Mulligan’s Reach, Dalmatians and Reviewers… (Not Necessarily In That Order )

Hi All

I can’t promise much joy from today’s blog because to be perfectly honest with you I’m right annoyed. Doesn’t sound like you, I hear you scream! I’m being pedantic. Why? Because I’m annoyed. Why? Well I shall tell you.

Firstly, after flying high yesterday over pink candy-floss clouds, smiling at every angel I passed, I was brought swiftly back to earth, landing on my butt, on a very sharp stone. Someone had dashed over to feedaread to buy my book, Mulligan’s Reach, (did I mention it is now in paperback?) and the gits are charging what I consider to be a bit too much for the postage. I am not mean by nature and I have always considered that something is worth whatever someone is prepared to pay for it but … there is no way on this or any other planet that I am going to let my friends and followers go unprepared.

If I wanted to purchase a book I would consider the postage a necessary evil and in truth it is and maybe I am just out of touch with reality. I guess I don’t really buy stuff that needs delivering. I shall leave the decision to you. If you consider I am worth it then go ahead by all means, I shall be delighted and more. However…

I have paid to make Mulligan’s Reach available through Amazon and I understand that they do not charge postage. Obviously I understand your burning desire to belt off and buy my book but if you want to wait a bit it will be coming to an Amazon store near you – as they say.

And don’t go thinking that this is reversed psychology because it isn’t. I am way too stupid to attempt that.

The other thing that tweaked me a bit last night was an email from a writer friend saying that some low-life (I’m sure it wasn’t anyone reading this because I only have lovely people on here) gave him a ridiculous 2* star review.

Actually it wasn’t a review, it was a short sentence of near abuse. I seriously doubt that they had even read his book – a book, which by the way has many 5* reviews. I am pretty sure it upset him. I had much the same, once. And it upset me. It upset me to the point of seriously considering wearing a bag over my head when I went out in case someone should recognise me and link me to the ridiculous review. But nowadays I am older and wiser and these reviews and crappy people can’t touch me. Why? Aha! Why indeed…

Desensitization. Whoop woo!

When I was married to Mr Vet I was a naive sweet young thing – well naive at least. The first time I saw a dog put to sleep, a Dalmatian, I had to peek through a gap in the consulting room door. The sight of a dog actually ending its life before my eyes was horrific. The second dog I saw put to sleep wasn’t nice. The third dog? I held the third dog securely with my left hand and with my right hand placed my thumb on the dogs leg while the lethal injection was administered .

Desensitization.

The first lambing I witnessed took place on the surgery driveway, in the back of a farmer’s trailer. It was pitch black out there except for a fragment of light shining from the surgery window. The lambing itself was being performed by torchlight. I was massively excited, almost bouncing, waiting to see my very first live lambing. After thirty minutes a head rolled down the ramp and landed at my feet, settling in the splinter of light from the surgery window. The head had a tongue sticking out! I stood my ground but my heart turned over. The lamb was already dead and had to have its head cut off in order to get its body out of the ewe. After a good few more ‘lambing’ encounters I found that my heart no longer turned over, in fact it didn’t miss a beat. Why?

Desensitization.

And this is how it is with reviews. You just get used to the crap and the nonsense of others. The first time hurts as it knocks you off your feet and destroys your faith in your own abilities but after that? Nah. Bring it on.

I no longer fear dead dogs, headless lambs and crap, pointless reviews. Half the time I think these dick-heads only write a review because they want to see their sad little names in print. Well go and write a book you pathetic person and then each and every one of us can unnecessarily slag you off and ruin your day!!

I have to go shopping now to buy some icing for Richard’s Valentines cake. And then, this afternoon, when he has gone to work, I shall dig out the heart-shaped tin and make him a lovely little cake. I tell you – I am way too nice. But as my dear mum used to say, ‘You’ll get your rewards in heaven.’ Hmmm. OK …

Take care my lovelies x

 

mull

Dear Sir Or Madam Will You Read My Book? …

Hi All

In  words, from one of the songs by the best group ever – in my opinion – The Beatles, let me say,

Dear Sir or Madam

Will you read my book

It took me years to write it

Won’t you take a look?

