New release - it's been a while!

I know, I know it's been FOREVER since I brought out a new book but there are reasons for this which I'm unable to share for the moment.  As soon as I can, I will.  Promise.

Anyway, 'Half as Good as You' is now available for pre-order on Amazon and will hit your Kindle on 4th October.  The paperback version will be available shortly, once I decide whether to publish through Lulu or Amazon.

If you read it and love it, PLEASE leave a review  - your words help to sell mine.  If you've enjoyed any of my other books, I'd be really grateful for even a one line review.  They really DO make a difference.

Right ... here's the blurb ...

The day after discovering her husband’s infidelity, TV make-up artist Fizz finds herself knocked off her feet (quite literally!) by a passing stranger in the busy Covent Garden rush hour.  

Rescued by an elderly gentleman, an unusual friendship forms, a mystery lottery ticket appears and Fizz realises that she’d never really been as content in her marriage as she’d allowed herself to believe.

With the arrival of two new men on the scene, how long will it be before Fizz hits the jackpot?

And the links for UK Amazon

And USA Amazon 

Just £1.99 - less than a coffee and will last longer!

One-liners

I was watching Sky News this morning -  in between feeding cats, searching for the teen's hair gel and kicking said teen out of the door to work - and the delightfully tasty Martin Kemp was being interviewed about his new film 'Age of Kill'.  I didn't listen to a great deal of what he said because he really is rather easy on the eye - ask my 88 year old mother, she was swooning over him yesterday - but I did hear him say that it's great to be able to sum up the plot for a film in one line.

So that's exactly what I thought I'd do with my books.  If you've read any of them, let me know if you agree with the summaries below and, if you haven't, maybe these might just be the tasters you need:

'DIARY OF A MUMMY MISFIT'

One mum's journey as she tries to find her place at the prep-school gates.

'THE DARKER SIDE OF MUMMY MISFIT'

She's got it all now but how long can it last and does it bring fulfillment?

'COMPLETING THE PUZZLE'

It's never too late to find that missing piece of happiness.

'STILETTOS & STUBBLE'

Enter a world of glitz and glamour and learn 'It's what's inside that counts'.

'LOTTIE'S LUCK'

You might think your life is heading in the right
direction, but what happens when fate has its own ideas?

'TABBY & KAT'

Watch out!  There's a cuckoo in the nest and she's trouble.

  

'THE ALL OR NOTHING GIRL'

Poor little rich girl loses everything
- but gains so much more.

'LIFE AFTER SETH'

When being jilted is the best thing that can happen to a girl.

'RECIPE FOR CHANGE' - available to pre-order 10th June for download on 17th.

Take one reality cookery show, mix in five contestants and leave to simmer.

THE CHRISTMAS NOVELLAS:

'CHRISTMAS DELIVERANCE'

A family gather for the festive season and unwrap their secrets.

'CINDERELLA'S BUTTONS'

A pantomime shakes up a sleepy village as it waves its magic wand over it.

So, there you go - short, sharp snapshots of each of my books.  

Don't forget that you can pre-order 'Recipe for Change' from next Wednesday 10th June and all of my books are also available in paperback at Lulu.

"My name is Amanda and I'm a writer"

There was a time when I wouldn’t tell people that I was a writer.  When being introduced at parties or social gatherings, I’d keep it quiet.  What right did I have to give myself that title?  Maybe if I’d been traditionally published I wouldn’t have been quite so reticent but, as an Indie, a little voice in my head would always whisper ‘Don’t tell them.  You can imagine what questions will spring up.’

But things are different now.  I’m an Indie and am proud of what I’ve achieved.  I’m living the dream and my writing journey has allowed my husband to abandon his job search so that we can work together as a team - earning enough to pay the mortgage, the bills, feed and clothe ourselves and generally live.  OK, there are no round-the-world cruises on the horizon but if you’d told me four years ago that my writing would support us, I wouldn’t have believed you.  That cruise can’t be too far away!

These days I’m prepared for the questions that come after,‘What do you do, Amanda?’ and I reply, head held high, ‘I’m a writer.’

I should be prepared, I’ve heard them so many times!

‘Who are you published by?’

‘Me!’

‘So you couldn’t get a publisher then?’

‘Actually, after being let down at the final hurdle with my first novel, I lost faith and decided to stop approaching both agents and publishers.  The Indie route suits me just fine.’

‘But I bet if a publisher offered you a massive deal, you’d take it?’

‘If someone offered you a fortune to do what you love, I guess you would too!’

‘Does it pay then?’

‘If it didn’t I wouldn’t be working 5 (sometimes 7) days a week or chaining my husband to the desk to edit, format and promote my books.  I don’t dabble - it’s my job and both my husband and I get paid a wage.’

