The RNA Pure Passion Awards Lunch, otherwise known as a Shoe In

As a mother of four, I really really don't get out much. And the chance of me going somewhere posh and putting on a pretty frock are normally zilch.

However, this year the RNA, ie my favourite writing group in the world, celebrated it's 50th anniversary. PLUS, I was on the longlist for the main award which was dead exciting. However, the awards ceremony was on a Tuesday, and the domestic commitments I have at present, meant I felt I couldn't commit to going unless, I miraculously made the shortlist (needless, to say, dear reader, I didn't). Having decided NOT to go, step up the hero of the hour in the shape of my lovely mother, who decided I needed a treat and was very happy to come and do the school run and cook tea on the day in question. Yay for lovely mother, particularly as she stayed for several days and did all sorts of helpful things round the house. It was like having my own personal fairy.

So my personal fairy having waved her magic wand, Cinderella could make it to the ball. I had with help from the youngest bought a posh dress (see here for a picture of me wearing it. If I was an organised blogger, I would have PICTURES. But I'm not, and I am a bit short of time, so am sending to you my friends' blogs instead, sorry about that. You can go here for a Proper Report and pics of the winners, and here for pics of the partygoers, and very glam they look too!). I had also at Christmas bought myself some luvverly sparkly shoes. The first rule of any RNA do is that you are going to have a good time. The girls (and some boys) of the RNA really really know how to partaaay!! The second rule is you HAVE TO HAVE lovely shoes. I am absolutely crap at describing clothes & shoes and wouldn't know my Jimmy Choos from - well any other kind of posh shoe maker (bit of a bugger that, when writing contemporary fiction, always have to get my editor to tell me where to look(-:) - but it is a RULE at RNA dos that the most important item of clothing you wear will be on your feet. So a pair of lovely sparkly shoes was an absolute must.

Alas, dear reader, two minutes before leaving I had a catastrophic shoe disaster. I put my glam shoes on and the elastic on the strap broke. It was irreparable, I was inconsolable, AND I had a train to catch. Amazingly for me, for once I had actually left myself enough time. So realising that not only did I have to wear a scrappy pair of sandals, but also the only tights I could find were THICK BLACK UGLY WINTER ones, I decided there was nothing for it, I was going to have to scour the streets of High Street Ken (dammit, why did we have to be in such a pricey part of town?) for a pair of new shoes and some lovely soft shiny tights to wear with them.

So I came out of the tube station and went straight into some serious shopping. My first foray into Clark's was a total waste of time. They only seemed to sell what the children would no doubt have referred to as "Old Lady" shoes. The next shop up the road, I walked into and straight out again when I saw a price tag of £100 on a pair of shoes that looked like they'd have been overpriced in New Look. I criss crossed up and down the road, with an increasing sense of desperation. Either the shops I went into didn't do sparkly party shoes, or they did at exorbitant prices.

Finally, I decided I had one last shot, and entered a really blingy shoe shop with shoes bearing such outrageous sparkles, it had to be designed for a potential RNA partygoer, and there on the first shelf I looked at, miraculously sat a pair of sparkly shoes very similar to the ones which had earlier let me down. My fairy godmother was certainly working overtime.

So it was that ten minutes later, having also purchased some suitable hosiery from Boots, I found myself tottering into the loos at the Kensington Garden Hotel and completely changing my footwear. Now suitably shod, I was ready, at last to enter the fray...

And what a fray it was. Within minutes of arrival I had encountered a fellow writer who lives in my home town, whom I've been promising to meet for months, several writing friends whom I haven't seen for a couple of years, a friendly agent, my lovely publishers, one of my fellow Avon authors, Miranda Dickinson and shortlistee (sadly she didn't win), who I've been tweeting with since the autumn and so on...

Thanks to my very very late purchase of a ticket I was on a table where I only knew a couple of people, but this being the RNA, it really really didn't matter, as I may or may not have mentioned another RNA rule is that a) everyone is incredibly friendly and b) most of them love to talk. So do I. Which is why I feel right at home.