My novel, my first love, Mulligan’s Reach, is now available to purchase in paperback. My copy arrived yesterday and it was a really weird feeling. To flick through a book and actually see your words springing up at you is unreal.  As you flick, sentences escape from the pages and log into your brain and you are taken back into the book and have little choice but to dwell a while. For quite some time I was back on the island of Mulligan’s Reach. I walked along the shoreline, felt the hot white sand between my toes. Caught the smell of the sea as it gently lapped against the beach.

I saw Kane Mitchell riding his horse towards me, sitting tall in the saddle. As he passed I caught the smell of leather and horse and man. I heard the creaking of the saddle and the steady drumming of the horse’s hooves as they contacted the wet sand. I turned to watch him go – and again I fell in love with him. My hero. Ahh.

But, as all good things come to an end, so did my flicking. I patted the cover and placed it on the table.

Later in the day Chea found it the ideal place to sit and perform her bottom cleaning operations. I tried not to see this as a sign!

I have never managed to get Mulligan’s Reach out of my system. The characters wrote themselves and danced to their own tunes. When I wrote ‘The End’ I cried.

I am in the process of writing another novel, The Sleeping Field. I have 23,000 words treading water. They have been attempting to keep their heads above the swell for a couple of weeks now and I seem unable to rescue them. I honestly do not know which bank to head for. Sometimes I think that I should just leave them there to gently take in water and sink into the mire?

A reviewer has suggested that I write a sequel to Mulligan. I immediately evicted that thought from my head, before it could attach to my brain and do serious damage. But, I must have left the tiniest sliver of possibility in there because the idea is growing stronger and stronger by the day – by the hour almost.

And who could blame me if I did seriously consider it? Mulligan’s Reach is an amazingly beautiful place with quirky, interesting people, mad horses and weather to die for. The alternative? Well, the alternative isn’t exactly horrendous but it comes a very poor second.

I am off to see Archna, my chiro lady, at midday. She is possibly my biggest fan so I just know that she will be needing a paperback copy, even though she has read it in Ebook form. So I shall just wipe off the er … slight smearing of … er … whatever it is that Chea left behind and take it with me to show her.

I make no apologies for my self-centred ramblings today because I am just a tiny bit excited. I have my cake. If people buy my book – that will be the icing on my cake. And if people buy my book and actually like it – that will be the cherry on my cake.

Take care my lovelies xmull

 

Decisions Decisions …

Hi All

Again I wake to a garden covered in snow. It has fallen overnight. Fortunately it is the slushy kind and shouldn’t stay around too long. Last week the garden looked  ready for spring with the arrival of brave little snowdrops  pushing upwards out of the cold soil. Today it looks like winter. Never mind, no point worrying about things we can’t control.

I had a strange weekend. The plans to level out the ground for my new shed had to be abandoned (much to Richard’s barely concealed pleasure) because of the rain, so I decided to trot off and have a look for a new laptop. I decided to go with the principle of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth! As we all know Richard needs the tooth and I need a laptop. Sounds fair to me.

We spent hours pouring over laptops. I wanted something that was fast. Time and tide and all that. The shop assistants were very helpful – for once – but when it came to the point where I had three assistants helping me to decide, and fill my head with facts and figures that just whizzed into the grey cells and straight out, Richard took his little self off to look at TVs and man stuff. He was quite good-natured about it really – but I had made sure I’d filled him to bursting point with a double-triple-quadruple bacon, egg and sausage thingy in McDonald’s earlier. The man is a pain in the butt when he’s hungry.

There was  a lot to weigh up but I basically got it down to one of two decisions – buy the super-duper 17.5” screen one with enough space to store an elephant or don’t buy a laptop.

I have to say that I have never really had a problem with making decisions. Sometimes it takes a while – especially for the BIG decisions but I always apply this rule – can I afford it?

