Virtual Friends…Or Not!

Hi All

Well, that’s it. It came and it went! Christmas. New Year. Gone, gone, gone… And what are we left with? Personally I’m left with a tidy house (decorations rarely get any further than Boxing Day) and a cupboard full of crap that is going to put up my cholesterol level to a dangerously high number if I succumb to another fat-filled morsel.

Besides the remnants of chocolates, biscuits, cakes and sweets, is the remnant of the Christmas tree. Such a lovely tree… or so I thought when I bought it. Each branch tipped with silver glitter and a frost-like shimmer. Now silver glitter and the frost-like shimmer fills every crack in the lounge floorboards and despite extensive use of the vacuum refuses to budge. Even Chea trots around twinkling, but then she would, seeing how she spent most of Christmas sitting under the tree patting at the baubles and removing the felt robin!

If I ask myself the question seriously…”what are we left with?” I would have to say that I am left with memories of a year that wasn’t spectacular, but it wasn’t a bad year either. I tend not to measure good luck/bad luck in years. To a certain extent we make our own good luck. It doesn’t matter what “spooky numbers” the year holds, if shit is going to happen it will happen. I think the problem arises in our own minds.

Let me riddle you this. It’s the first of January, a brand new year, and you fall over and break your leg. Are you going to jump up and down (hardly, with a broken leg!) and scream, “Well that’s it! It’s a new year, I’ve broken my leg! This is going to be a crap year!” Yes, you probably are…but don’t! It isn’t going to be a bad year, you just need to be more careful and look where you are going! Bad things happen to nice people. It’s a fact. But of one thing I am sure, if you allow yourself to imagine that it’s going to continue to be a bad year just because you’ve broken your leg already, then it will be. I truly do believe that all these things are sent to try us and it is through these trials that we do, eventually, become stronger and subsequently able to take on what life chooses to throw at us.

No, pull up your boots and trot into this year with optimism and the knowledge that whatever life hurls, you will either side-step it, or catch it…and deal with it.

I think my greatest joy and also my greatest sorrow of last year involves something rather silly…virtual friends. I have made a lot of virtual friends over the last year and it has been truly eye-opening. I am, by nature, an extremely suspicious person, and not many people “pull the wool over this old coots eyeballs,” so it comes as a disappointment to realise that over the past year one or two friends have, indeed, not been truly genuine. Making promises that they had no intention of keeping. Pretending to be an authority on something which they were not. But that’s fine. I’ve sussed you out. I fell for it. Once. I take the experience and trot on because on the other side of the scale we have the lovely, genuine, “what you see, is what you get,” people. And I think you know who you are? And I hope you also know that if I can help you in any small way (or large way) you only have to ask. 

Ha ha, you watch, someone will now ask for my help and I’ll say, ‘Bugger off, you are one of the ones who have pissed me off all year, so go and do one.” Blinder! 

I’m joking. You know me now, don’t you? Yes you do. That’s why you know I’m NOT joking. Actually, I don’t know why anyone follows this blog because I’m such a stroppy little thing. Ah! Yes! I am! But I’m honest!

Whatever. I’ve bored myself now, so I’m off to have another go at that bloody glitter. And tomorrow I shall tell you why I will never be giving my books away as freebies…so there!

Happy New Year…break a leg! Oh no…don’t!

Take care my lovelies x

The Great Escape …

Good Morning All.

Today they have predicted a lovely sunny day here in Leicestershire, UK. Doesn’t mean much, frankly, because they usually get it wrong. At least they do in my little corner of Leicestershire. I think it has something to do with the fact that this area is built on an ancient volcano site and we are way up with the Gods.

It is a long-standing joke amongst friends and family that as soon as they leave the motorway the weather changes and it is like entering another world. I like that. It appeals to my sense of humour to think that I live in another world – physically as well as mentally I mean!

Talking of other worlds, and vistas beyond perimeters, I can now bring you the inevitable news that Chea broke free from the garden on Friday and went walkabout. Admittedly my mind was temporarily distracted by levelling out a barrow-load of gravel at the time but when I realised that I hadn’t seen her chasing the chucks or attempting to walk on pond-weed for the last ten minutes a warning bell clanged.

I’d noticed her on the top of the old chuck cage and daringly venturing up onto the top of the fence over the last couple of days and had in fact mentioned to Richard that we needed to move the chuck cage. She had always jumped back onto the cage as the drop the other side was over six feet. I knew she had gone. There was an unexplainable eerie emptiness about the garden. I also knew that the neighbours side gate was locked and that they had gone to work.

Erecting a tall fence that keeps out all invaders is great. Erecting a tall fence which prevents your own cat from getting back is a bad move. Eventually, by standing on a chair and resting my chin on the top of the fence, I saw her drifting through the neighbours hedgerow, where Lauren, the dog-groomer lives. Chea has yet to meet a dog!

Waving a ‘treat’ and cooing in loving tones I attempted to encourage her back into my neighbour’s garden. All went well and she appeared next door. Still cooing to her in encouraging tones, telling her what a lovely little girl she was, I held my fast growing annoyance under control  – until she decided to flaunt her tabby-hide up the neighbours path, waddling her bum, ignoring me totally and with an air about her that clearly said, ‘bugger off, I’m not coming back.’

I contemplated another hose pipe incident but dismissed it. No point in making her run if there was nowhere to run.

There was one weak link in the fence. A part of it that hadn’t been replaced and still had trellis covered with ivy, so I dropped to my knees, scratching around in the debris, attempting to make a hole large enough for her to get through and stuck my hand through, waving a treat and sweetly sing-songing,  ‘Cheee-aaaa. Cheee-aaa. Come on sweetie. Treat. TreeeeATTTT. Come and get THE SODDING TREAT YOU BAG OF SHIT!’

