A Mixed Misfit Bag

It's been a busy week in the Misfit house.  The teen turned 19 and my cousin and her hubbie came to visit from Canada so there has been much fun and jollity.  Today saw me returning to the desk to chain myself up until my self-imposed 2K words for the day were written.

Here's a quick update on my week.  Oh, and be warned - it ends with a rant!

FORMULA 1 GO-KARTING

Oh boy!  What can I say?  The teen and Mr Misfit had a blast.  Me?  Well I simply tootled around the track, at an average of 16 miles an hour, like a nervous granny on her way to church. And the heat!  Dressed from head to toe in a rather unfetching BO-infused boiler suit, a beanie and a helmet, I was sweltering.  My only escape was putting myself in the Sin Bin so that I could remove the helmet and cool off.  The teen found himself covered in bruises as he has no flesh on his gangly bones and was thrown around in the kart as he swerved around corners. As each day passes the bruises grow and change.  We tell him it's the birthday gift that keeps giving!

 The teen pulling a daft pose.

Just as well this isn't a scratch and sniff photo!  The suits were ripe!

 His final lap

FAMILY PARTY

It's been 28 years since I last saw my cousin and her husband so it's been wonderful having them here.  They are both huge fans of my books and I was delighted to learn that I, at the grand old age of seven, had been the one to help my cousin's husband 'get' AA Milne.  He said it was the British accent that suddenly made it click for him.  Their lovely daughter is named after me and we keep in touch through Facebook and Twitter.  We were amazed at how many similarities there are between the two of us and also between her and the teen.  Families, can be spooky things!
On Saturday, our family got together at our place and a good time was had by all.

Sharing family memories.

My mum, me and my cousin.

 

THE SQUIRREL

On Friday night Mr Misfit and the teen came back from a late night walk and told me that there was an injured squirrel at the end of our cul de sac.  Being a bit of an animal nut, I headed off to see if he could be saved.  He was right in the middle of the road where he could have been squashed by any passing cars returning home or ripped apart by foxes (or our cats!) so we knew that we had to stay with him.  We managed to give him some Rescue Remedy (a herbal medicine) and for a while it looked like he might be perking up a bit. Sadly though, we suddenly realised that his leg was broken and there didn't seem to be much hope.  After willing him to live, I found myself willing him to let go and drift off to squirrel Heaven.  We called him Faith as we told him that we had faith in him and that we would stick with him to the bitter end.  Watching him die was horrible.  He threw his little head back in a final spasm of pain and then he passed.  The teen then decided it would be cruel to just throw him in the bushes and insisted on a proper funeral (the second one we'd been to that day!)
A shoe box was duly found and Faith was laid to rest with a gladioli.
Sadly, Faith was dug up again two mornings later and then he disappeared.
This reminds me of the time we buried our goldfish in a Dove soapbox and the teen, then quite young, was concerned that when he got to Heaven God would be confused as the box said 'Dove' and not 'Goldfish'!

THE RANT

I had drinks with 'Fenella' last night and I found out that she'd had a falling out with a Putney mum who had been rather vocal about me and the way I'd dealt with the teen's school phobia.  I was livid!  This was a mother I'd known reasonably well and always got on with.  How dare she pass judgment on me and my life when she knows nothing about what we went through.  As any mother knows, if someone starts to pick holes in your child you become like a protective tigress.
When we went 'public' with the teen's problems, people fell into two camps - those who sympathised or had been through something similar and those who thought they knew everything and that the condition quite simply doesn't exist.  So there's no such thing as depression then?  Is that what I'm hearing?
So, to all you Putney mums who feel you know me oh so well, I hope your boring little lives where you have nothing better to do than discuss me at your dinner parties are never blighted by any mental health issues.  Oh the shame!  Enjoy your perfect children as they grow and head off in to the world and hope that you never have to stand by them in the way I stood by my son.  I, meanwhile, will be the one having the last laugh as I know who each and every one of you are in the Misfit books and my son has grown into a confident young man, doing a job that he loves. And, do me favour, if you do have an opinion, say it to my face so that I can educate you.  But then that would take bravery wouldn't it?

Rant over!  As you were.