Yes, OK, I hear your little brains thinking, ‘What an idiot. Surely that is the deal breaker for everyone?’ But I don’t mean it how it sounds. Stay with me on this …

I have had family and friends moaning, groaning and wringing their hands in woe about making changes to their lives. Should I do this? What if it doesn’t work out? What if I end up penniless? What if I can’t make it as a brain surgeon? Blah blah blah.

The answer is simple. How much can you afford to lose if it all goes pear-shaped? If you want to start a business and it is going to take £5,000 to set up, ask yourself this, what is the worst thing that can happen?

Answer. The business fails.

Question. Can I afford to lose £5,000?

Answer. Yes.

Do it!

Answer. No.

Don’t do it!

It doesn’t just apply to money. Can you afford to lose time with the family? Can you afford to look an idiot when it all goes wrong? Can you afford the stress? Can you afford not to take that holiday to the Bahamas?  To me, every biggish decision comes down to these two questions – what is the worst thing that can happen and can I afford it to happen?

I can apply it to this self publishing business as well. I could sit stewing for hours, days even, wondering if I should self publish. But I’d rather spend the time doing something else instead. So I asked myself, what is the worst thing that can happen?

Answer. No one buys the book/books. The time sitting at the computer is a hopeless waste of time. Twitter and Facebook send me slightly doolally (I was probably heading that way anyway) and Richard gets sick of talking to the back of my head as I sit for hours staring at the screen and clears off with his boxers in a Morrison’s carrier bag!

Question. Can I afford it?

Answer. Yes.

No brainer.

To use the worlds most used cliché – life is too short. Let’s get a little perspective. Deciding that the cost is too high is NOT failure. Deciding not to do something because the losses outweigh the gains is NOT chicken livered. But whining away, crying into your shandy with what-ifs is, frankly, pointless and massively time-consuming.

So, to get back to my decision of whether or not to buy the laptop – I bought it. Because the worst thing that could happen is my bank account would be x amount of pounds lighter. And I know that I can afford it because one day soon my books will sell by the thousands and I’ll be able to pay back the cost of the laptop a hundred times over!

Aren’t I just the most optimistic sweetie you have ever known?

Take care my lovelies x

004

I’ve Turned The Man Into A Hero …

Hi All

I’ve turned the man into a hero! Can you believe it – because I can’t? My female followers have ditched news of me for news of Richard’s tooth. And my male followers are more interested in his Land Rover than snowdrops and daffodils. Humphh!!

I know they say you can’t win them all, but really. I have to say that I am finding some people rather fickle. But, as you know I aim to please – most of the time – so for you ladies who are following the tales of Richard’s gums, I shall report. And for the men who are manic about Land Rovers, I will include a picture of his pride and joy. Just looks like a brown, old Land Rover to me but what do I know?

Ladies – the poor little darlin’ staggered through the door yesterday tea-time having had a back tooth removed. He was shaking and looking extremely pale. Obviously I enquired how he was? He shook his alabaster coloured face and mumbled something through a wad of cotton wool. It sounded something like, ‘Why are you grinning?’ I could have been wrong.

Eventually he managed to speak and informed me that he’d been unable to stop shaking in the dentist’s chair and that he was so cold. I only paused briefly, while I listened to see if I’d got the answer right on The Chase before informing him – helpfully, I thought, that it would be shock. Pretty much the same feeling that I had when I was informed of the £1,000 tooth!! Oh, OK, I won’t go there.

And now we come to the bit that will surprise you all. I got up, even before The Chase broke for adverts and fetched the man a glass of water with a straw and two painkillers. Yes, painkillers. Well I wasn’t really going to hide them, was I? You guys will believe anything. I gave said painkillers and water to the hero and informed him to pop them into the good side of his mouth and sip the water through the straw, thus making sure that the fluid didn’t touch the gaping hole in his gum on the other side of his mouth.

My attentions to his needs obviously worked the miracle because within the hour he was necking two chocolate fairy cakes, a Ginsters steak pasty and a whole pint of Angel Delight.

I rest my case. The man is no hero – just a baby. So, that’s the ladies dealt with.