‘Where do you get your ideas from?’

‘Honestly, I can’t put it down to one thing.  A seed can be planted while I’m sleeping or from an overheard snippet of conversation, an advert or (in one case) a parked car that I used to see every day - from that car came a whole plot.’

‘I’ve got an idea for a book!  Do you want to write it for me?’

‘No thank you.’

‘Do you get writer’s block?’

‘I’ve learned to deal with it.  I walk away, make a coffee, talk to the cats, load the washing machine.  If a block hits really badly around the 30K word count mark and there’s nothing I can do to shift it, I accept that I’m writing the wrong book and shelve it.  If my books don’t write themselves, I turn my back on them - I don’t have time for lack of cooperation!

‘Why don’t you write a Harry Potter type book or erotica?  That’s where the money is, isn’t it?’

Would you ask a gynaecologist why he’s not a dentist?  We specialise in our choices for a reason.  And there’s actually pretty good money in chicklit too!’

And finally, my favourite question from a dear friend who asks me every time I see him:

‘When are you going to write about a suave accountant with a huge willy?  I can give you lots of background information.’

Who knows, but I’ll pass on checking out his credentials!

LIFE AFTER SETH - and a FREEBIE or TWO!

My next (EIGHTH!) full length novel is due for release on 10th December and will be available for pre-order from 1st December - that means, if you order 'LIFE AFTER SETH' on Amazon at the beginning of December it will be 'auto-magically' delivered to your Kindle the minute it goes 'live' on the 10th.  And hopefully shoot me to #1 in the charts.  Hey, a girl can dream can't she?!

So today I'm feeling a little Christmas joy and want to wave my wand of happiness in a shimmy-shaky fashion.  Not only am I going to give you a cover reveal, the blurb AND the first chapter of 'LIFE AFTER SETH'  but I'm also doing FIVE DAYS - yes, you heard me correctly - FIVE DAYS of both of my Christmas novellas for FREE!!!!

From Wednesday 26th November right up until the end of Sunday 30th November, you can grab both of my novellas for absolutely NOTHING on Amazon.  How good is that?  Let's call it my little Christmas present to you.

And, furthermore, if you're on Twitter and you Re-Tweet my #free posts or this blog, you can go in the MAGNIFICENT MISFIT MAGICAL MACHINE.

Now, this isn't ANY old machine. If you enter this stupendous place of wonder and get picked as a winner - you know, like on The X-Factor or Strictly Come Dancing? - you get to pick any of my books to be delivered to your Kindle for your delight and delectation!  For no pennies whatsoever!

See?  I really am feeling the Festive Funk right now.  What have you got to lose?  Get your fingers poised, your RT button going and tell all your friends that there are FREEBIES on offer.  And if you leave me a review, I'll love you even more.

OK.  Ready for the cover reveal, the blurb and the first chapter?  Grab a drink and a packet of biscuits and prepare to meet 'LIFE AFTER SETH'.

THE BLURB

Picture this …

A summer wedding booked in a beautiful English village surrounded by rolling hills and stunning countryside.

The guests are waiting, the bride is blushing and

the groom is … where?

Left to muddle through in a ramshackle cottage with half-naked builders, a selfish mother, a New Age sister who’s away with the fairies and a hormonal teenage nephew, Lizzie sees her world spiral into farce.

It may seem like a romcom that cinema goers giggle over as they chomp on their popcorn, but this is no laughing matter for Lizzie - it’s her life.

With Seth gone, there’s no shortage of men should she ever choose to love again.  But which one would she consider letting into her broken heart?

And will she find the happy ever after she’s

always dreamed of?

LIFE AFTER SETH …

when being jilted is the best thing that can happen to a girl.

*   *   *   *   *

 

 

Chapter One

You know those daft dinner party games where the guests ask probing questions to find out more about one another?  The ones that start as a bit of fun and then end up turning into a full blown domestic between the loved-up couple at the end of the table or an epiphany for the closet gay who realises he really does want to sleep with the guy sitting to his left?  Those games.

Well, the next time I find myself at one of those ‘all jolly good, light hearted fun’ affairs and I’m asked the question ‘What was the worst day of your life?’, I can guarantee that no one will be able to top my answer and I’ll have the assembled guests in stunned - possibly embarrassed - silence.

Oh yeah, as bad days go, by anyone’s standards, it was a humdinger.

Of course it was meant to be the happiest day of my life but as I woke and stretched in the sunlight, cocooned in the cosiness of my childhood bed, I could never have imagined what the following few hours - indeed months - would bring.

If I’d had any idea, I would probably have rolled over and gone back to the dream that involved Daniel Craig and, intriguingly, a rather large jar of Nutella.

