Tears and Laughter

Loads to say - have been on hols and will catch up with everything else asap, but this post is just a memorial to my Best Friend Forever, Pat Powell, who died suddenly 8 years ago today.

It was an equally gloriously scorching June day in 2001 and I wasn't there. I was helping ma-in-law move house and didn't know. It seems impossible that I've now lived for 8 years without Pat. It also seems impossible that my life has changed so much without her. I've had to do so many things differently. Having a Pat-less life was something I'd never even thought about. No-one prepares you for losing a best friend.

We'd been best friends since we were 16 - we did everything together, worked together, went on holiday together, saw each other all the time and spoke on the phone several times a day. Pat was my social life; she was my happiness and laughter; and the kindest, most loyal and generous person I've ever known. Today I cried for her - I still miss her so much - I've got loads of friends, really good friends who I cherish, but you only ever have one lifelong best friend - and there'll never be another Pat.

Pat and I had always decided we were going to die when we were 97 and we were going to have a joint funeral with blue and yellow flowers, lots of rock music, champagne and cream slices (our favourite indulgence). So this afternoon, on this sweltering sultry day, I've been doing what I've done each June 30th for 8 years, sitting in the garden on Pat's special seat (an ancient bench, crumbling now but I'll never part with it), listening to AC/DC, drinking (warmish) champagne and eating a (very slippery and melting)cream slice, with my Californian poppies and lobelias providing the properly-hued floral background.

I raised my glass and my cream slice to her - and now I can say again on here what I said to her just now: "I miss you every day, I think about you every day, I still expect you to walk up the path, I still wait for your phone calls, I still hear your laughter. I hope you're happy - and please, please don't be resting in peace. Please be having the best time ever with loads of fun and giggling." Then I sniffled a lot -which would have made her very cross - so I came indoors to write this as a proper memorial.

We had "Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone" played at her funeral - and today, for me, it's true.

Reeding At Redding

Sorry - had to do the title phonetically as "Reading at Reading" looked weird. And of course this post is far too late to be any use in a promotional way (the story of my disorganised life) but this is just a quickie to say if any friends and Bucolic Frolic readers are anywhere in the Reading (that's Redding) area tomorrow (Monday June 15th) I'm giving a reading (that's reeding) at the Central Library at 6 pm as part of their Arts Festival shindig - and I'd be thrilled to bits to see you there.

More details at http://www.readingarts.com/othervenues/whatson/event.asp?id=SXC621-A7818625 - think you can cut and paste that... (she says in her usual non-techy manner) - anyway, there are refreshments included which makes it well worthwhile in my opinion...

And, to be honest, it's not a reeding (but I still liked the reading/Reading thing so I used it in a sort of artistic licence way) - it's more a Q&A session as a) I make everything I read aloud sound like a dirge and b) I've got a bunged up nose and therefore keep sniffing and c) at least if people ask questions they might stay awake...

I'd love to see anyone who might be in Redding at 6pm (although why anyone would want to be I have no idea, as surely the shops will have shut and everyone will have gone home for their tea?) at the Central Library (in Abbey Square) because, quite frankly, if it's just me and Em-Next-Door-As-Was (she's coming along to organise me - making sure I have a clean hankie and have been to the loo etc - and to sell my books for me - hopefully) and three librarians I'll probably cry...

This is the first time Redding have invited me to do anything - and I'm really looking forward to it - and as all my books are set in Berkshire I think it indicates that they must have forgiven me for portraying the royal county as a mad place inhabited by even madder people...

Am just off now to polish up my spontaneous answers to pithy questions like "why don't you look like your photo?", "why aren't you Katie Fforde?", "do you earn as much as that Harry Potter bloke?" and "why don't you write like Jackie Collins. I likes Jackie Collins. Why don't you do sex?" - all things I've been asked more than once and really should be able to answer without sobbing by now.

And if you can't make it in person I really, really hope you'll be there in spirit as I think I'll need all the help I can get...

You Couldn't Make It Up

As the computer has been having yet another on/off hissy fit and I've been forced to work off-line (again), I've been writing more (yay!) and procrastinating less (well, sort of) and realised just how much "stuff I've overheard" goes into my books and stories. If asked, I usually say it's all made-up - but it isn't, well, not all of it...

This year, because last year was horrible for all sorts of reasons, The Toyboy Trucker and I have been making the effort to go out on a Friday night. Nothing swish you understand. Just for a cheapo meal in one of the many restaurants in our small town that are practically empty these days (along with the pubs - a sad sign of the times), so that we can actually talk to one another about our week instead of slumping in front of the telly and grunting. And every Friday night, because the places are so empty and the sound carries so well, I can also listen. And not just to The Toyboy Trucker...

Recently overheard (and squirrelled away to be altered ever-so-slightly and used at a later date) snippets include:

"... and I'm on statins and Warfarin and aspirin and me blood's like water and you can't say better'n that..."