Men. Below are two pictures of the ‘true’ love of his life, his  Land Rover. I think its name is Betsy or some such rot. Why do people name their cars? I just say, ‘the car needs some petrol,’ and everyone knows exactly what I’m taking about. ‘Betsy’ isn’t a recent purchase. She has been shut in Richard’s mum’s garage for the past twenty years, sinking lower and lower on her poor worn-out tyres. She couldn’t move, poor thing. (snigger)

When diesel prices rocketed we downgraded to a new VW UP, which frankly is not much of a work-horse so dearest Betsy had to come out of retirement, hence the renewal of virtually every part.

The work on Betsy (shit, now I’m calling the sodding thing Betsy!) came to a premature end just before Christmas. Richard came up against several problems. And Richard being Richard has taken time out to ‘think’ about how to sort the problems. Lord knows how long that will take. Probably until the weather warms up! The last thing he did on Bet…the Land Rover, was to bleed the brakes. Anyone who knows anything about bleeding brakes will also know that it takes two to perform the operation. Naturally, I sat there in the freezing cold, pumping pedals and listening to his dulcet tones of, ‘NOT now. WHEN I say! Are you pumping them NOW? Don’t pump them until I SAY! Can you HEAR ME!

The bleeding of the brakes was not successful – or likely to be with him bellowing at me. I don’t respond to bellowing. He later said that he was only shouting to be heard over the noise of the traffic. Funny that because there is barely any traffic on the road on a Sunday morning.

So Betsy waits for her Lord to come up with the answers

Good luck with that one – Betsy, you old pile of c**p!

Yesterday Chea climbed her first tree. A conifer, taller than Jack’s beanstalk. After thinking it was great fun, especially the balancing on the end of the branches bit, she fell. On her way down she hit her belly on the very sharp edge of the spare chuck cage. I truly thought she had ripped her belly open. I watched her like a hawk throughout the day and she was playing and eating normally, however, this morning she doesn’t seem her normal barmy self so I’m thinking she is a bit sore. I’d like to think that might be the end of her tree-climbing nonsense but I doubt it. I seem to be surrounded by crazy life forms. But then they do say it takes one to know one.

Probably catch you guys after the weekend. If the sun shines I shall be roped into bleeding Betsy’s brakes!!

Take care my lovelies x                                                   022

027

You’ve Shamed Me Into It! …

 

Hi All

OK you rotters  – Adele, Evelyn, Sandra (tooth fairy) and Jaki, you’ve shamed me into it. Richard gets his very reasonably priced tooth (huh!) and I won’t hide the painkillers. Honestly, you’d think I was holding back on vital oxygen.  I still think you are all too soft but, because you are my friends, I will forgive you.

Actually it’s quite funny because I have never known anyone to take my side over Richards. Everyone thinks he is lovely. I’ll let that particular pony run – for now.

I was amazed this morning  to see that it was light at 7.00 am. The sky was a brilliant pink – probably a warning of bad weather – but it was truly beautiful. I think we have broken winter’s back now.

I noticed yesterday, when I was in the garden, that the snowdrops have their brave little domes out of the chilly soil. I just had to stand and stare at them. I wondered how many people have actually lifted a snowdrop to look into its depths.? Normally you don’t see their little faces because for some reason they insist on hanging their heads. Perhaps they are shy? Like maidens, coy and coquettish.

I also noticed that the only clump of daffodils are spearing through. I love daffodils. In fact I would say that they are one of my favourite flowers – but not in the garden. I don’t like their out-of-control legginess and the fact that they look such a mess after they have flowered, because you are supposed to leave the tatty leaves intact to put goodness back into the bulb. I adore daffodils in the house. My mum was totally opposite. She liked them in their natural state but not in the house. I remember her saying to me on many occasions, ‘look what your dad has bought. He knows I don’t like daffodils in the house!’ I think they are charming, bright flowers, indicative of the coming of spring.