Our wonderful Chair, Katie Fforde gave a lovely and funny speech, despite battling a hideous cold and then passed over to guest of honour, Barry Norman,who gave a warm and witty speech and endeared himself to every writer in the room by telling us, that while filmstars didn't make him starstruck, writers did, because he knows how hard it is. Fittingly, as the RNA is such a stalwart supporter of unpublished (or prepublished, as some of us prefer to think of them) writers, he made no distinction between those of us who've been lucky to secure a publishing deal and those who are still working on it, which is just as it should be.

There were six awards this year:

The RNA People's Choice was won by Louise Douglas for Missing You
The RNA Love Story of the year by Nell Dixon for Animal Instincts
The RNA Romantic Comedy of the year by Jane Costello for The Nearly-Weds
The Harry Bowling Prize (for a prepublished author) by Debbie Johnson
The Romantic Film of the Year was An Education and Lynn Barber accepted the award.
The Romantic Novel of the Year for Lost Dogs and Lonely Hearts by Lucy Dillon.
While I was naturally disappointed that Miranda didn't win, I was also really delighted for Lucy whose stories are lovely, and for her editor Isobel Akenhead who is another twitter friend.

Meanwhile two lifetime achievement awards were given to the awesomely talented Maeve Binchy and Joanna Trollope, both very worthy winners.

After the excitement of the awards, everyone got down to the serious business of partying and we all took ourselves over to the Goat pub across the road, where I was delighted to meet another couple of Twitter friends: Tamsyn Murray (get her fab book My So Called After Life now!! )and Brigid Coady, as well as meeting the wonderful Jill Mansell in the flesh after having been online friends for ooh, at least eight years. If you ever want a good heartwarming read, with dollops of real life, and brilliant humour, Jill's your woman. Rumour Has It saved my sanity last summer on holiday, and am already in the queue for her next one.

The only downside to RNA parties is that there are so many people you can't get to meet them all, so there were a few writing pals I waved at briefly and never spoke to, but I'm hoping to make up for that in the summer, when (sssh, don't tell Spouse) I hope to get to their summer conference.

All in all it was a fabulous, brilliant day (oops I was one of the last to leave the pub), and huge congrats go to the RNA Committee for putting on such a great bash. I had a great time. And would have, with or without the right pair of shoes...

More shameless self promotion, oh yeah, yeah. (Or How Not to Write a Book)

Actually have been very very slow to announce this, but here is the gorgeous cover of my next book, The Bridesmaid Pact which is coming out on May 27th.

The Bridesmaid Pact tells the story of four friends: Doris, Sarah, Caz and Beth, who watch Diana and Charles getting married as eight year olds and and make a vow to be each other's bridesmaids when they grow up, and then for a variety of reasons fail to do so...

I think I am quite pleased with the end result (though so far all readers seem to have cried, I presume this is a good sign(-:), but I can honestly say this book was an utter pig to write.

When I started it, it all seemed to be going so well too - as I blogged here - though I recognised from the off this book was going to be a slightly painful one to write, the first few scenes did literally write themselves.

But oh dear, god, once I got going, it was like getting blood out of a stone. I spent the best part of last year not being able to settle to it - as I may have mentioned before Prevarication is my middle name - and whenever I did sit down to write it seemed to go painfully slowly. Initially I was supposed to finish by the end of the summer term. FAIL. I was only a quarter of the way through. My lovely editor kindly extended the deadline to October, and my plan then was to take my laptop away on holiday and write while my children splashed happily in the pool. MAJOR FAIL. As blogreaders may remember, thanks to a panic attack which sent me to Casualty the day before we went, I was in no fit state to do anything when we got there. I did, however discover, that writing by hand made the story flow better. So I bought some notebooks and started to scribble away. This was all fine and dandy up to a point, but when I came home my panicky state meant I could barely bear to go near a computer, so I ended up writing the majority of the book by hand.