But no, silly old me jumped out of bed filled with thrilling anticipation, threw on my dressing gown, lovingly stroked my lace gown hanging on the wardrobe and then headed down to breakfast en famille.

Any normal family might have had Buck’s Fizz on ice and the tempting smell of a cooked breakfast floating on the air to greet the blushing bride-to-be, but not mine.

My father was nowhere to be seen and my mother was on the phone to best friend Glynis moaning about the lack of husband presence.   My sister was saluting the sun in the garden as she chanted and wailed in some sort of Tai Chi pose, and my nephew was sporting a tie-dye sarong while strumming a depressing tune on his guitar in the corner of the kitchen.

Rather than being showered with love or greeted with bubbling excitement, my arrival was ignored until my nephew decided to turn his attention to me with a lazy, ‘Yo, Auntie Lizzie.  Cool day, huh?’

‘Morning, Zeus.’ (I always cringed every time I said his name, but when your sister’s a happy-clappy hippie, what can you expect?)  ‘No, it’s not a cool day, it’s a pretty hot one actually but when you’re sixteen, without a care in the world, I guess every day is cool.’

Zeus shook his rasta dreadlocks - a little odd in ginger - and put down his guitar.  ‘Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Auntie Lizzie.  My head’s filled with worries, man.  Global warming.  Pollution.  The state of Palestine.  The banality of ‘X-Factor’.  It’s all going on in here, every minute of the day.’  He tapped his head and looked as if he had to sort the world of its problems before a bowl of muesli had passed his lips.

‘Yeah, well thanks for that Zeus but today’s my wedding day so I’d rather we stuck to light-hearted chat and left the major humanitarian issues until tomorrow if that’s OK with you.’

He stood and stretched, reaching for his pouch of tobacco.  ‘Pftt!  Marriage.  Society’s way of constraining the weak-minded and dictating who you share your bed with.  Not for me, dude.  My heart and spirit are too free to be shackled.’

His comments were best ignored.  It was like talking to a testosterone fuelled version of my sister Alice as he churned out the lines she’d been feeding him since birth, and it could only turn into a mega debate or heated argument.  I figured an offer of a bacon sandwich might lighten the mood a little - all teenage boys lived for their stomachs, didn’t they?

‘Gross!’  He looked ready to vomit.  ‘Pig!  Bacon is pig, Lizzie.  Packed with chemicals and crap.  How could you?’

‘And the foul smelling tobacco that you constantly puff on is packed with vitamins and minerals, is it?’ I countered back as I busied myself at the stove. 

His attempt at any wisecrack response was thwarted by the appearance of Alice, bangles jangling and ankle bells chiming.  ‘Good Morning, my little Lotus Blossoms!  What a glorious new day Mama Nature has bestowed upon us!  My chakras are flowing and my yin yang beautifully balanced.  A little shot of wheat-grass should see me ready to face the challenges destined for me.’

‘And a happy wedding day to you, darling sister of mine,’ I mumbled childishly under my breath before biting defiantly into my swine sandwich.

‘What are you grumbling about, Lizzie?  If you will insist on filling your body with dead animals, you can only expect your mood to be foul.  Get out of the wrong side of the bed, did you?  I told you that you should have slept in the tepee in the garden with me.’

My breakfast began to turn to sawdust in my mouth.  By pointing out that I was eating a little pink corpse, my sister had totally ruined my pleasure.

‘Most siblings would greet one another with a hug and some kind words on such a momentous day,’ I said.  ‘Most sisters would be over the moon and rushing about the house in a whirl of curling tongs and make up.  Most parents would be on hand to calm any nerves or pour drinks.  And what do I get?  An AWOL father, a whinging mother and a mini bloody Glastonbury in the back garden.  Let’s all have a joint and henna my hands shall we?’

‘Cool!’  Zeus was unable to do sarcasm.

Unlike his mother, who looked at me as if I’d eaten her last lentil burger as she turned on her Birkenstocks with an ‘Oh that’s just great!  Now my energies have been tinged with your toxic seepage and I’m going to have to cleanse myself all over again.  Thanks for that, Lizzie!  Just thanks!’

Sisterly love!  The Nolans we most definitely weren’t.

As I chucked the remainder of my now unappealing breakfast in the bin I was reminded that my mother shared the same selfish trait as my sister.  Slamming the phone down, she huffed and puffed and then made her way towards me from the hallway.

‘Make me a coffee, Angel.  And throw a good slug of brandy in there.  Today is not going well.’

Flicking the switch on the kettle, I began idly humming ‘Going to the Chapel’ in my best Bette Midler warble.  If no one else could be happy for me, I’d have my own little celebration.

Because in less than four hours time, I’d be walking down the aisle to the gorgeous Seth - and I couldn’t believe my luck.