PUBLICATION DAY - 'The All or Nothing Girl'

It's an exciting day in the Misfit household - my SEVENTH full length novel has just hit the shelves and I can't quite believe the journey that I've been on as an Indie.

It's been a hard slog but one that I wouldn't change for the world.  The 5* reviews for my books far outweigh the occasional 1* review - and the latter are usually from people who have grabbed a freebie when it's not their usual genre anyway.  Yes, I've learned a lot - not least, to roll with the punches.

MASSIVE thanks to all my merry gang who have supported me along the way.  The majority of those, I had no idea existed until I started on this writing lark.  Social networking is a remarkable thing and I've met, not only online but in real life, some of the nicest people over the last three years.

One of those sharing my weekend of celebrations is the lovely @AuroraTherapy. We met on Twitter three years ago and instantly hit it off.  How much can two women have in common?  Alternative health, reading, humour, drag, gay men, Barry Manilow, parties, dressing up, old musicals, cheesecake, Marmite, dancing, wine and party planning.  We were a match made in heaven!  So tonight we'll be sharing a fondue, a bottle of vino, a cheesecake and no doubt listening to 'The Rocky Horror Show' followed by a sprinkle of the old Bazzer Mazzer!

On Friday I'll be celebrating with 'Fenella' and Co as usual - it seems only right.  It's where it all began.

So as I set another of my babies on its way, I cross my fingers that it will be well received and that the writing fairies continue to visit me for my December release.

Off to the dreaded dentist now before I start raising a glass or two - oh the glamour of a writer.

If you should like to grab a copy of 'The All or Nothing Girl' why not do it while I'm being tortured in the chair and I'll try a wonky smile when I get home and see my sales reports.  I may even dribble.

Here's the cover:

And 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.

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.

Montana goes Bananas!

How many rainy school holidays are spent as a parent sitting in a cinema watching a 'U' rated film to keep the kids amused?  This classification of films by the BBFC gives us the assurance that our children will be watching entertainment suitable for their age group.

'In order to protect children from unsuitable and even harmful content in films and videos and to give consumers information they might need about a particular film or video before deciding whether or not to view it, the BBFC examines and age rates films and videos before they are released.'

It makes sense, doesn't it?  We wouldn't take our family to see an 18 rated film and, furthermore, we wouldn't be allowed in.  I remember our son being questioned when he was 16 (and with us) as he didn't look old enough to view 'Paul' - rated 15.  Rules are rules and there for a reason.

So how come concerts aren't subjected to the same treatment?

I am, of course, referring to the current Miley Cyrus 'Bangerz' tour.  Hannah Montana she ain't anymore, and if I was the parent of a pre-pubescent child it would be my job to do my homework and - in my opinion - take the decision to put my foot down with a firm hand and say, 'No!  Sorry, I'm not taking you.'

Why would I allow my child to be encouraged to kiss a member of the same sex, make out, take drugs and be taught how to use a microphone for sexual gratification? It's not enough for the organisers to put a 'PARENTAL ADVISORY EXPLICIT CONTENT' warning on the stage.  It's too late when you're there - it should be on tickets along with a classification.

And wouldn't this rating on concert tickets put an end to the thousands of conversations I'm sure have taken place up and down the country?  Everyone knows that one of the laws of parenting is that if you tell a child they can't do something, they'll want to do it even more.  Moral corrupters are driving a wedge between families by exploiting this as a marketing angle to gain more exposure.

CHILD:  But Lily's mum's taking her - it's not fair.

But, if the responsibility can be shifted to the music equivalent of the BBFC, the conversation would change to:

CHILD:  I want to go to the Miley Cyrus concert.
PARENT:  You can't, you're not old enough.  It's for over 18's only.

End of!

But while we have no ratings to guide us, parents should surely be using their own common sense.  In Miley Cyrus' case, they would have had to be living under a rock not to have picked up on the whole 'twerking' controversy before the latest tickets even went on sale.

Would you sit happily munching your popcorn in a cinema and watch this kind of stuff with your little darlings?  I doubt it.  So don't take them to see it live, purely because it's labelled 'music'.

Thankfully, I don't have to deal with these issues any more.  It's with a heavy heart, I wave goodbye to the 18 year old as he heads off to a 'Five Finger Death Punch' concert!