"... and then when HE comes home she 'as to perform 'er wife's duties straight away - an' sometimes HE'S that impatient she doesn't even 'ave time to take off 'er Marigolds..."

"To my mind, it was the last thing you'd expect to see in Weston-Super-Mare. Alf didn't know where to look. I said to him, 'It's not like it's Lloret nor nothing, is it? You'd expect to see that sort of thing going on in Lloret even though it's practically like Weston-Super-Mare only hotter and with more people wearing less clothes.'"

"... just listen to yourself. You're setting her up to be some sort of saint. Yes, I know she's only just died but she was a complete cow and I don't mind who knows it. Oh, and she hated your guts - always did - even if she was your mother..."

"So then, once we'd got the pearl barley out with the tweezers..."

"Why in God's name would anyone with her problems want to wear that colour? She looked like a bloody turnip."

"Don't you talk to me about political correctness, I said. I'll speak my mind - I don't care who I insults, me. People should 'ave thicker skins. I always tells the truth. I think it's why people like me. Silly sod wouldn't 'ave it and just kept crying though..."

"Boils run in our family. Me dad was a martyr to boils. Always had pus on 'im somewhere."

"... we went to Madeira. Nice place but we wouldn't go back again. It was full of foreigners..."

"Joan - her with the big nose and the poodle - she won the lottery last week. A tenner she got. She's only been playing for six months at a pound a week so she's quids in..."

"So I said to Nev, you don't want to mix with the likes of her. Everyone knows what she gets up to. She votes Liberal Democrat."

"... and it never even said swingers on the invite. And even if it had we wouldn't have known what it meant because we don't read the posh papers, and then even when that fat girl from Londis - you know the one who had the accident on the bouncy castle who thinks she's a cut-above? - said what it was we thought it was something to do with Frank Sinatra or big bands because it was for their silver wedding and it was in the village hall after all, and you could have knocked us down with the proverbial feather when we realised it meant - well - swapping. There wasn't anyone there I'd have wanted to swap with thank you very much. And, I ask you, who'd want our Frank with his feet? He's never had his socks off since 1983. Our Natalie said afterwards that what's you get for trying to mix with the upper classes..."

Ooops!

Well, that's been fun. One big bang, two small fizzles and a nasty on-screen "fatal error" message - yep, it's been another almost-two weeks without the computer...

Well, not quite true - I've been able to work off-line (which is good news for Midnight Feast which is now almost up to the 45,000 words it was before I deleted them - and this time they're much nicer, funnier ones - I think...) and this time it wasn't me pressing the wrong buttons - it was the ISP's fault.

Sadly, we (TTT and I) only discovered this after replacing the modem (twice), calling in an expert (12 years old and quite amazingly clever) to sort out a) the mother board and b) the hard drive - neither of which needed sorting. It was only after an exasperated telephone call to the ISP (prior to chucking the whole damn thing out of the window and making yet another trip to PC World) that gave us the answer. Ooops, they said, our error. Nothing wrong with your computer. Our fault - we're really sorry... We'll get it back on track soon as. And they did.

So, now I'm back online - and will no doubt catch up with blogging and answering emails and things as soon as poss. That's after I've read everyone else's blogs, and checked message boards, and wasted hours catching up with all the really vital online stuff that makes up my writing day. Ah, it's lovely to be back...

Interview Techniques

For some reason, I've suddenly been asked to offer my pearls of wisdom and alleged writing expertise on a wide range of subjects. For a really, really brief period I got a bit big-headed and thought I must be the current author-of-choice, but only briefly. Now I've decided that it's probably because they've run out of Proper Writers...

Whatever - I'm not proud. I'm just delighted to be asked. So, this week I've done a stonking FIVE interviews with different people for various publications on all sorts of subjects - from fireworks to Epstein Barr; from how I manage to write in such a mess and muddle to how I bit the bullet and gave up the day job; from my research methods to why I stopped writing mainstream chicklit and started writing magical bucolic frolics. I've loved every minute of it. And I really, really appreciate being asked.

No publicity is bad in my opinion - no, not even that rather painful and corrosive piece about me being a gurning nonentity in The Times by a far more literary writer than I'll ever be - and any opportunity for anyone who writes to get their name out there in any capacity is A Good Thing. So this is a public thank you to all those who took time to ask me questions and patiently sorted out the dross of my answers.

I really welcomed being interviewed by fellow rom-com author Olivia Ryan. She's written a fab feature on Giving Up The Day Job (to be published later in the year - will post details as soon as I know). I was included with such romantic novelist luminaries as Judy Astley and Katie Fforde and Fenella Miller - and am still basking in the afterglow.