I was marrying the man of my dreams and escaping the confines of the Addams family.

Bring it on!

*****

Growing up in the Addams household - yes, that really is our surname - was … how can I say? ... reasonably OK, would be the best way to sum it up.

Dad worked hard as a bank manager, Mum was involved with the Women’s Institute and charity work, and Alice in those days was just your average sister - annoying occasionally but mainly bearable.

Three years my senior, she never let me forget it.  Whether it was to boss me around, lecture me, protect me or look down her nose at my immaturity, I was never allowed to lose sight of the fact that she was the big sister.

Now of course, she’s ageless.  Children of the Universe don’t have a number to determine how many years they’ve been on this planet.  Every day is a ‘birth-day’ in Alice’s Wonderland and she’s been reborn, regressed or found herself so many times I’m surprised she recognises the person she looks at in the mirror - which incidentally isn’t very often because her face is merely ‘a hindrance’.  It’s the soul that counts.

A fairly run of the mill teenager until she hit sixteen, Alice fell for a boy during a fruit picking job in the summer holidays that determined she would never return to school.  Our village of Upper Moreton was conveniently situated for seasonal work and we were never short of odd jobs or ways to earn extra cash.  She could have worked in the local dress hire shop or in the coffee bar which served delicious pastries and scones.  But I guess her latent hippie was lurking somewhere even back then - the freedom of the fields and the sun on her back called and she strawberry picked with a song in her heart and a spring in her Jesus-sandal clad feet.

When the summer came to an end, she packed her rucksack and headed off to Greece with her first love, Reece.  At the time she’d believed he was for life.  She’d even had Mum and Dad convinced, so that they’d let her go with their blessing.  It didn’t last though and I think her current notch on the headboard (or tent pole) is around the three hundred mark.  Love is free, apparently, and she’s always shared as much of hers as possible.

So I became, to all intents and purposes, an only child.  At thirteen years of age, that had been thrilling and lonely in equal measures.  I didn’t have her moaning at me or sparking up arguments but I missed the company and the odd times that I did need her.  She had her uses and I found myself with no one to ask those all important questions.

‘Is this boob bigger than the other one?’

‘If Peter pulls my ponytail does it mean he likes me?’

‘Is this zit really noticeable?’

Of course her answers were never very tactful but at least I had somebody.  I couldn’t possibly ask my mum stuff like that.  She’d just twitter and bristle and then tell me to get the Delia book out and go and bake some nice shortbread.

How relieved was I when I returned to the autumn term at school to find that we had a new girl in our class - Nadia - and we instantly hit it off.  She had a brother, Ralph, but she longed for a sister, a confidante, a partner in crime.  From the first day we met we became inseparable, sharing our secrets, our worries, our dreams and our bedrooms.

Most weekends would see us sleeping at one or the other’s house and, for some reason, I always preferred it when I was invited to stay at hers.  Her mum and dad were a lovely couple and they were always laughing - a really happy family.  Ralph was fifteen, and quite good looking, and for a long while I had a bit of a secret crush on him.  To him though I was just his little sister’s friend, so it wouldn’t have been the done thing for him to see me in a romantic way but I bumped into him in London one day a few years later and he joked that the ugly duckling had turned into a bit of a swan.  Cheeky sod!

Now it’s not that my family were unhappy, it’s just that Dad was always wrapped up in the stress of work and Mum was just too busy being … Mum.  Everything had to revolve around her and Alice and I had grown up knowing what this meant.  So, if a colleague from the WI was diagnosed with a serious illness, all we’d hear about would be how it would increase my mother’s workload.  If someone wanted to tell her all about their Mediterranean cruise, she’d rush to the photo albums and talk about her own trip.  If I had a spot, she had a wrinkle and I’d be told, ‘Think yourself lucky you’ve still got youth on your side!’

So, time spent with Nadia was precious.  We played hard but worked harder - attending every party and always making sure we were up bright and early ready for homework or revision.  We both dreamed of becoming teachers and were determined that nothing would come in the way of that.  No boys or hangovers were worth it, although we had a few of both - we were only human.

Eventually we left Uni with a couple of degrees between us and placements in two local schools doing the jobs we’d worked so hard to get.  I’d opted to teach the younger age range with all its wide eyed innocence but she’d longed for the challenge of the back chat and gobby smart talk of a secondary school environment.

It was time to start looking for those dream men we’d envisaged as we lay in the darkness of our bedrooms, planning how our adult lives would pan out.

Four failed relationships later, Seth walked into my life …

*   *   *   *   *

I hope you enjoyed this sneak preview - If so, remember to pre-order from 1st December.

And don't forget to grab my Christmas novellas for FREE for five days from tomorrow.