FREE FREE FREE!

Being an Indie writer is a funny old business.  Every day teaches new lessons and delivers fresh highs or worrying lows.  There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the peaks and troughs in sales - us Indies discuss it at great length and we never come up with a logical theory.  We slog our guts out and celebrate each other's successes and offer tea and sympathy on the bad days.

One thing I think most of us have learned along the way is that regular freebie promotions dramatically boost the sales of your other books.  As I've said in the past, once upon a time I would have baulked at the prospect of giving away my babies - after all, they took me months to produce.  Surely I deserve to get paid for my work?!

But every promo I've done has delivered tenfold in actual sales so I'm now of the mindset that each time a new reader downloads one of my works as a freebie, the hope is that they enjoy it and then go on to part with hard earned cash to buy my other books and also spread the word to friends.

I guess it's a bit like pyramid selling - one becomes two, becomes four ... ad infinitum.

So on that note, for the next few days I'm giving you the opportunity to either discover my writing for the first time or add to your growing collection if this is one that you've not yet read.

'LOTTIE'S LUCK' is free to download for Kindle at Amazon NOW!  In the UK and .com

Here's the blurb:

I’m Lottie Truman and this is my story.
My life was simply tickety-boo until a neighbour’s prediction seemed to coincide with my luck running out.
Join me on the path I needed to take to get me to where I am now.
But don’t judge me.
Because sometimes you have to make a few diversions to allow fate to push you in the right direction.

FUNKY FRIDAY - with author Kathryn Brown

It's that time again and this week I welcome fellow Indie, Kathryn Brown.  If you haven't read her books, why not?  What are you waiting for?  Check out her Amazon page here.

We settled with our decaff teas and huge chunks of fruitcake - more of that later - and here's what she revealed.

 

So, Kathryn, as a farmer's wife and busy mum, how do you manage your writing time?  I'm in awe of you!

I can only write during the day and during the week when my daughter, Amy, is at school. She leaves early in the morning and doesn’t get home until 4.30pm so I generally get a full day if I need it. However, at certain times of the year, the farming calendar can be quite overwhelming which means I have to don wellies and abandon pen. Well, computer and notebook ... During lambing, however, I do take the note book and sometimes a Dictaphone into the night shed. It’s so peaceful in there at night and is the perfect location to think.

Dream time.  What's your ultimate goal as a writer?

I have a few ambitions where my writing is concerned but one in particular, and the one that would make me a very happy bunny, is to have one of my books made into a television production. I thought Discovery at Rosehill, my debut novel, would have made a great drama series, being about ghosts and things that go bump in the night. Maybe one day I’ll think seriously about writing for television but I suspect it isn’t an easy market to crack.

Tell us about your ideal writing day.  It can be as wild and far-fetched as you like!

To have the house to myself, peace and quiet, no one knocking on the door, no visitors, no phones ringing, lots of chocolate biscuits, several bottles of water, and a brain full of ideas. I’m one of those people who needs absolute silence in order to function to 100% capacity. I work from home, as a writer and a farmer, and unfortunately, we have a number of friends who haven’t yet grasped that when one is ‘at work’, it usually means one cannot be disturbed. I get many phone calls from my mum for example, and end up asking her (politely) to either ring in the evening or let me ring her back. She’s usually telling me about Auntie Margaret’s out-of-date Muller Lights which can be quite inconvenient when I’m in the middle of a big sex scene. Then the next time mum rings, which is usually around 12pm as she assumes I break for lunch then, she makes a point of apologising for disturbing me. I do love my mum, she’s such a fruitcake.

I know exactly what you mean about people assuming that because you're at home, you're not working!  I could rant about that all day!  So, as a fellow ranter, tell us one thing that drives you round the bend about writing.