So, guys, it will soon be Valentine’s Day. Whoop woo! I’m wondering how many of you are made to feel special on that day and how many of you make someone else feel special on that day? It’s a bit like Shrove Tuesday (pancake day) in this house. We eat pancakes whenever we feel like it and we make each other feel special whenever we feel like it. Though I must admit, sometimes we let that last one slide a bit. Having said that I did make Richard a lovely heart-shaped chocolate cake with fondant icing red hearts last year. Richard has three loves in his life, Land Rovers, chocolate and chocolate cake. So anything chocolate orientated is a winner.

Actually,  thinking about it, I’m pretty sure he has his very reasonably priced dental work commencingMB900122861 on his very reasonably priced tooth on that date. Still, it shouldn’t prevent him from tucking into cake that has been made so thoughtfully and lovingly with my own fair hands, should it? I don’t want to be repetitive though, so I think this year I shall make him a lovely rock cake!

Ha!

He who laughs last – laughs longest!!

 

Take care my lovelies x

 

 

 

I Get A Little Sentimental Over You …

Hi All

I was pretty much overwhelmed yesterday by the kind comments, here and in private, to my blog.

It’s quite strange really because you think, after a certain amount of time, that loss lessens. There are even days when you look back and realise that you didn’t think about your loved one at all that day. And then there are days when that loved one is everywhere. In every thought. But, that said, let’s move on … I am supposed to be the wacky one, not the one to spread gloom and doom. Heaven knows there are enough of those people around …

So! What to please/bore/impress/annoy you with today? Er …

It’s really difficult today because I can’t get the kindness of you all out of my head. I just want to plough on saying how much I appreciate you all. But I can’t can I? No. I can’t!

So! Let’s start with Richard. He is always a good subject to get me going. If you read a previous blog you will know that he is currently undergoing dental work. Tomorrow he goes to have another tooth out and then next week he begins the treatment on the £1,000 tooth. Remember? As much as I have tried I CANNOT get my head around the fact that one tooth is worth spending £1,000 on it!

I’ve told him to have it taken out. He just sulked. So I enforced my argument and told him again to have it taken out. He moaned something about not being able to chew Bombay mix if he had the tooth taken out. Not be able to chew Bombay mix? Is this a necessary diet item? Frigging Bombay mix! He thinks that if he eats a few deep fried split lentils it goes towards his five-a-day necessary veg. This a a man who can eat a whole box of chocolates in one sitting. Probably explains why his teeth are rotten.

This is a disagreement that will roll on and on – until next week at least. But I know the outcome. He will go and have the work done. And he will spend the money that I had ear-marked for a garden shed! And I may have managed to squeeze in a new laptop as well. Both totally necessary items …don’t you think?

A quick update on Chea. She has now progressed to freaking around in the garden, still in her harness, but without the mile of string attached. Because she has the harness on she still thinks that she is attached! She has almost fallen into the pond several times and appears to get great satisfaction from standing on top of the waterfall. I wince several times when she slips on the rocks but the only way for her to figure out that the pond is not a good place to play, because it is cold and contains water, is to let her figure it out for herself. I always keep my eye on the net – just in case!

She stalks the chucks and makes their lives hell, having little mock attacks and naughtily dashing past them when they are dust bathing.  But, in her defence, they are a bit bonkers. They spend half the time looking for her when she isn’t around and the other half stropping off when she is. They are both still laying so they can’t be that upset.

And talking of hens laying eggs – I have quite a build up of eggs, so I think I had better make this morning a baking morning and use them up on a few Victoria sandwiches. Shame  Richard won’t be able to scoff them. Not if he is having a huge tooth out tomorrow and will be in excruciating pain. And oh dear! I don’t think there is a single pain-killer in the house. At least there won’t be after I have hidden them!

A thousand pounds hey? MB900021545

 

Take care my lovelies x

 

(I’d like to say a huge welcome to my new followers…

and thank you all for your comments and ‘likes.’)

 

 

Time Travel …Really? …

Hi All

 

See the title of this blog? Sounds serious (for me) doesn’t it? I guess it is more ‘thoughtful’ than usual.  Or it just may be that only the title is thoughtfulMB900083295?