It was only when I came to type it up that I realised a) how little I'd actually written (the book was probably about 20 000 words light on its first draft and b) how very long it takes to type things up. So it was I had another deadline FAIL and Spouse wasn't best pleased when we went to my mother's for the weekend and I spent the whole time typing away on the laptop.

However, I got there in the end. Finished book sent it off and waited for a response.

Now, my normal MO for writing is, I get an idea, the characters form in my head, usually a pivotal scene jumps out at me, all during my prevarication period, and THEN I sit down and write a reasonably detailed synopsis. It's kind of like an essay plan, or a hanger on which the bare bones of the plot are laid out, and I fill in the gaps. I've got into that way of writing, and its where I feel comfortable. However, this time, my brilliant system went tits up.

For a start, the characters all started clammering to talk to me. Although Doris is my main character, the others wanted their share of the limelight too, and they all wanted to tell their story in the first person (something I haven't attempted since my very first failed ms), PLUS there had to be a lot of switching back and forth between past and present which quite frankly did my head in. And I was conscious the whole time that I needed to get their individual voices right - Doris was relatively easy, she's quite dappy but also terribly smart (I knew two fearfully clever girls at uni who were brunettes but behaved like dizzy blondes, then freaked boys out by being cleverer then them, and I thought it would be fun to have a character like that), and Caz, who is probably the spikiest and least likeable character I have written was great fun as she belligerently popped out of nowhere, but in my first draft Sarah (the sensible one) and Beth (the shy one) were in danger of appearing interchangeable, though I hope I've sorted that now.

Another reason that this book was hard, was because while I haven't had any of the experiences my characters have, I did dip into a whole well of emotion from things I have experienced to tell their stories, and it turned out to be quite a difficult thing to do. I think it would have been tricky anyway, but the writing and rewriting coincided with one of the most stressful periods of my life in recent years, and hence the first draft was a little short on humour, shall we say. Again, I hope I've fixed that now(-:

Finally, when I came to do the first rewrites, my lack of planning showed through woefully - my editor said wisely that it was like trying to fit a jigsaw puzzle together, and I can tell you getting the bits in the right place was bloody hard work. And I had another Major Fail when I missed that deadline twice (I really thought I could do it before Christmas, but no, and then promised to get it in in January, and Christmas was such a disaster I missed that one too.)

I am IMMENSELY grateful to all the lovely people at Avon who a) have been sympathetic and understanding beyond the call of duty during my trials and tribulations and b) have bust a gut to make up for my tardiness, whilst also working their rocks off to get me the loveliest cover imaginable. Thanks guys, I promise to do better next time.

When it came to rewrite 2, I then realised that for a wedding book, it wasn't really very weddingy. So I spent ages researching dresses (I am really really crap at describing what people wear), and tapped into as many wedding memories of mine and other weddings I've been to, to get the right feel. Phew. I think the balance is right now.

But my worst moment was at the copyediting stage, when I had less then a week, as it came in over half term, and I realised to my horror that NONE of my dates matched up. I think I've got it right now, as I had to write a proper timeline (NOTE TO SELF: Do this at the beginning next time), but if you do happen to find a mistake, please don't send me dozens of emails to tell me. I really don't want to know...

Still, I got there in the end, and like I say, to the best of my ability (it is almost impossible to judge your own work accurately) I think its ok. I certainly like the characters and their situations, and I hope I can make you laugh and cry with them.

Having done it all wrong this time around, I am hoping to learn from the experience next time. So my latest plan is to disappear periodically to the library with my laptop to escape the perils of internet timewasting and make me feel like I'm properly going out to work. Working from home, particularly with my current set of domestic responsibilities means it's all too easy to put work on the back burner. I am hoping if I can discipline myself a bit more, I stand some chance of meeting my next deadline. Well that's the plan....

As usual, my story has a soundtrack, and for the Bridesmaid Pact it goes like this:

White Wedding by Billy Idol - had to be soundtrack for the book, didn't it? I've always loved the energy of this song, and I think it's particularly apposite for Caz's wedding at the beginning of the book.