Apart from the rant I’ve just had above regarding unwelcome visitors and phone calls when I’m trying to work, I think that would have to be the marketing side of being an Indie author. Bloody hard work doesn’t cut the mustard. Marketing and promotion doesn’t come easy for me because I’m not one to blow my own trumpet, and let’s face it, when we’re trying to get our ‘product’ out there, blowing one’s own trumpet is pretty damn important. I do try though, and most likely bore my Twitter followers and Facebook friends to within an inch of their lives. And then there are those followers and friends you’ve known for years on social media, the lovely ones you’ve chatted to, had a laugh with, awed at each other’s cats with, and then bang, they unfollow and unfriend because they’re sick of your self-promotion. Yet these people don’t have a book to promote, they are not an indie author who relies on this new age of technology to make a 25p royalty, nor do they understand that you’ve worked damned hard on the publication you’re trying to get out there and of which you’d like just a little support to help reach an audience. So I guess disloyalty drives me round the bend about writing. And lots of other things of course, but we’ll save that for another day.

I couldn't agree more - marketing and promoting is SO boring and takes us away from doing what we love.  Moving on to reviews, how do you deal with a bad one?  Are you a sulker or a shrugger?

Good question! I used to be a sulker in the early days. I guess you could say I was lucky with my debut novel as it received only four and five star reviews (there I go, blowing my own trumpet), but the second, Nightingale Woods, after five days of free downloads where every man and his dog jumps on the ‘free’ bit, the one and two star reviews came rolling in, and it was a bit of a shock to the system. Not saying I’m the next JK Rowling of course, but none of us like those one and two stars, do we? Some of the low rated reviews are usually just an excuse to slag the author off, and it always amazes me when a reviewer says, “I wouldn’t normally post a review but ...” then they rant on about how they absolutely hated your book and it was utter bum-fluff. Maybe they should stick to watching Jeremy Kyle and leave reviewing to normal people.

So now, I’m a shrugger. Oh yes, I like to shrug. As authors, we need to remember we can’t please everyone. Bedknobs and Bachelors contains a fair bit of strong language and some rather risqué sex scenes, nothing explicit, just humorous. If someone who doesn’t like language in a book gets hold of this one, then I doubt they’ll enjoy it much. Then again, they’d be hard pushed these days to find a book that doesn’t contain language. And as my fruitcake mother once pointed out, “Sex sells, Kathryn, sex sells.” At aged 70, I was quite impressed.

 LOL!  My 86 year old mum asked me why I couldn't have written '50 Shades' - you've got to love them!

QUICK FIRE ROUND

Planner or Winger?

Both

Night or Morning ?

Both

Doer or procrastinator?

Both (comes with being a farmer!)

Writing/first draft or editing?

Definitely writing first draft. Can’t stand editing!

Tea or coffee?

So long as it’s decaffeinated, either.

'Bedknobs & Bachelors' can be found on Amazon for Kindle or in paperback.

You can find Kathryn on her blog ('Crystal Jigsaw'), Facebook or Twitter.

Mother Christmas

This Christmas day will be the 50^th I’ve spent with my lovely mum - well, that’s if you include the one when I was in the womb.  Fifty Christmas days!  I count myself truly lucky as I only shared eighteen with my dad before he did the dirty on me and packed his bags before hotfooting off to heaven.  But the eighteen I had with him were all good, all special in their own way and all jam-packed with love.

As I prepare for my 50^th festive season with my mum, I’ve been reflecting on how things change.  This year’s been a difficult one for us as my mum broke her pelvis in September and that’s made getting out virtually impossible for her and in turn doubled my work load.  I’m tired and sometimes my patience can be slightly lacking but I always try to remember that it’s not easy for her either.  Our relationship has changed - she was the one who always cared for me and now she relies on me for nearly everything.  The circle of life, huh?

But every year is another that I count my blessings - another Christmas to spend with her - and who knows how many there may be ahead of us?

Life changes, families change but I know I have the one constant in my life - the much loved lady who brought me into the world and who I have so much to be grateful for.

So at this special time, after all my mum has been through and continues to struggle with, I’ll be raising my glass to her and thanking her for everything she’s done for me and the strength she still continues to display when times are hard.

There’s a lot I can’t change for her but I can still make sure she has the happiest Christmas Day I can give her.  She deserves a whole lot more but the rest is out of my hands.

Happy Christmas to the best Mum ever.

Nanny Misfit

(not bad at 86!)

And a very Happy Christmas to all my readers - thank you for your support.

A Short Post About an Elephant with a Long Trunk.

Caring for someone you love is a tricky one and anyone who does it on a day-to-day basis will know that things can change from one minute to the next.  Just as you think you've overcome one problem or managed to get an issue covered off, a new one will raise its ugly head.