The other day, as we drove to the cinema, Richard and I had a conversation. Stone the crows I hear you say. But actually, we do sometimes converse – and in friendly tones. I was remarking on how far technology had come in the last thirty years and I wondered how far it would go, could go, in the next thirty years. I can see the day when we wave our hand and a hologram will play out before us. Emmerdale will be in the room. Cows will be calving on our rugs.

Richard then mentioned time travel and I said that would never be possible. But it did get me thinking. If time travel suddenly became possible where would we choose to go? Forwards? Backwards? For me, forwards holds little interest. I don’t want to go forwards to a time that I will never see. I work on the principle of ‘what you never had you never miss.’

No, I would choose to go backwards. And not  to some far and distant past. I would choose to go back to  23rd March 2007  – the day when my father died.

My father was a good man. He raised a family of three and worked hard all of his life supporting us and mum. He was quite a hard man. I think people of dads era were, mostly. Dad had been in the war and I have his medals in a drawer upstairs. He had eight years of being ‘poorly’ but it didn’t phase him at all. He just got on with it. But with each passing year came further problems. He had a ruptured aorta and by some miracle and the expertise of the Intensive Care Ward pulled through. They saved his life but during the operation his kidneys were damaged and although he recovered he was never the same. As I said, he was a tough old sod. He never said he loved me. And it wasn’t  in his nature to fawn over us. We grew up thinking that was the right thing to do, never show our feelings. That little quirk has caused me problems all of my life – until I saw the error in it.

Dad was in hospital on his eighty-fourth birthday and he died two days later. I had sat with him from 3.00 am Friday morning until 5.00pm in the afternoon. During this time I was informed that they could do no more for him and that he was in a coma and dying. They told me he wouldn’t die ‘for a good while yet’ so I decided to pop home and feed the animals etc and come straight back. I kissed dad on his head and said I’d be back  – but if he had to go before I returned to look out for mum and his two retrievers, Rhia and Seta. I told him they would all be waiting for him on some golden hill somewhere.

Dad died before I reached home.

If I could pop into my time-travel capsule I would return to that day. I would hold his hand. And I would be there when his journey began. Dad told me three times on that day that he loved me and I would love to hear those words again.

But knowing dad he would probably have found some way round it. He wouldn’t have wanted us crying over him and showing  weakness. As it was I cried alone, in my bedroom, solidly, for an hour. And I still cry now because I miss the old sod and his pretend, stiff, upper-lip.

Whoa! This is becoming way too serious. This is all Richards fault – again! He was the one who mentioned time travel. I was happy enough watching cows calving on the rug in front of the fire.

Actually, I know I’m not alone in this. I can imagine many of you wishing you could go back and have just one more day, one more hour with loved ones? Maybe, one day it will be possible but I think that a far better bet is to give our loved ones a bloody good cuddle now and drop the attitude and let them know how  much we love them?

 

Back to normal tomorrow.

 

Take take my lovelies x

 

 

 

There’s A New Kid On The Block …

 

Good Morning All

 

There is a new kid on the block! And this new kid is going to get a swift tickle behind the ears!

Those of you who have been following this blog for some time (thank you most kindly) will know all  about sweet little Rory, the neighbours cat. Rory isn’t his real name because I don’t want to be sued by irate owners for insinuating their pussy did this, that or the other.

Rory is a sweet little soul who wouldn’t hurt a fly. His attacks on birds are laughable. As soon as he goes into predator mode, lowering his body and preparing to stalk, his legs  don’t  appear to work very well. By the time he has launched an attack, the bird is flapping over the distant horizon, chirping insults.

Chea has met Rory now, nose to nose. Rory was hiding under the rhododendron and Chea bustled in, trilling away ( you would need to know cats to understand ‘trilling’) and Rory shot out and ran for home. He is actually frightened of Chea. All this demonstrates that he is a nice boy and gentle to boot.

I was sitting at the laptop, yesterday afternoon, when all hell broke loose. Looking up I saw Rory, flat on his back in subservient mode, screaming his little head off and some huge tabby and white horror  plastered across him beating him up. Even Chea heard the attack and ran for cover.