You Know I'm no Good Amy Winehouse for Caz. You have to hand it to Amy, she has a brilliant knack of turning her personal disasters into fabulous songs. Caz is the wild child of the quartet, so this song sums her up.

However, when I heard Wire to Wire by Razorlight on the radio one day, I thought wow, this could have been written for Caz. It really fits her self destructive sadness, and sends shivers up my spine. Fab, fab, fab song.

I love the high energy of Let me Entertain You by Robbie Williams , which is a great party track and totally suitable for Doris' joie de vivre, battiness and hen night with her mates.

Pure by the Lightning Seeds is one of my favourite love songs, and just for Doris and Darren's relationship. Pure and simple all the time. I'm always a little in love with my leading men, but I adore Darren. He's very cute.

The Shadow of Love by the Damned is a great gothic song which fits Caz very well - if she were to get married, I can see her doing it goth style...

and Always on my Mind by the Petshop Boys (yes I know they covered Elvis, but I do love their vierson) is just right for Caz and Charlie

Thanks to a flurry of tweets on Twitter one day, I had a great Fleetwood Mac fest, and have ended up with Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac for Sarah - is there a better break up song?

As well as, Love is a Losing Game by Amy Winehouse - the sad poignant melancholy of this song fits Sarah's sense of loss perfectly.

Caz doesn't know her dad and feels the loss keenly, so Oh Daddy by Fleetwood Mac (thank you Twitterverse) was the obvious choice here, more for the emotions then the lyrics. I think it is powerful, sad and heartrending. Perfect!

Songbird more Fleetwood Mac for Beth, who hides a painful secret, and somehow this song sums up her pain for me as well as giving hope for the future. Plus it's just BEAUTIFUL.

The Man with the Child in his Eyes for Beth and Matt - don't know why, it seems to fit their story somehow.

The Sadness Runs Through Him by the Hoosiers is another heartrending song which fits Beth and Matt, whose situation particularly gets to me.

Before I fall to Pieces by Razorlight is for Caz, who has to stumble a little on the way to finding redemption. Again this song seemed to capture her perfectly.

Hurt by Johnny Cash is the pivotal song of the book, for Doris and Darren particularly, but for al the characters in their own different ways. And it always makes me weep...

And finally, Doris is obsessed with all things Disney and this is a book about friendship, so You've Got A Friend in Me by Randy Newman from Toy Story is the perfect swan song!

Vote for me, oh yeah.

OK, so here's the thing. My publishers have suggested I enter this blog competition and for pubbed/unpubbed authors who blog, and asked me to ask you lovely people to vote for me. At which point I have come over all English and embarrassed (picture me BLUSHING here) and feel like a total twat. In fact I feel just like Laney Boggs in She's All That when Zac suggests she run for Prom Queen. (Waddya mean you haven't seen She's All That - go and watch it right now, if only for the fantastic dance scene at the prom.)



Anyway. I've entered. Vote for me. Yeah, Yeah. Otherwise. Vote for someone else whose blog you like more. Really, I won't mind. Well, not much...

That is all.

IF you do feel so inclined you can vote for me here and earn my undying gratitude. That was worth it now, wasn't it?

PS have tried and failed to add a widgety thing. But apparently I should have this on my blog too. Am so no good at this kind of stuff(-:

Boy meets Girl

I seem not to be blogging very much at the moment, though I'm not sure why, as ironically I seem to have a little more time, but somehow not much inclination.

I HAD planned to blog about the finale of Being Human, but seem to have missed the moment, so I'm saying nothing except, waahaahaaaay!!! for that ending, I was on the edge of my seat all the way through and nearly jumped up and punched the ceiling when the identity of the vampire brought back from the dead was. Bring on series 3!!

Next week looks like being busy, and I should really be blogging this Monday, but I'm going to get ahead of myself for once, and do it now.

Next Monday you see is a very important day for Spouse and me as it marks a quarter of a century of us being together. Oo-er, now I feel PROPERLY old. When my parents used to talk about 25 years ago I used to think how can you remember that far back? And yet I can remember THAT day incredibly clearly...