I'm managing to cope with those curve balls that get thrown at me (actually, read: 'I'm dealing with them but still learning on the job!').  But the hardest part is dealing with the emotional side - when my mum says something that rocks my world.  The world I'm trying very hard to keep stable.

She said one of those things to me last week.  Now, I won't share what she said - that wouldn't be fair or necessary - but it made me stop and think.  The more I thought, the more I knew that something had to change and that we needed to do a whole lot more talking.

I felt happy with our progress ... until I took her to her hairdressers yesterday and got some insight, from a family outsider, about my mum that I knew had been troubling her but had no idea that she'd chosen to share the severity of her upset to such an extent.  That hurt.  Quite a lot.

It was like seeing a tiny raw piece of the woman who brought me into the world - a piece that I knew was there, but magnified under a microscope.  It was out there, beyond us.  Suddenly, it became bigger than an elephant in the corner and it's since been there waving its trunk at me.

I can care for my mum, feed her, do her washing, clean her house, do her shopping, boost her spirits, keep her company and can generally be her 'cheer-leader' but, deep down, I know I can never make her truly happy.

Not by myself.  And not until that elephant in the corner is gone.

Caring with love ...

I'm talking carers and caring this week.

An article recently appeared in The Independent stating:

'Disabled people are being forced to choose between having a drink or going to the toilet during “flying care visits” which last only 15 minutes and are increasingly being used by cash-strapped councils struggling to cope with rising demands on the social care system'

And people ask me why my mother doesn't have carers?  Why it's left up to me?

I'm currently sleeping on a mattress on the floor next to my mum while she recovers from a broken pelvis.  I'm there for every nurse's appointment, physio and occupational therapy.  Why?  Because she's hard of hearing and, more often than not, these people (often with very thick accents) make no attempt to speak slowly and clearly in a way she can understand.  She's not stupid, she doesn't have dementia - she simply struggles to hear. 

Do I really want to leave my mum to be rushed and bewildered with a complete stranger first thing in the morning and last thing at night when she feels at her most vulnerable? Answers on a postcard. 

Incidentally, I have also been appalled by the way nurses and doctors in the hospital my mother stayed in dealt with her hearing difficulties.  Nobody seems to have the proper training to raise the level of their voice without screeching AND to look directly at the person.  The audiologist (on our little day trip to get her ears checked for wax) was so softly spoken, I could barely hear him and he spoke to my mum with his back to her.  Please!  A little common sense is all it takes - and it's your job.

But I digress.  FIFTEEN minutes to get an elderly or disabled person up, on and off the loo (or possibly empty and clean a commode), washed, dressed and fed!  This is beyond a joke.  The infirm do not need to be rushed or made to feel that they are working against the clock.  For some, this may be their only contact during a long day and it matters.  It also matters that they feel safe, supported and cared for.  It's in the title!  'Carers'.

It's currently taking me TWO HOURS to complete all of the above with my mum.  Two very long hours but I'm going at her pace and keeping her happy.  I'm not for one minute suggesting that all home visits should be this long but fifteen minutes is laughable.

I pity those who are being subjected to this nightmare.  I have no idea what the answer is but something really needs to be done.

Being a carer is the toughest thing I've ever done in my life.  It's relentless and I have to constantly remind myself to be patient and calm - this is for my own mother who I love with all my heart.  She didn't ask to be in this position - neither did those who are subjected to carers. 

I'll carry on because I have no choice, and on the days that I lay down and cry with exhaustion I remind myself that no one will overlook my mum's physical and mental needs by a fifteen minute flying visit.

She's worth more than that.

You've Got a Friend in Me

The theme of friendship is one that I hope comes across strongly in my novels.

Friends come into our lives for all sorts of reasons, don't they?  Often from the most unexpected of places and those who stay with us the longest are sometimes the most unlikely.

My two closest friends are both very different but I know that they will always be there for me with either a shoulder to cry on, a friendly ear or lots of giggles.