Mummy Misfit Entertains

Regular followers of mine will know that I've been toying with the idea of a Mummy Misfit spin-off and, thanks to your hugely positive responses, I've decided to go ahead with 'Mummy Misfit Entertains' - parties for paupers.

Remember the Pippa Middleton book 'Celebrate' that hit the shelves last year and bombed?  Well it won't be like that!  Partly because I won't be fortunate enough to be lured by a £400,000 advance (oh, just let me dream for a moment!) but also because it won't filled with useless drivel about entertaining that, for the ordinary person on the street living through a recession and counting the pennies, isn't worth the paper it's written on.

Is it any wonder the book was a flop and the deal ended when Pippa decided to educate the masses with these words of wisdom?

• 'Because of their size, turkeys are perfect for feeding larger gatherings'
As my dear friend Fenella would say, 'No sh*t, Sherlock!'
So what do you think, Pippa?  Should we maybe have one at Christmas?  Oh, where would we be without you!

• 'For parties, wrap a small gift. Sit everyone in a circle and ask them to pass the parcel ...' 
Is there a name for this hugely original game? And would it be good to play with small children maybe?

• 'Store cupboards, drawers or boxes should be packed full of useful odds and ends.'
Ah, so that's what all the c*ap is!  It's good to know that the upper classes have drawers of string, fug, cracker innards and broken combs too.

From what I know of this book, I'm surprised she didn't include a few helpful tips along the lines of:

Remember to stock up on toilet tissue.  No one likes to resort to using The Tatler in an emergency - it leaves nasty print all over your 'oh so pert' little bottom.

If you run out of champers, be prepared to accept that no one will ever set foot in your house again.

Although the recipe for ice is very simple, the time it takes to set is rather lengthy. Far quicker to 'order in' (see back of book for recipe if you prefer homemade)

For decorations, pretty balloons and party fripperies simply nip to Mummy and Daddy's shop and help yourself.

I'm so sorry if I sound like I'm bitching.  But I am!  This book deal made me (and many other writers) cross.  Penguin only took a chance on her because of who she was related to.  Thankfully, their greed backfired.  Try taking a chance on some little nobodies, us Indies who slog our guts out day in and day out.  What would be so wrong with that?

So, that brings me to my book which won't be losing anyone any money.  I've been entertaining for years - on a budget.  Sometimes the budget has been bigger than others but it's certainly never been massive and I've always received compliments from my guests.

As Fenella always tells me, 'You have a talent for giving good table, good candle and good feeling.'

So watch this space as I begin work on 'Mummy Misfit Entertains'.  Unless I get offered a juicy advance from a canny publisher who's checked out my rather stonkering Amazon rankings, it won't be filled with glossy photos - just handy, practical and fun tips, recipes, themes and games.

Oh ... and it also won't include the recipe for ice either.  You'll have to Google that one for yourselves.

NEW RELEASE - 'The All or Nothing Girl'

A date for your diaries, faithful readers ... THURSDAY 26th JUNE sees the release of my latest novel - 'THE ALL OR NOTHING GIRL'.

Here's my delicious new cover - what do you think?

And here's the blurb:

What happens when your comfortable life
is suddenly denied you?
When the Chanel make up’s dried up,
the designer gear’s been flogged on eBay
and the Persian rug has been well and truly
pulled out from under you?

Meet Francesca Milton-Harris

as she realises that one ‘little mistake’
is going to change her life in ways she
could never have imagined. 

THE ALL OR NOTHING GIRL …

because sometimes you have to lose it all
to see how much more you can gain.

 * * * * *

Want a little taster? 

 

Chapter One

My name is Francesca and I am a recovering spoilt brat.

Hah!  And of course I’m well aware that makes me sound as if I’m at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting where instead of owning up to a booze problem, I’m admitting to being a filthy rich little madam without a care in the world but I don’t care.  See, the nasty side of me still pops up on the odd occasion.

But, I have to say,  as I stood waiting for the lift at my local hospital, with barely a penny to my name and a bellyful of arms and legs waiting to rip me asunder, I couldn’t have felt less like the privileged little diva I’d spent the best part of twenty-eight years perfecting.

I was alone, truly alone.  Well, that was if you didn’t count the embryo I’d been incubating (read: living off me like a greedy little non rent-paying parasite) for the past nine months.  The free-loading human I was about to meet, with absolutely no idea about what that entailed.

I remembered thinking, ‘Shit, this is it!  Me and a baby!  In a National Health hospital, of all places!  Who’d have thought it?’  But as the pains built in their intensity, I breathed a little deeper and prayed that the lift would arrive swiftly and deliver me to the comfort of the maternity ward - albeit one where poor people squeezed out their ugly babies.

