Oh Dear

Dear Blog, I'm really sorry I've been ignoring you recently - but I've been really BUSY writing. Well, no that's not strictly true - I've been a BIT busy writing (Midnight Feast) but I've also been away. Yes - again! Don't nag. The Toyboy Trucker and I snook away for a few days, okay? And that's why I'm posting this and why you've got a Proper Literary Person as an illustration today. All will be revealed, promise...
love, Chris xxxx

This is cross-my-heart true:-

While on hols last week and browsing (i.e. rearranging my books face-out in front of other people's who don't need the royalties as much as I do) in a bookshop I witnessed the following...

Bookseller (wearing bookseller badge) deep in conversation with junior assistant (wearing bookselling assistant badge) about the merits of Katie Price's "Sapphire" which was currently splashed in its dozens over three shelves of "Number One Best-Seller" was interrupted by a middle-aged female customer.

Customer: Excuse me, where can I find Somerset Maugham?
Bookseller: Somerset Morn? Sorry, never heard of it. Who's it by?
Customer: It's not a title. It's an author.
Bookselling Assistant: Oh.
Bookseller: What's she written?
Customer: He's a man.
Bookselling Assistant: Oh.
Bookseller: What's he written?
Customer: Lots of things. Cakes and Ale? The Painted Veil? The Moon and Sixpence?
Bookselling Assistant: Oh.
Bookseller: Which one are you looking for?
Customer: Of Human Bondage.
Bookselling Assistant: Have you tried Erotica?
Customer: No. Doesn't he have a section of his own?
Bookseller: Is he in the Top Fifty? Does he write crime?
Customer: No, his books are classics.
Bookselling Assistant: Ah, classics. Like Dickens? We've got some Dickens classics - and lots of Jane Austen.
Customer: More recent than them, but yes, maybe in the same area.
Bookseller: No, I don't think so. How are you spelling Morn?
Customer: M-a-u-g-h-a-m.
Bookselling Assistant: Oh.
Bookseller: That's a funny spelling. I've never heard of him.
Customer: But do you have any of his books?
Bookselling Assistant: Not if he's not in with Dickens and Jane Austen. Do you want me to look under M in contemporary?
Customer (exiting shop looking defeated): No thank you.
Bookseller (watching her go): Have you ever heard of Somerset Morn before?
Bookselling Assistant: Nah. Can't have written much, can he?

Oh, dear......

I Wanna Be A Girlie Girl

In the late spring of 2007 I decided I was going to "go into frocks". The late spring of 2007 was HOT. I fondly imagined that months of warm summer weather stretched ahead. I also fondly imagined that I could look sweet and feminine. I'm not and never have been either of those things, and since becoming a Real Writer and thrilled to not have to wear tights-to-the-office have lived in jeans/trousers/cut-offs. Anyway, frocks were always something that looked good on Other People. I wasn't girlie enough - but that could and would change... Inspired by two things (apart from the lure of a hot summer) - Judy Astley's incredible frock wardrobe and that line in Aretha's Say A Little Prayer - "...while wondering which dress to wear..." which always conjures up such a pretty image and makes me very jealous - I bought four frocks.

The summer of 2007 was wet. Very, very wet. We were flooded for most of it. The frocks stayed in the wardrobe and I lived in jeans-tucked-into-wellies and a cagoule. However, come the following spring, thinking that the summer of 2008 had to be better, I bought another four frocks. The summer of 2008, as you may well remember, was even wetter and windier and colder. I lived in jeans-tucked-into wellies and three jumpers and a cagoule. Eight frocks now hung prettily in my wardrobe.

So, this year, three summers on, and being promised a heatwave that would split the pavements, I bought two more. And yep, all ten of them now hang in the wardrobe in all their gorgeous, colourful, floaty, floral glory. Unworn. But not unstroked. I sigh happily over them on a daily basis. And I'm still in jeans and wellies.

So? If I was the proper girlie girl I long to be, would I have worn the frocks for the last three summers regardless of the Noah/Ark/monsoon conditions? If we have a burst of late heat will I ever rescue them from the wardrobe and wear them with pride? Or is it too late for me? Have I had too many years of comfortably "dressing like a bloke" as The Toyboy Trucker once helpfully said? Will I actually feel (as I fear) like a drag queen or one of those Disney dancing hippos if I ever abandon the jeans/trousers and pull on a frock at last?

Rain is pouring from a leaden sky as I write this. We're already into August. I'm typing wearing jeans and a big sweat-shirt. The frocks, I fear, will moulder for at least another 10 months. So - maybe next summer...?

I'm On The Telly!

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No, I knew I wouldn't be able to keep quiet about this any longer - so here we are - no blog posts for weeks and now two in one day.... Well, at last I can come clean about what I've been doing. Huge bragging moment coming up... Last week I was on location in deepest beautiful rural and exclusive Cheshire, filming three television adverts for The Writers Bureau

Sooo - this is my face being done-over... and the end result... Hmmm - shame about the hair - but they did say to "leave it and we'll sort it out" - hmmm again...



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It was absolutely brilliant!!!! After last year's hoo-ha with the Advertising Standards Agency (who thought I shouldn't be in the WB adverts because I wasn't a genuine ex-student - I am! - and couldn't be called a best-seller because my books, while appearing in lots of best-seller charts, had never appeared in the Sunday Times - but who have now agreed that I can be called "award-winning") and the damning mention in that article in The Times about the WB and me being a gurning non-entity - my paraphrasing by the way - I wondered if the WB would ever use me to publicise their wonderful distance learning writing course again. But they did and have - and I LOVED every minute of it.


