this and quite frankly neither did I, after having my confidence shattered previously with the workmen who DIDN’T wolf-whistle me, but on the way back, this white flat-bed truck whizzed past and actually honked!! My first thought was – is that harassment! Stalking! Should I get the truck’s number?

I did glance round briefly just in case that bloody greyhound was in the middle of the road.


Take care my lovelies xmull