Francesca Milton-Harris giving birth in an NHS hospital?  Not while I’ve got breath in me and they’re still serving cocktails at the Ritz - as my deceased mother used to say.

Yeah, and a fat lot of good that mantra did her too.

As I waited and jiggled (I’m never quite sure why I do it but it seems to work for all nervy situations - and for your information, it’s a kind of hop from one foot to the other with a little bouncy head sway thrown in for good measure) I saw (actually smelt first) the most stunningly attractive man I’d seen in months. No surprises there, considering where I’d been forced to live.  You don’t get many Armani models or multi millionaires wandering around my run down council estate in Shepherd’s Bush - but more of that later.  Anyway, he looked at his watch (expensive, I instantly noted) and then joined me in my wait for the lift.  He was my type of man - he oozed money, opulence and the finer things in life.  He would have been my ideal date, pre my baby-growing months and being relegated to the mould-ridden flat where I’d been forced to take up residence.

And there was I, with hair that hadn’t seen a stylist in months and a midriff the size of Vesuvius.  I won’t go into details about the stirrings in my nether regions but sadly they had nothing to do with the sight of this yummy man.  Talk about wrong time, wrong place.

I had no idea that things could only get worse …

  

*****

The lift doors finally opened and Rich Guy smiled and stood back, gesturing for me to go ahead of him.  Hmm, a gentleman too, I thought as the pains subsided for long enough for me to appreciate his chivalry.

Once inside, he turned to me and smiled.  ‘I take it you’re going to the same floor as me.  Maternity?’

I nodded, suddenly feeling shy - most unlike me - and I instantly made a mental note to pull myself together.  Francesca Milton-Harris didn’t do cowering wallflower or helpless little lady.  Or rather the ‘Franny M-H’ of old didn’t - that one had balls and knew how to use them, so to speak.

But where had those balls gone?  Had they packed their Louis Vuitton cases - oh, how I missed my designer luggage - and hotfooted it out of town?

No, I wouldn’t have it.  I might have been on my uppers but that was through no fault of my own and if I could still entertain the idea of flirting with a tasty looking chappy whilst in the throes of labour, I could convince myself I still had my allure.  Sex appeal didn’t rely on cash or fancy labels, did it?  Although, thinking about it, I’d be hard pushed to list any of my revolting neighbours with an ounce of charisma or even one that I might consider romantically if he were the last man on earth.  Maybe money did make you sexy.

As I leaned back against the rail around the lift, I could see that it wasn’t just money that made Rich Guy so enticing.  Oh yes, he had all the right gear - beautifully cut suit, handmade shoes and the subtle odour of wealth - but there was a whole lot more going on.  He had the hair, the cheekbones and the complexion of someone who worked hard and played hard - the sort of look that came from a combination of various therapies and a good healthy dose of sun and sea.  As I said before, in another life, I knew his type.

I could almost hear my best friend Tiggy having a jolly good giggle at me and saying, ‘Atta girl, Frannypoops!  Still checking out what’s on offer even though your lady bits are well and truly closed for business.  You poor, past-your-sell-by-date little fatty.’

Yes, the pregnancy and my change in living conditions hadn’t gone down too well with Tiggy and whenever I’d been looking for sympathy or a shoulder to cry on, she hadn’t been my first port of call.

Would I have been the same if the situation had been reversed?  In all honesty, probably, yes.  It’s what we were, what we were made of - and that wasn’t sugar and spice and all things nice.  Oh no, not by any means.

Thrown together at boarding school, we’d lived the lives of those with little parental love - although we were compensated by being showered with everything that money could buy.  We asked for it, we got it - and boy, did we ask.  The only difference now was that Tiggy continued to demand, and indeed receive, yet I’d been totally cut off.

Well, that and the fact that I was about to become a single parent living in a one bed flat on the kind of estate I’d only ever seen in documentaries on the 52 inch plasma flat screen which used to pop seamlessly out from the foot of my queen sized bed.

Yep, things had certainly changed.

Rich Guy looked at me and smiled again.  I smiled back - nobody could rob me of the twenty-five grand’s worth of dental work I’d had done over the years, so I made the most of it.  Men had told me I had a smile that could light up a room, so I could surely add a sparkle to the six foot square metal box we were currently sharing - even if I was heavy with child.

‘Baby due soon?’ he asked.

I nodded.  ‘Any minute now actually,’ I told him as another contraction reached monstrous proportions.  My smile may have turned into a grimace but I was sure it still displayed my snow white veneers to their best advantage.

‘Better get you to the safety of the ward quickly then, hadn’t we?’ he comforted at the exact moment that the lights flickered off and then back on and the lift ground to a halt with a shuddering thud.