Spouse and I first met in the October of 1984. I'd been at Liverpool University three weeks, and on my very first day had made friends with someone who later became my flatmate, and remains a good friend (albeit that she now lives on the other side of the world). My friend had spent two days in Liverpool the previous year. and had there encountered someone on Spouse's course. They got on rather well and spent the rest of the year writing to one another (my friend hadn't quite twigged that he had a romantic interest in her). Needless to say this boy had mentioned her name ad nauseam all year, so that when she turned up at Liverpool, Spouse and his mates were keen to meet the mystery woman.

In fact it was two of Spouse's pals who met her first, and one of them, a rather gobby Scouse medic took a shine to her. Such a shine that he invited her out to a nightclub with him. He made the mistake of asking her in front of a group of us who were sitting having coffee in her room.
Panicking slightly, my friend said yes, on condition he invited all of us. The medic panicked equally and turned up at Spouse's house, demanding back up.

And so it was, that I found myself one cold October evening in the Willow Bank Pub on Smithdown Road (later to become a favourite haunt) , with my girlfriends and a bunch of blokes who were so shy they all hunted in packs. One of them, needless to say, was Spouse.

I'd like to say at this point, that Cupid shot his arrow, it was love at first sight, etc etc, only that wouldn't be true.

What actually happened was, my Adonis, was crouched over the bar, fag in one hand, beer glass in another, and in a gesture which I later realised was the result of crippling shyness, he covered his hand over his mouth every time he spoke.

He seemed nice enough, and was delighted I was soft southerner like he was (there weren't many of us who'd ventured up north), and immediately started talking to me about nightclubs in London. I think he was showing off, but it made no impact on me, as I'd only managed to go out to one nightclub at that time, and hadn't rated the experience. We had several polite conversations during the evening and that was that...

Now one of his friends, on the other hand... well he made an impact on me, but sadly I didn't on him.

If you'd told me at the end of that evening I'd be marrying the shy dentist who chain smoked I think I'd have probably laughed in your face.


Over the course of the next few months, we met at various parties. Though I was never part of any kind of cool dudey gang, it certainly gave us first years a certain cachet to get invited to all the second year parties and feel more grown up then we did in hall. As time went on I found myself more often then not talking with Spouse in the kitchen at parties, usually sharing the bottle of vodka he'd secreted in his voluminous (obligatory) student black coat. With his entertaining conversation, black jacket, skinny jeans, black pointy boots and GREAT taste in music, I wasn't exactly falling for him, but certainly a party when he wasn't there was rather dull. Mind you, not sure my twin would say the same. She was first introduced to Spouse in a cab after a very wild drunken Liverpudlian night out (I used to go and stay with her in York and have CIVILIZED weekends), and the memory haunts her still... There was also the memorable time when Spouse, one of his mates and I were at a party that was heaving with so many students it was a wonder the house didn't collapse. As a result of the chaos the police were called, and we got to see the strong arm of the law up close and a little too personal. (I will never forget the sight of a female copper, built like a brick shithouse, pushing some poor sap against the wall for making some sarcy remark as he left.).

Come the January, I was still thinking we were mates (I was interested in someone else, who alas wasn't interested in me - do you see a pattern here?), until one party when I spent ages talking to him and he seemed really solicitous of me. Rather stupidly it didn't occur to me that things could develop into anything else, so I thought nothing of it and then didn't see him for a while. I might have been kidding myself there though, as I do remember looking out for him at various points and being disappointed that he wasn't there.

Come the week before term ended, and it had been several weeks since we'd seen each other. On the Friday night there was a disco in hall, and I had bought a ticket. However I had arranged an evening with my other, inexplicably-disinterested-in-me love interest, so I decided I wasn't going. Getting back at midnight, I still thought I wasn't going, but the disco was so noisy I knew I was never going to sleep. plus, Id spent MONEY on a ticket, so I changed my mind.