I sprang up (yes sprang) and  hurtled outside yelling, ‘Oi you little b*****d leave him alone.’ The tabby from hell ran off, racing by the chucks, who almost fell off their perch and went berserk clucking and screeching. Meanwhile poor Rory was staggering to his feet with torn-out hair still snowing down around him. He hobbled off and just made it over the fence and home. I trounced up the garden ready to …well …I don’t know what! But I wasn’t pleased. Why do the strong have to continually pick on the weak? If the tabby tool tries it on with Chea it will certainly wish it hadn’t.

Chea was massively upset – apparently. I say apparently because  she didn’t actually cross my mind until an hour later when I went into the lounge and calmly enquired of Richard, who was roasting in front of the fire, casually flicking through his Land Rover magazine. ‘Where’s Chea?’

‘Under the chair,’ came his reply. Frankly I was lucky to get that much of a response. Land Rover info is so absorbing!

‘What do you mean under the chair?’

‘Under the chair. She’s been there since all that shouting.’

‘What shouting!’

Now he looked up, saw my face and mumbled, ‘Er.’

How dare he insinuate I was shouting? I only raised my voice a bit. Well, I guess it was quite loud for a peaceful Sunday afternoon.

‘Well she isn’t frightened of me, is she?’ I said. ‘I shout all the time. It’s not like she isn’t used to it, is it?’

‘Hmm,’ he said.

Useless! Anyway, I encouraged Chea to come out from the under the chair and made it right with her. I mean, couldn’t Richard have done that an hour ago? Once he gets his daft head in one of those magazines he’s dead to humanity.

I have been quite concerned about Rory BUT whilst I’ve been typing this he has appeared and I’ve been out and given him some chicken, bless him. I shall be on tabby tool duty from now on. No one beats up my little friends and gets away with it. Not on my watch sunshine!

I know I don’t very often bore you with writing related crap – but today I AM going to SLIGHTLY bore you with writing related crap. I’m quite excited actually – and that doesn’t happen too often – so let me have my moment. I have decided to put my eBook, Mulligan’s Reach, into paperback form and it should be available shortly.

That’s it! That’s as near to writing orientated stuff that I need to go.

Obviously I will be over the moon, around the stars, and falling back to earth with a stupid grin on my face, if any of you choose to support me and buy a copy. Goes without saying, hey?

I hung out some washing first thing because it is a bright, windy day here and I thought that I’d get Richard back for not taking notice of Chea’s distress, by hanging out his LARGE underpants for the neighbours to goggle. I can see that they are still billowing away like sails on a pirate ship – like sails on Johnny Depp’s Black Pearl… Yes… Johnny Depp!… Jack Sparrow. If only. However, I digress –  the underpants  remain, probably due to the weight, but my delicate leggings have escaped one of the pegs and are trailing on the ground, so I’m off to re-peg the leggings and to stand, for a moment, beneath those billowing sails of Jack’s Black Pearl and dream …

And besides, I’m a writer – so I can do that dreamy, imaginary stuff and get away with it. mull

 

Take care my lovelies x

 

 

 

It’s All About Timing …

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Good Morning

If there is one thing  that I have realised in this life, it is that timing is everything. I have always believed this and it took an email from a friend this morning to remind me of this fact. She said she was biding her time regarding a difficult situation.

This  is not something I was born with – the ability to wait until the time is right. I am an impatience person by nature, firmly believing, ‘that we should never put off until tomorrow something that can be done today.’ If I want something, I want it now, not tomorrow or next week but right NOW!

But maybe the above is missing the point a bit and what I’ve written is more about wanting and getting something rather than asking for something.

I shall give you an example. Yesterday Richard went to the dentist. He had a tooth out. How brave. He came home, just as I was removing a pooh from Chea’s litter tray. This should have started a little warning bell ringing with him – but obviously not. I then asked him how he’d got on, did it hurt, blah, blah. He spoke through clenched teeth. Apparently he was having to bite down on a piece of cotton wool to stop the bleeding. Quite surprised it wasn’t a stick!