Nothing!

I climbed back onto the chair and she was nowhere in sight. I regrouped my head, my attitude and my temper and realised that there was nothing for it but to attempt to raise the fence panel in its concrete posts, chock it, thereby exposing a gap, crawl through it and fetch the little bugger. After summoning up super-hero strength I raised the panel and chocked it. Through the gap I could see Chea so I found a piece of straw and making ‘quick-quick’ noises ( it’s a cat person thing!) I tricked her back to the gap in the fence. Half dragging the creature through I grabbed her, marched her down to the  house, launched her through the door and left her in the kitchen.

Richard dared to ask how my day had been!

Saturday morning, up with the lark, Richard set about dismantling the chuck cage. Then with lump hammer in hand he began smashing his way through the cage base which was a foot of solid concrete. Poor thing – all this with a calcified shoulder.

The sound was deafening as he thwacked the concrete time after time. When the job was two-thirds done he bent to remove a corner which had broken off and stopped. ‘Ah,’ he said.

‘Ah? What’s ah? What is it?’

It’s a mouse,’ he said.

I retreated ten steps. ‘Shit! Is it? Don’t let it run this way.’

We both watched as a little field mouse staggered off, heading towards the rockery. It looked shaken and stirred in equal measures. Richard then picked up the corner of concrete and a little nose, followed by two, blinking, light-sensitive eyes, poked out.

Richard downed tools and said, ‘That’s it! I’m not moving the rest of it now.’

We placed the concrete back, leaving just enough space for the baby to get out and/or for  mummy mouse to come back, and we called it a day. At least the baby was old enough to leave the nest. How in God’s name they managed to survive the sound and vibration of the lump hammer is amazing. We both felt like utter shits having caused the poor things such obvious stress but how were we to know they were there? And it was all bloody Chea’s fault. If she hadn’t decided to start using the chuck cage as a way out of Colditz we would never have dismantled it.

Chea sulked all night by the way. Cat’s don’t let it much when you prove to be more intelligent.  

Richard checked the mouse site first thing Sunday and the baby had gone and no bodies were found. So now I live with the fact that I have field mice living in the rockery next to the chucks shed. I suppose it is too much to expect Chea to keep down the mice population? Actually, I’m not too sure I would want her to? She still pats at and chases bees. Being the recipient of a wasp sting last week has taught her nothing. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if she is half as smart as she thinks she is?

Take care my lovelies x

 

 

 

Spring Is Busting Out All Over …Or Not! …

Good Morning All

 

It’s officially. Today is the first day of spring! Spring has sprung! And as soon as the frost lifts – I may actually believe it. I was still slipping and sliding my way up to the chucks at 6.00 am this morning and the lock on their cage door was still frozen. But, I am nothing if not optimistic. This cold spell can’t last for much longer, can it?

Any day now the ‘boys’ will be back in town. Frogs of all shapes and sizes will arrive at the fish pond. Every year they toil and squeeze through netting placed around the garden perimeter to keep the chucks in. The pond will almost bubble with activity. And they aren’t choosy in their sex-craved actions. It wouldn’t be the first time a disillusioned frog has attached itself to the head of an ancient goldfish, digging its probing fingers into the poor creature’s eyes and holding it nose down in the water. And it takes me ages to release it with the net – without harming one or the other.

It has been a long winter this year. Isn’t it the same length every year I hear you ask? Well yes it is, of course, but this wintry weather started early, back in October and it is now March.  I’ve just realised I’m writing about the weather! We English tend to do that – talk about the weather. I think it is often the forerunner to ‘proper’ conversation. Not that you are ever really going to ‘hear’ much proper conversation here! As I have said many times before there are hundreds of proper, intelligent blogs out there, you really don’t need another one.

Richard came up with a purler the other night. I was sitting watching Emmerdale with Chea tucked under my chin having a cuddle and such and he looked up from his … no, not Land Rover mag, his Biker mag and emotionally announced, ‘You’ve enhanced the lives of so many animals in your lifetime.’

I glanced across at him.

‘You have,’ he continued. ‘Every animal that ever came your way has been loved and treated like royalty. You have a special way with them. It’s like you know what they are thinking.’

I glanced across again. And then came the punch line.

‘It’s a shame you’re not the same with people.’

I think at that point we both fell silent before breaking into giggles. It was either that or throw the cat at him, which frankly would have dispelled the theory.

Today is not only the first day of spring – it is the day on which my dear father would have been celebrating his ninetieth birthday. I have been without him in my life for six years now. And quite a lot has happened in that time. The sad part is I can’t tell him about any of it. In my father’s later years, after mum died and he was alone, I used to pop in every afternoon and we’d have a cup of tea together and sit in front of the fire and dad would relive his memories, telling me about his life in the navy, the war and such like. A bit like Uncle Albert in Only Fools And Horses. He’d tell me how he met mum. What a ‘looker’ she’d been.’ And it’s funny but sitting there with him back then I never imagined what my life would be without him. We don’t though, do we? Envisage our loved ones gone?

I shall pop to the church when Richard gets home and take dad some flowers. The sodding frost will probably kill them within twenty-four hours, but at least, for that time, they will stand proud in the weak sunshine and silently announce that here is a man gone but not forgotten.

The photo I have added today is a picture of my dad, on his pony, taken eighty-five years ago.

I’ll end today on that slightly nostalgic note.

 

Take care my lovelies x

 

 

 

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 you xxx

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 x

 

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!

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 x

 

 

http://www.feedaread.com/books/Mulligans-Reach-9781782991700.aspx

 

 

 

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