Friend #1 has been around since I was 18.  She was the year above me at drama school and I always thought she was so in control and grown-up (I soon learnt that was just an act!).  She'd moved from Scotland to live in London and she just seemed so worldly-wise. She was (is) also a Tourette's sufferer and (perversely) I found this fascinating.  At 18, she was just so DIFFERENT to anybody I'd ever met before.
A drink at the pub after a rehearsal one night and we were soon inseparable.  I'd often be found at her piddly bed-sit (read 6ft x12ft servant's loft room in Notting Hill Gate) 'topping and tailing' in a single bed and talking through the night as we tried to remember all the characters names in 'Crossroads' or the lyrics to a Bay City Rollers' song.

Never able to afford cabs back from parties or clubs we'd simply pick up a shopping trolley on the way and take it in turns to push one another home.  To this day, we can still be seen sticking out a thumb to a discarded trolley and shouting 'Taxi!'

Thirty one years later we are still friends - she moved back to Scotland and married, having a son two years and two days after I'd had mine.  We've spent good times (and bad times) together as families and, although I have some issues with the way she is choosing to live her life at the moment, I know we will always be there for one another.

Friend #2 came to me via my son's best friend from prep school. She's my 'Fenella'!  Chalk and cheese in so many ways and yet so alike in others.  She really is the 'Have' and I am the 'Have Not'!  Think a city version of 'The Good Life".

It was a cheeky ciggie that brought us together at a parents' quiz night many years ago.  Finding the company of the other parents a little too over-powering, I'd sneaked out to the front of the school for a nicotine fix and some peace only to find that she'd had the same idea.  As we started to chat it began to snow - huge magical flakes were beginning to surround us - by the end of the conversation we were ankle deep in snow and she'd invited me for dinner.  The rest, as they say, is history.  We often laugh about how our coupling happened because we'd both felt so out of our depths with the other mums and her favourite line to me is 'You had me at the snow!'

That was eleven years ago - our boys, having changed schools, have still remained friends and I am also Godmother to her lovely daughter.  We have also become close friends with her ex-boss and we share dinners, drinks, family celebrations but, most of all, laughs.  She (and her husband) have been more supportive than I could ever have imagined all those years back in our Winter Wonderland fag break.  Yes, she holidays in the sun, has beauty treatments, shops till she drops and thinks nothing of having cocktails, a theatre trip and a meal all in one night, but we just 'click'.  We get one another and I know that we will be friends for life.

Another of my closest friends came about in a strange way.  I was friends with her (now) husband first, and she was actually my sister's friend before mine, but thirty-four years later we have stayed close and meet a couple of times a month usually for a huge meal and some silly games - I was the person she called in panic when her husband suffered a heart attack and I was pleased that we could be there for her.

Others have moved away - our dear friends who were caretaker and teacher at my son's prep-school (again a union made from 'not belonging'!) went back to Oz but we chat on the phone and they stay with us whenever they pop back to the UK.  It's thanks to them that I have my lovely little antique writing desk and my Kindle - constant reminders of a shared affection.

My closest gay friend took his life four years ago and is still sorely missed.  I can never replace the friendship we had and will often see or hear something that I know would appeal to his bitchy sense of humour and I have a little smile for him.

And of course my best friends EVER are my lovely husband and my mum - I couldn't ask for better.  The love and support they give me are priceless and I count myself truly blessed.

So what do you look for in a friend?  Are your friends similar to you or totally different?  Do you choose your friends for different reasons?  Who's your oldest friend?  Could you live without friendship?

I'll end on this song purely because I love it and it reminds me of my other little buddy's growing up years - my son.  It was also once played, by accident, on a loop at a school assembly until it drove us all mad.  My son's Headmaster stood and said, 'Well, it's just as well I like that song!'

Take a letter, Miss Misfit ...

I’ve seen the new craze going around where bloggers write snippets of letters that they know they will never send - just to get stuff off their chests.

I like this idea so I’m jumping on the bandwagon and churning out a few of my own.

Remember, these are my personal thoughts - if you can’t relate or don’t agree, piddle off and write your own.

Dear Employers

You are totally passing my husband by because of his age.  This means that you have lost out on one of the most decent and hardest workers I have ever known.

But that’s fine.  It means I’ve had him around me for longer and SOON, when everything goes OUR way, he won’t be looking for your poxy jobs anyway.