I managed to understand a few words before he waved a piece of paper before my eyes and pointed to a list. Apparently it was a list of future treatments. Next week he has to go and have another tooth out (another £80) and then the REAL work can begin. One of his back teeth needs drilling and capping, £450 for the drilling, £450 for the capping. So almost £1,000 for the treatment to ONE tooth.

This is the point at which Richard’s timing was all wrong!! And how!! ‘What the **** I screeched. A thousand ******* pounds for ONE tooth?’

He tried smiling at this point.

‘Are they nuts?’ I bellowed. ‘A thousand pounds?’

The smile faded.

‘A thousand pounds!’ I continued, removing Chea from the fridge as I put the milk away. ‘No way. You can have the bloody thing out!’

I won’t have anything to chew with?’ he mumbled through the cotton wool, which frankly I think was only there to instil sympathy. Well it wasn’t working.

He then turned the piece of paper over and there, lo and behold, was further information on the work that needed to be carried out on another tooth -£850.

I made a fast exit to give the chucks their corn and to shut them up for the night before I started scouring the house for strong twine and a door-handle to tie it to before attaching the other end to Richard’s tooth!

So to get back to timing. IF Richard had mentioned the fact that he was going to need in excess of £2,000 to have his poor, sweet, little mouth sorted, IMMEDIATELY after we had seen The Impossible, the film about that dreadful tsunami that hit in 2004, things would have been so different. If, on the way out after seeing the film he had said, ‘I need to spend £2,000 on my scabby mouth,’ I would have said, ‘Of course you do sweetheart, anything, I’m just so lucky to have you alive and well, bend your precious little head down to my level and I’ll kiss your furrowed brow, darling.’

See? Timing!

I have found, in my many years on this planet, that you can ask for, and get, most anything – if you get the timing right.

We recently had a new broadband installed and as I sat happily tapping away I glanced up and Richard who was sitting in the lounge with his little notepad balancing on his knee. I was so chuffed that the internet was at last working nicely that I called through to Richard and announced, ‘That silly note pad is useless, we’ll go out and get you a laptop. Call it an early birthday present.’

He looked up and muttered something. I didn’t catch it because I can’t lip read and I had my earphones in at the time listening to some country song.

Richard has since decided that he doesn’t really need a laptop and that he would rather I had a new one and he would be happy with my old one – which isn’t old. He would much prefer some stupid ‘part’ for his ancient Land Rover that he is doing up. The guy is so romantic. He had a carburettor for Christmas!

Another example and this is for the ladies. Richard crawls down in the morning to the aroma of bacon and sausages cooking. I am tidy, for once. You know. An extra swipe with the mascara brush, polished boots and a happy shiny face and I announce. ‘I’ve made you a cooked breakfast.’

Richard by this time is discreetly looking out of the window at the car should I have pranged it. After assuring himself that all is well he grins and takes his place at the table. I place the beautifully cooked breakfast before my Lord before taking myself off to the sink to wash the dishes.

Richard’s manly tones reach me. ‘This is lovely. Thank you.’

I smile  and say, ‘That’s OK. Eat it all up, I’m just going to make you a milky coffee and then … I thought we could go to Ikea!’

I notice he swallows hard. His face is about to collapse but the bacon, sausage, fried bread, eggs and mushrooms win out. He nods and mumbles, ‘OK.’

Timing!

I can also ‘time’ my sarcasm. Richard gave Chea a morsel of cream from his piece of cake last night. It fell on the leather sofa (only have leather  if you have pets and men … so easy to clean!) I told him he’d dropped the cream and to show Chea where it was. By the time his bat-eyed vision had spotted the cream Chea had sniffed it out and was licking it. I shook my head and said, ‘that cat is more intelligent than you …and she’s stupid!’

The comment hung in the air for a few seconds, then we looked at each other and burst out laughing. Ah, the joy at being able to laugh at oneself!!!

Richard has NOT grasped this timing concept. Probably just as well, or who knows what he might be demanding in my moments of joyous, gay abandonment?

Take care my lovelies x