And so it was that I wandered into the Rathbone Hall Disco on March 15 1985, rather late in the evening and clocked Spouse in the corner. I must go and say hello I thought, but got distracted dancing and talking to my mates. Eventually at about 1.45, fifteen minutes before the end of the evening (nothing like leaving things to the last minute, eh, but I didn't know Cupid was about to start playing funny games with me), I summoned the courage to talk to him. Now why was I feeling nervous, when I thought I didn't fancy him? Hmm, funny that...

We got chatting and chatting and I was dimly unaware that he was trying to ask me to dance. In fact I was so unaware of the fact, that it was quite surprising to later discover his friend was poking him in the back, saying Go on, ask her to dance. Eventually Spouse took the hint, and we headed for the floor for the last few dances of the evening. I can't remember which order they were played in, but I do know we danced to: I Want to Know what Love is, by Foreigner, and Drive You Home Tonight by the Cars - pathetically after all this time, I still go weak at the knees when I hear those songs...

I don't know how it was with you when you were young free and single but the general etiquette when I went to discos was that if you weren't interested you pushed off after the first dance. I didn't know that I was interested, but I was in the mood for a little fun, so I hung on for the second dance, and had a moment before the third when I took the split decision to be chilled and see what would happen next...

What happened next was much snogging and me walking out on his arm, much to the surprise of all our friends. THAT was so much fun, seeing everybody's mouths agog, as I hadn't admitted ot anyone I was interested in Spouse (hell, I hadn't admitted it to myself till that moment). We went back to my room and spent the night talking (yes, talking, really, I was quite innocent in those days), and I suddenly realised, hey I like this guy, like really like him.

As he left we tried to arrange a date.
Can you do tomorrow he said - nope, had already got a date with Bob Geldof and the Boomtown Rats at Liverpool Empire Theatre.
What about Sunday? (Oops going out again with other love non interested in me party, tricky one). Busy I'm afraid.
We got as far as Tuesday and arranged a date to go the cinema. I can't remember what we saw but I still remember the nerves of choosing what to wear, followed by the panic that he might blow me out, and the weird realization that I'd gone from being quite relaxed in his company to insanely nervous. How had that happened? We were supposed to go out the next night, but he'd forgotten he had an exam (I mean, how do you forget exams??). Two dizzying evenings together followed, (during one of which he introduced me the Mamas& Papas and the Zombies - California Dreamin' and She's Not There, also make me go weak at the knees) and then I was going home on the Saturday, so we went out the Friday night and pulled another all nighter, before he took me to the coach station. By the time I left I can remember counting the seconds till we were parted and wondering how I was going to bear a whole month away from him. Within a week I had gone from vaguely interested to completely smitten.

I'd had a blinding and very funny week, but as he saw me off on that coach, much as I wanted it to,I really didn't think it was going to come to anything. We'd had a fun end of term and that was it, or so I thought.

Shows how very very wrong you can be...

Having dinner with your parents...

Yesterday, of course, was Valentine's Day, which as a writer of romantic fiction, I can hardly ignore, can I? In case you thought Valentine's Day is for unrequited lovers, let me put you right, according to this article here, St V was more interested in established partnerships and the real man for the job is St Raphael (handy that I put him in Last Christmas then).

Spouse and I tend to use St V's day as a rare opportunity to get some quality time together. This can be a variable feast. Last year we ended up in a cold chalet at Pontin's, but you can't have everything you want in life.

This year the day falling on a Sunday, and us normally having aged mil for Sunday lunch, we felt going out for dinner was a bit of a waste of time, and given no 1 had a party till 8.30 on Saturday (sigh, her social life is sooo much more interesting then ours), going out then was a no no too. So we went for the Eating In is the new Eating Out option (or one of my pet hates, "date night", ugh). When the children were little, this was a relatively easy way for us to have some grown up time to ourselves. But now of course, they go to bed really late, so trying to get a quiet intimate dinner round the table takes some doing.