It's always flattering to be asked for your views by another author, and especially so as I LOVE Olivia Ryan's books (check her out at www.oliviaryan.com). I bought second copies of her hilarious and oh-so-true Tales From A Hen Weekend and Tales From A Wedding Day as a honeymoon beach-reading present for Elle (they'd make great engagement/hen night/wedding presents for any dedicated chicklit lover) who read them on Waikiki Beach and absolutely loved them and is now a hooked Olivia fan. We're both now feverishly waiting for the final book in the trilogy - Tales From A Honeymoon Hotel - which is out on July 2nd. Oh, and if you're reading this, Olivia, I've already got my order in on Amazon - I'm not asking for freebies!!!!

I've always found it's better to be honest when being interviewed - even if what you have to say isn't exactly what's expected. I'm certainly not a typical writer (come on - take a look at my lifestyle!) but try to explain how writing fits in with my Other Life (with difficulty, usually). I know I love to read about how other writers work - even if it does make me wonder how I ever manage to get anything done - or how other writers got started, or anything at all that might just help me to improve how I do things. We can all learn from one another - and I know I've gained numerous nuggets of brilliance from authors I admire.

One area of writing I'm rather proud of this morning is my new found ability to delete at will! Yesterday - after a sleepless night of agonising - I deleted Midnight Feast and started again. And now it's flying! I've been up since 4.30 (it wasn't even light!) and have done over 3,000 words already today. I'd written myself into a turgid corner and knew that there was no way out. So, I've just kept all my characters (who I loved) and changed the setting and the start and made it funnier and really, really off the wall - and it's suddenly zinged into life for me now. Hopefully it'll zing into life for Those Who Matter...

I've happily told The Toyboy Trucker (sorry, still can't get into Toyboy Transport Manager) that it's now "Cold Comfort Farm meets Masterchef". I won't tell you what he said - but hopefully he's wrong, wrong, wrong....

Home Again

Elle and The Doctor are home from here! This is where they've spent the last three weeks. It's Hawaii's only 6-star hotel - and is clearly paradise. It's called Halekulani and means "house befitting heaven" - which it obviously is and was....

They had an amazing honeymoon in Hawaii and came home via Chicago and Washington. Jealous? Me? What do you think???? But it was wonderful to collect them at Heathrow and do that embarrassing hurling myself at them (I'd sworn I wouldn't - but just got swept away in the heat of the moment) as they emerged into the arrivals hall. And they were so brown! The doctor, of course, is always brown - but was, to his delight, even browner - especially his legs (which he showed us straight away much to Heathrow's amusement) and Elle is a gorgeous toffee colour. Sigh...

Despite having just travelled for 26 hours (business class - natch) they talked non-stop all the way home in the car and I gather that Hawaii is simply the best place on earth. It all sounded quite incredible - especially the vivid colours everywhere and the exotic flowers (Elle is no gardener and The Doctor can't tell one plant from another but they both seem well up in hibiscus, oleanders and orchids now) and the rainbow fishes and the warmth and friendliness of the Hawaiian people... I am not jealous, I am not jealous, I am not jealous....



This was their bathroom - gulp - where they could simply float in scented, candlelit water and gaze at the sea - and no, I'm still not even a teeny weeny bit jealous... And they can now both do Polynesian dances and were very moved by the Pearl Harbour memorial, spent a day on the Lost island, did the Obama trail, and have discovered the joys of The Cheesecake Factory... I'm sure there will be lots more stories emerging once they're no longer jet-lagged and have stopped sulking about it being All Over.

Still, now they're home, hopefully we can get to grips with the official photographs of the wedding - blimey, how long ago does that seem now??? I'm really looking forward to having a wallow in the memories of the day - and might even manage to post a pic of the m-o-t-b frock at last...

Now - back to reality. I'm getting on with Midnight Feast, The Toyboy Trucker is getting to grips with being a Toyboy Trucking Manager, and Elle and The Doctor have to go back to work! Hah!

I've Got A Happy Trucker!

This post is simply to say a HUGE HUGE HUGE public congratulations to my darling Toyboy Trucker because today he's passed his CPC!!! I'm SO proud of him. It was a killer - both in terms of studying and the legal, business, management and practical exams themselves - and although the slog was all over in February (and of course he was convinced he'd failed miserably) the results weren't known until today - and he's passed! All three exams! He's now fully qualified to run his own haulage company (if he ever wants to), has the top professional qualifications in road transport management and national road haulage, and is a STAR!

I do know how hard these exams are because when I wrote my lorry-driving novel - Running the Risk - Georgia, my heroine had to have a CPC in order to run her transport company and I sent for the study courses and exam papers as research. Sheesh! I was glad then it was only fiction.... Little did I know...

This is just the sort of joyous news we needed to lift our flagging post-wedding spirits while the Happy Couple are still frolicking in Hawaii and while I'm still dredging through the Moonshine proofs.

Hopefully we'll be celebrating wildly tonight!

However, I do have one reservation though - Toyboy Transport Manager simply doesn't have the same ring to to it somehow,does it?