 

*****

Not ideal, huh?  Certainly not for a pathetic specimen who needed a double whisky before her twice monthly bikini wax and had written ‘Knock me out’ on her birth plan.

I wasn’t sure if I was grateful for the fact that the lights had flashed back on or not.  If Rich Guy was about to find himself delivering my sprog, did I really want him seeing my untrimmed lady garden?  (Hair removal had been one of the first luxuries to bite the dust and I’d learned very quickly that those areas were too delicate to attack with a blunt Bic - let’s not go there.)  Oh my!  Tiggy would lunch out on this debacle for months.

‘Damn!’ my travelling companion uttered.  Then he turned to me and added, ‘Don’t panic.  We’ll be fine.  All we need to do is press the alarm and they’ll have us out in a flash.’

By this time I’d slipped to the floor and was panting and sweating quite a bit - Mummy would have insisted that I was doing no such thing as ladies merely ‘lightly glowed’, but trust me on this, it was pouring off me.

I’d suddenly become aware that I was sitting in a rather larger puddle than I could possibly have perspired and I stupidly wondered if I’d peed myself - C minus for failing to attend any ante-natal classes or making it past the ‘Conception’ chapter in my ‘What You Need to Know About Having a Baby’ book.

Rich Guy’s voice seemed to be floating in and out of my consciousness like a badly tuned radio.  It was most disconcerting and I tried desperately to make myself concentrate on what he was saying.  From my prone position on the floor, I became aware that he was talking into the speaker on the wall of the lift and frantically running his hand through his previously immaculate hair.

‘Yes!’  His Gucci feathers were well and truly ruffled by now.  ‘In lift A and we’re stuck - a lady here about to give birth.  We need help and quickly!’

‘Agggggh!’  The sound was primal and terrifying and I was amazed to discover that it had come from me.  Who’d have thought I could make such a vulgar and earthy noise?  Oooh, but it helped.  It helped quite a lot, actually, so I did another one for good measure.  ‘Agggghhh!’

Rich Guy jumped and I could see that he was now whispering into the speaker.  I strained my ears to listen but it was fruitless so I went for another guttural moan.

‘I really think the baby might be coming NOW!’ I heard him say.  Gosh, he was tuned in.  Perhaps he was a doctor, maybe even a top notch private one, and I’d be OK after all.

‘No.  No experience whatsoever, I’m afraid,’ he said, continuing his conversation with the wall.  ‘I’m a business consultant - you don’t get to witness too many births in my profession.’

Well, that was just great - not a doctor after all and I was well and truly stuffed.  Images of a cosy private ward at the exclusive Portland hospital floated through my mind as I felt an overwhelming need to start pushing.  Would my child’s future be determined by its undignified entry into this world?  If that were the case, he was doomed and he’d have an ASBO before nursery and be doing his first stint in a youth offenders’ prison before his Eleven Plus.

‘Unnnnggggh.’  My vocal repertoire had taken on a whole new tone and I was mortified to discover that I was actually removing my underwear - La Perla, of course, but sadly last season and a little past their best.  OK, so I hadn’t done the classes or prepped myself about what would happen to my body when the little shi… darling … made its appearance but thankfully my body seemed to have taken over and knew what it should be doing all by itself.

Which was just as well, as I shortly found myself with a furry little head poking its way out of my frou-frou.  Oh yes, my body knew what it was doing alright!

‘No.  I don’t think she’s got anything with her.’  I could still hear him talking to whoever was at the other end of the stupid speaker and clearly being of no help to us whatsoever.

‘Do you have a bag with you?’  He was in my face now and the sight of his calming eyes flanked by sweeping lashes took my mind off the pain for long enough for me to take a normal breath.

‘A bag?’  What did he mean?  A Chanel?  A Birken?  No - I’d flogged off all but one of mine long ago on eBay - how was a girl meant to live?

‘Your overnight holdall.  You know?  Nappies, a blanket, clothes.’ 

Ah!  No.  I didn’t.  And I must admit I felt pretty stupid but, as another gut-wrenching pain tore through me, I simply shook my head and emitted another farmyard noise.

‘The head’s right out now.’  He was back speaking to the useless person in the wall again.  ‘I can see it quite clearly … OK … yes … I’ll take my jacket off and get it ready for … oh shit … I can see shoulders now … really quite broad ones …’

‘BOLLLLLLOCCCCKKKKS’  Yep, those shoulders were pretty broad!  I huffed, puffed, panted and wondered if I’d ever walk again after the pain I’d just experienced.

But there was that beautiful face again - right in mine - and I could smell luxury and toothpaste.  I could trust that face - and let’s consider the facts here, I had no choice.

‘Listen to me,’ the face said.  ‘They say you’re doing really well.  We can do this.  OK?  Apparently, the shoulders are the worst bit.  A couple more big, big breaths and I think we’re there.’