Dear Husband

You are the best (and more) than I could ever have wished for.  Every day with you brings a smile and I feel totally cherished as you promised all those years ago.  Times have been tough but together we can face anything.  I owe you an Aston Martin with bows and nipple tassels!  One day …

Dear Doubters

School phobia is very real.  This is the last time I hope I ever have to say this but it is not naughtiness, petulance, mollycoddling, ‘trying it on’, hating school - NONE of those things.  Live through it with a child or see someone experience a full-blown panic attack and then get back to me.  A slap doesn’t solve everything and this condition has not just been brought to the public’s attention because of sodding ‘Emmerdale’.  Get a grip!

Dear Son

How proud I am of you that you would come through such a difficult time and turn it into a positive - to be happy to chat to newspapers/radio and appear on TV in the hope of helping another child who is going through the same thing.  I think that says an awful lot about you.  Weird, whacky, a mind of your own and someone who will go far.

Dear Readers

Thank you so much for taking a chance on me and (mainly) loving what I do.  Every great review makes me smile so broadly, I wish you could see me when it happens.  Your words mean the world to me and spur me on to write more.  The support that you give me via blogs, email Facebook and Twitter is one of the greatest feelings ever.  Thank you.

Dear People who harm children, animals, the old or vulnerable.

No punishment is enough for you.  You will rot in hell.  Enough said.

Dear Putney Mums

You’ve been talking, I know you have.  That’s fine.  It was always going to happen.  There is no ONE individual represented in my books.  You are not Character A or Character B - but if you recognise a sprinkling of your traits in any of the people within the books’ pages, are you nice or nasty?  YOU decide!

Dear Daddy

Not your fault I know, but no girl should lose such a lovely dad at eighteen.  You are in trouble when I reach the Pearly Gates - listen out for the shouting!  Thank you for being the best and making your presence felt every day in some small way.

Dear PPI

STOP ringing me!  I don’t have any money due to me!  Do you not think I would have taken it if I had?

Dear Friend in Scotland

You are a mess and I am ashamed of you.  Thirty years of friendship is about to go down the pan as I stand by your husband and your son.  The alcohol needs to take a back seat and you have to remember that, first and foremost, you are a mother.  You have gone from ‘one classy lady’ to a candidate for the Jeremy Kyle show.  Stop and think what your parents would be saying.

Dear British Summer

We haven’t seen you for a while.  About three years?!  Get your bum into gear and hit us with a humdinger this year.  I have books to write and a garden to write them in.  What I don’t have is a passport, money to go overseas or the time to travel - I need you to deliver to my front door and this time, if you don’t, I will be writing a strong letter to The Times - enough’s enough.

Dear Family

Your mother/grandmother is not getting any younger.  Things can be left until they are too late and nobody wants that.  Do they?  We are ALL guilty in our own ways for being where we are, every one of us, and I think she deserves more.  Every single member of my family who reads this should take stock and ask themselves some questions.  Every single one.

Dear Blog Readers

Phew!  Bit of a marathon this week, wasn’t it?  If you made it this far, go and grab a cuppa or a glass of something lovely (depending on the time of day - I’d hate to encourage early boozing) and while you’re at it check out my books on Amazon!  Gotta keep that leaky old roof over our heads!

Chatty Man meets the Misfit

With the release of ‘Stilettos & Stubble’ just over a week away, I’m feeling a little giddy with all the work and excitement.  Releasing a new book is an exhausting process - the writing really is the easy part - and I’m constantly referring to my faithful list to make sure that everything is on track and ready to go.  Poor hubbie has been worked to a frazzle and I couldn’t do any of this without him.

So as I sink further into my ‘pre-release’ madness, this week I’m indulging myself in an imaginary interview.

Let me set the scene for you … 

‘Stilettos & Stubble’ has been picked up by a HUGE hot-shot producer and is being made into a feature film.  (See, I told you it was indulgent!) and I’ve been invited to talk on Alan Carr’s ‘Chatty Man’- where better?

Hair and make-up have worked wonders on me and I’m wearing a simple, but sexy black jersey dress and strappy shoes.

 

 So that’s me ready to go then - cue huge round of applause as Alan welcomes me on set and I manage to get to my seat without tripping or flashing my knickers.

ALAN:  So, Amanda, what can I offer you to drink, my love?