The adverts (two 30 second ones and one 60 second) will be aired from the autumn on terrestrial and satellite TV stations as well as having a You Tube slot, and will run for at least 18 months. And of course it was fantastic reciprocal publicity as the ads will feature all my books as well as extolling the virtues of the WB course.

I've just dotted the photos about on the blog - I think they're fairly self-explanatory - and hopefully they'll give some idea of what it was like.


The film crew were amazing - especially given that I'm a giddy amateur - and were very patient and made it all wonderfully easy. And I had a proper screen make-up session and my hair was all gussied-up by the lovely Debra (an award winning make-up artist who works with Very Famous Film and Telly People), and I was wired for sound and had three scripts (and a blissfully easy auto cue!) and still managed to not be able to walk, talk, look at a book, sit down, smile, read lines and type at the same time... Duh!


We arrived at the farmhouse location (they filmed in the very pretty courtyard garden and the weather was perfect) at 10 a.m. and left again at 5.30 p.m. All that time to shoot three little adverts!!! So many takes - so many things (for me) to get wrong.... But no-one seemed to mind and we even had a proper chuck-wagon roll up for lunch time like Real Filming - and I can't remember ever laughing so much for so long.


And mindful of the fact that the camera adds POUNDS I'd crash dieted (not to be recommended) for 2 weeks beforehand and lost 14lbs in 14 days (two Slim Fast Shakes and a Weight Watchers soup - 600 cals per day) but still looked billowy on screen... Now realise that those really thin people you see on TV must be Really Really Really Thin in real life.






At the moment all the ads are being edited and cut and sliced and spliced (or whatever the technical terms are) and I've been promised that I'll get a preview as soon as they're ready - and that's going to be the really scary bit... Still, right now, I'm back home and still floating with the glamour and excitement of it all. So -a huge THANK YOU to The Writers Bureau for being brilliant hosts and friends and for giving me not only this fantastic opportunity and experience but also such a magical time Oop North - and I truly hope I didn't let you down.

Dizzy!

As is usual with me, for the past few weeks I've been running round in disorganised dizzy circles, and swearing that when I've got a spare minute I'll blog; write; answer emails; write; cut the grass; write; clear out the dining room; write; clear out the study; write; paint the living room (as in decorate - not a nice watercolour...); clear out the sheds; write.... And here we are, at the end of the third week in July (where the heck did June go? And May...?) and I haven't done very much at all.

I have written though. Midnight Feast. Not all of it - this is me we're talking about - but at the moment I'm more or less on schedule with this one and, not wanting to sound slightly grown-up or smug, it's a really nice feeling not to be panicking at the last minute. And after chapter two it took off all on its own, so I scrapped my notes/synopsis/outline and let it go its own way. Now it's definitely Cold Comfort Farm meets Masterchef, and possibly way way OTT, but I like it...

So, the Reeding at Redding (sorry - should have said all this before) went really well. Ann and Liz at the library were wonderful; we had a flatteringly nice crowd, they all asked questions I could answer and they laughed in the right places (with not at - always a bonus) - and I was taken out for a brilliant meal afterwards (a huge plus for me as I'm a pig). And I sold and signed loads of books and met some great people. The local press turned up and took photos (which I've now seen and of course now wish a) I'd stuck more rigidly to Weight Watchers and b) had my hair done...). There was a funny-peculiar moment when I'd spent ages discussing with one lady in the audience whether the River Kennet could actually run through Hazy Hassocks (as it does in my books), or whether it could flash-flood (as it does in Happy Birthday), and everyone joined in and there was quite a debate raging, then I remembered that I'd made it up and it really didn't matter about the geography because it's all fiction. I think...

And I've been on holiday - well, sort of. The Toyboy Trucker and I (after last year's disastrous financial blip) cancelled both this year's glitzy hols - and took off for a last-minute cheapo week to rediscover the bucket and spade holidays of our yoof. We toured the south coast from Sussex, through Hampshire, to Dorset, stopping off in beach huts, chalets and caravans. The weather was lovely, and so was the accommodation, but most of the places had changed (okay, we should have known they'd change but we sort of thought they wouldn't have) beyond recognition. So sad - I guess it's true that you should never go back. However, our best day of the whole week was spent at Bognor (are you laughing???). We just threw ourselves into everything wonderful about the British seaside holiday - we played in the amusement arcades (amazing how fiercely you can want a cascade of 2p pieces!!!), got very competitive at crazy golf, paddled eating ice-creams, sat on the beach with egg sandwiches and bottles of warmish lemonade, bought a lot of tat, and got sunburned. Fabulous!

Elle and The Doctor were left in charge of the cats while we were away and everyone survived. Oh, there is one rather sad bit here - it seems the official pics of me in the m-o-t-b frock may never see the light of day. (Yessss!). It's now three months since Elle and The Doctor's wedding and they still haven't got their wedding album. The photographer did his stuff, but the company he used to print and collate and produce the albums has gone into liquidation. Eeeek. Well, that's not eeek from me (the longer the m-o-t-b pics stay a secret the better as far as I'm concerned) - but it's a huge EEEK from Elle and The Doctor. The images are all safe - but are still only on disc and until a new printing/producing company is found that's where they'll stay. Phew...

Oh, and I have been doing something else as well - last week was taken up with it and it was very exciting - but it really needs a blog post of its very own, so hopefully tomorrow I'll have sorted out some photos and things and will be able to do it justice.

Now on with the gardening and writing and clearing out and answering emails and...

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..."