We?  Where did this ‘we’ business keep coming from?  I didn’t see him writhing in agony and hyperventilating.

‘It’s pretty ouchy,’ I told him pathetically, and those delicious eyes crinkled and smiled into my own.

‘You’re being so brave … sorry, I don’t even know your name!  But I’m going to call you Ms. Plucky.  Come on - push that little plucker out!’

I would have laughed but I’d found that I needed every last ounce of energy for one final humongous grunt.

‘Oh, wow!’  Rich Guy was sitting on the floor between my legs, with a bucket load of guts and gore on his approximately two grand jacket and a screaming new baby blinking up at him.

I couldn’t ever remember seeing a man looking quite so happy in the whole of my life.

SO that's THURSDAY 26th JUNE - at Amazon for Kindle and in paperback at Lulu.  

GIVEAWAY TIME!

It's that time again.  Hubbie has returned from his Ozzie travels and I'm feeling generous.

For new readers to this blog, 'Diary of a Mummy Misfit' was my first novel, published in 2011.  Many have dubbed it Bridget Jones for grown-ups - I was flattered to say the least.  It tells the story of parents Libby and Ned as they battle to see their only son through private school and is a tongue in cheek look at the 'types'  they meet along the way.

I'm giving you the opportunity to grab a free Kindle copy and then, if you enjoy, you can pop over to Amazon, leave me a lovely review and then buy the sequel.  If diaries aren't your bag, you might like to take a look at my other novels or festive novellas - all chicklit, light, fizzy and with a touch of humour and romance.

THE BLURB

Ever felt like you don't belong?

When Libby Marchant and husband Ned made the monumental decision to sacrifice luxuries and holidays to see their only son Max through private education, they hadn’t expected to meet so many unsavoury and dislikeable personalities along the way.

Happily, the cruel jibes of the pompous ‘Meemies’ are made more tolerable by the lasting and loyal friendship they strike up with the affluent Fenella & Josh.

Follow Libby’s journey as she discovers the chasm between the Haves and the Have-Nots in her mad new world of school committees, designer handbags, bitching and botox.

With Fenella by her side, Libby is able to maintain her sanity. But what happens when the credit crunch bites, you’re desperate for another baby and your Asian neighbour is trying to match-make you with her infatuated son? 

GRAB YOUR COPY IN THE UK OR .COM and let me know what you think.

FUNKY FRIDAY - with author Jamie T Dougan

This week I welcome a Twitter buddy who I regularly meet in my kitchen for a cider/wine,  cake and a gossip.  (For kitchen, read DM box on Twitter! )

Jamie, put the cider down and describe yourself as a writer in five words.

Novice, learning, descriptive, uncertain, sentimental.

You've been invited on Big Brother - Writers Special!  Do you accept?

Hmm, I think I'd wait and see who else was going in the house first ... and then pass LOL!

It's your dream week as a writer - anything is possible!  Tell us what happens.

I get the week off the day job. My wife and kids go away on holiday for a week and my internet fails. Leaving me no option to write without those distractions. And at the end of the week, one of my books hits No1 on Amazon and I can say na,na, nee nah nah to those out there that have doubted me.

What's the best and worst thing about writing, for you.

The best thing is that writing is my escape from reality and I can live the dreams I didn't achieve through my characters and in the stories I create. Especially with my latest release 'Offside!'. None of the characters in that are based on anyone from real life but in Shane Henderson, the main character, I get to be the footballer I didn't get the chance to be when I was a kid.

The worst thing is selling. Trying to get your book noticed by the right market is hard work and I find it a big struggle.

If you had to take one book to a desert island, which would it be and why?

HG Wells War of the Worlds. I've read this countless times since first reading it at school. I'm a sci-fi nerd in some ways.

If you were offered a squillion pounds to never write again, would you take it?

Nope! Money to me is a necessary evil. The world would be a far better place if we aimed to better ourselves through knowledge rather than financial gain.

QUICK FIRE ROUND

Planner or Winger?

Winger. There was no synopsis for Offside! and the synopsis for the next in the series has already been binned.

Night or Morning?

I'm a nighthawk. I write at night when the routine of everyday life is done.

Doer or procrastinator?

A bit of both but it really depends on my mood and what kind of day I've had when it comes to my "writing time".

Writing/first draft or editing?

Editing. I seem to write the story better when I'm editing it.

Tea or coffee?

Coffee ... two and a coo please. You'll figure that out LOL! 

Hmmm ... still working on that one.  Get back to your cider, Jamie and pass the shortbread 'cos you're hogging it.

You can follow Jamie on Twitter, Facebook or at his Blog.

His latest release 'Offside!' can be found, along with his other books, on Amazon.