ME:  Well in the style of my Mummy Misfit books, I guess it has to be a ‘Pink Cock’ if you’ve got one there, Alan.

ALAN:  (huge guffawing and much showing of many teeth)  Oo-er, Missus!  I most certainly have got one hiding somewhere in here and I’m rather partial myself, so I think I might join you.

ALAN:  (sipping and wiping froth from his mouth with a suggestive wink)  Ooh, yum.  Good choice, girlfriend!  Now, tell me a little bit about the novel that this fab movie is based on?  I might just have another pink cock while you chat, if that’s OK?

ME:  Well, Alan, ‘Stilettos & Stubble’ tells the story of a larger than average lady who finds happiness in the most unexpected of places - the film is going to be huge fun with a great cast and soundtrack.

ALAN:  Ooh, yes the music is wonderful.  I had a great little work out to it in the shower this morning - some fantastic tracks, I have to say.  So, what gave you the idea to write about an Amazonian woman?  It’s not the usual type for a chicklit novel, is it?  And you don’t mind me calling it chicklit do you - not gonna hit me with your handbag?

ME:  No, I don’t mind at all!  There’s no shame in writing or reading chicklit - there’s a massive market for it, as much as it’s slagged off.  I got the idea from watching an episode of ‘Miranda’ and suddenly I found I had a whole plot in my head.

 ALAN:  Now, I’ve seen a few clips and it really is very funny but it also has a bit of a message going on in there, doesn’t it?  See, I’m not as thick as I look!  (pulls face at camera)

ME:  Yes, Alan.  It’s all about accepting people for what they are - going beyond the outside shell.  I think everyone in the story learns that in one way or another.

ALAN:  Well with a face like this, I’m all for that philosophy!  More cock?  (he tops up my drink.)  Now, it’s been a really exciting year for you, hasn’t it?  It’s not just the film coming out but also a mini series based on the ‘Mummy Misfit’ books.  How exciting is that?

ME:  Very exciting!  My readers have often told me that the Misfit books would make great TV but it just seemed that it would never happen.  Now it’s almost in the can and I think they’ve done a great job with it.  It’s everything I’d hoped it would be.

ALAN:  Is it true that you got chased out of Putney by Yummy Mummies wielding designer handbags because they were so annoyed with you?  

ME:  No Alan, that’s not true.  Most of the mums have been very supportive - and those that haven’t obviously see a snippet of themselves in the nastier mums in the book.  That’s their problem - I’m having the last laugh!

ALAN:  And what about ‘Fenella’ - Mummy Misfit’s best friend?  She’s the posh totty with a heart, isn’t she?  Is she real or made-up?

ME:  There is a Fenella in my life but the character was very loosely based on her.  It is a work of fiction and I think people need to remember that.

ALAN:  So are you saying that your Fenella wouldn’t sing a song on your breakfast bar and then fall off?

ME:  No, I’m not.  My Fenella would definitely do that!

ALAN:  Ooh, we should get her on the show!  Now, you often have gentlemen of the homosexual persuasion in your books - why is that?

ME:  Well, coming from a theatrical background, a lot of my friends were gay and I always felt more comfortable with them than I did with the girls.  Writing about them just comes easily to me.

ALAN:  If you were going to write about a really handsome gay guy looking for lurrrve (raises eyebrows at the camera) would you use me as inspiration and what would your plot be?

ME:  (trying to contain laughter)  Of course I’d use you, Alan, and I think I’d have you working as a topless carwash assistant who meets the man of his dreams when he brings his throbbing Lamborghini in for a rub down.

ALAN:  (gulps at his pink cock and fans himself)  Oooh, now that’s one book I’d definitely like to read - got a bit hot under the collar there!  (wipes forehead with a lace hankie)  OK, moving swiftly on now, I think we’ll finish up with the closing music from ‘Stilettos & Stubble’ - an uplifting little number, ‘I Am Woman’.  Huge thanks to the lovely Miss Amanda Egan for being on the show - we’re off to share another couple of pink cocks and have a boogie.

 ‘Stilettos & Stubble’ will be released on Kindle at Amazon and in paperback at Lulu on 28^th November.  ‘It’s what’s inside that counts’