Sunday, 15 July 2018

Pink or blue babies


What I want to know is, why? I see babies in the town every day, and they are invariably dressed in pink or blue. I even saw a pink baby wearing pink clothes travelling in a pink pram*. It's almost as though the parents need reminding whether they have a boy or a girl.

I dressed my own babies in either colour (not so much pink. I'm not a fan of pink). I didn't need to colour code them. I knew who/what they were. (Both sexes looked great in navy; it matches babies' eyes.)  Grown men and women don't go around in pink or blue; why do it for babies?

Where do you stand on pink/blue? And does it really matter (no. I'll answer that one myself).

*What if they have a boy next time? New pram?

Tuesday, 10 July 2018

One of my greatest achievements!

After about thirty years of people patiently explaining, I finally understand the off-side rule, just in time for the big match tomorrow! My helpers have, over the years, tried to explain,  usually using salt and pepper pots to demonstrate who stands where when whatever it is happens, but until today  it has remained a mystery. But no more!

If anyone would like me to explain, just bring your own salt and pepper and I'll be more than happy to help. I'll even give you a cup of coffee.

You're welcome.

Wednesday, 4 July 2018

Bargain!

Today is the last day for purchasing Women Behaving Badly for 99p on Kindle. The link is   here .

That really is all. No more commercials for a while. I'm sure you hate reading them as much as I hate writing them. Next time, I'll write something hugely entertaining and not about my books at all. How much easier it is to advertise someone else rahter than oneself....

Monday, 2 July 2018

Arrival of Ruth Robinson

Ruth Robinson's Year of Miracles is now up on Amazon for preorder here  (Kindle version only. Paperback on release date) and is out on August 9th.

Just thought I'd say... 😀

Thursday, 28 June 2018

New novel, new novel, new novel...


Some time ago, I wrote a mad romp of a novel*, but it was so off-the-wall that I stuck it in the famous cyber drawer and forgot about it. But more recently, I dug it out and  sent it to a writer friend, and she absolutely loved it. So does my publisher. It comes out for the first time on pre-order soon, and I'm really excited about it.

As I've said before, I hate, hate, hate self-promotion, and I'm terrible at it. I've only told one or two of my friends about this novel. But here on my blog I feel I can say, please give it a try when it comes out. It will be only 99p on pre-order on Kindle (August in paperback), and I'd love it if you would buy it. Please?

And if you don't buy it, thank you anyway for reading this.

* Original title: The Virgin of the Hen House (hence the chickens), but I was firmly persuaded that that was a bad idea. I think they were right.

Tuesday, 12 June 2018

Things I've learnt recently

1. The Heimlich manoeuvre really works. I tried it on my husband when a pill got stuck in his throat, and the pill just flew out. I can't wait to try it again!

2. People are either born tidy or they're not. I've tried and tried, but the trouble is, I just don't care enough. So it's silly to envy tidy people (which I do) because theoretically I should be able to change...

3. My horse hates cows that walk towards him. Two of us had a horrible cow experience last Monday, and we both nearly fell off.

4. You can get bored with grey knickers (I bought some because I thought that since they always end up grey, they might as well start off grey. Now I long for sparkling new white ones but I'm too mean to throw the grey ones away).

5. Looking after grandchildren who are at school all day give me time to write pointless blog posts. (I have tidied and made the beds, so I'm not a complete slob.)

6. Dijon mustard two years past its sell by date is not nice, but it is edible. Just.

7. Anthony Trollope really is my favourite author.


Saturday, 2 June 2018

Do we need to scream more?


This week, I read of a young teenager who was severely  depressed. Anti-depressants hadn't worked, and in the end she went to a place in the country where people like her were treated. There, she was encouraged to go out into the nearby woods (safely) and scream her pain. It worked. She still takes medication, but she is much better for her screaming.

When my first husband died, the pain was so bad that I felt like screaming, but of course I didn't. Well we don't, do we? During the funeral, I wished we were of a culture where screaming was allowed; even encouraged. Where people throng round a funeral pyre and yell their anguish uninhibitedly. But we all wept quietly. Weeping quietly is acceptable; even expected.

Then, one evening, things came to a head. I think I'd had some trivial disagreement with one of the children about PE kit (or something equally unimportant). I got in the car, and drove a short distance down the road and up a country lane. And I screamed. I screamed and screamed and screamed. I screamed so much and so loudly that I was hoarse for a week afterwards, but it helped. I got some of that anguish out; I was able to vocalise how I felt. Not by the quiet weeping that I'd been doing for the last couple of weeks, but with a full-on explosion of pain.

It's odd that it's fine to scream at a pop concert (provided you're young enough) or in extreme danger, but not when assailed by one of the worse pains of all: bereavement. It's just not British.

It doesn't even feel quite right writing it here; after all, I am British. But I'm going to, anyway....