Added to which Spouse always thinks a trip to Ann Summers is in order before we have any time to ourselves. A slightly mortifying proposition for both of us - he lives in fear of meeting his patients, I live in fear of meeting school run mums, or worse, their husbands... I am always impressed by the sang-froid shown by the younger generation though, who genuinely don't seem to be as embarrassed by the presence of so many rampant rabbits as I am. And don't mind at all being asked by the staff if they need help. It is bad enough that I have managed to get myself through the door of Ann Summers. I most DEFINITELY do not want help when I get there.

As a result of my mortification, my first trip Ann Summersward , left me coming away empty handed. But then Spouse had the bright idea of a Sutton shopping trip on Saturday. While he distracted the children in Primark, I was sent off to buy something nice in Ann Summers (and actually once I get over the discomfit, I am not averse to buying nice underwear - if I was buying it in M&S I wouldn't even blink). It was quite liberating knowing the chances of meeting someone I knew were zero (though have just had the awful thought in a few years I shall probably be meeting no 1's friends in there, eek), so I came away with something suitably slinky. Result.

What then ensued was that when we got back home and I decided to slip into my something slinky for a later point in the evening when the offspring had all departed to bed, no4 took it upon herself to nosily wonder what I was up to. Her notion of what I was up to involved her imminent birthday, not any idea of her mother having some kind of Other Life which most definitely does not involve children. So every time I tried to secrete my new purchases from my bag the door would fly open and in would burst my youngest saying, suspiciously, What are you doing, Mummy? (you have noooo idea...). This was slightly less tricky to deal with then the time no 2, then aged 7 came running in when I was trying to force my somewhat bulging post baby body into places it really shouldn't go, which involved buttons pinging off inconveniently and I had to hide behind the bed and have a conversation with her (yes, really, and so as not to waste the embarrassment, I put a similar scene in Pastures New, oh yes.) In the end though I sent her packing and locked myself in for ten minutes, so she probably spent the next half an hour scouring my bedroom for birthday presents.

Then it was time for Saturday evening with the family. Usually this involves Chinese from Sainsbury's, but I forgot to buy crispy Duck, so had to make do with a duck we had in the freezer which took forever to cook. In the meantime I had to go up to visit mil to do various tasks, before picking up the eldest from her party at 8.30pm. By the time we got back at nine, everyone was still up, and no one had eaten, so any chance of Spouse and I having some ahem quiet time together vanished into the distance.

Honestly, he said, it's worse then living with your parents.

This is very true. OTOH, I feel that maybe we can add an extra spice into life by managing to keep that side of life going without them guessing at all. After all, as far as they're concerned we're practically old enough to have bus passes, so I'm sure they don't think we get up to THAT sort of thing anymore at all.

In fact as far as the youngest knows, who has had the Daddy puts his seed into Mummy's tummy chat, we've only ever done it four times.

Yup. That's right. Four times. And it was so disgusting we'll never ever do it again.

Or at least, not until our children have grown up and left home...

Being Human Series 2

Last year I blogged here ,(rather incoherently )here, here and here about Being Human, which was my favourite programme of 2009. I loved it so much I was desperate for the new series to start, and so far while it hasn't quite matched the dizzy heights of last year, neither has it disappointed. I would have blogged about it earlier, but life has been a tad busy, and you may have noticed I haven't been blogging much at all anyway. But last night's episode was soooo good, I couldn't put it off any more, and have to do a bit of squeeing and say, yaayyyy, for Being Human being back, yaaayyyy for Gorgeous George, yaaayyyy last night for Tough Annie, yaaaayyyy for Moody Mitchell's moral dilemmas and yaayyyy for Toby Whithouse for coming up with something so inventive.

As usual....


There



Will



Be


Spoilers



And


A

Bit


of


Squeeing


If


You


Can


Stand


It.



I have to fess up to having felt a little let down by episode 1. It didn't help that we missed the first five minutes and children kept coming and interrupting us so I didn't have my full attention on it, but I just didn't quite enjoy it as much as I'd hoped. Firstly, it seemed a little flat - maybe this is natural, after all, the whole concept isn't new and fresh like it was last year, the immediate threat from Herrick and the vampires has gone (leaving not only Mitchell without purpose, as George points out, but perhaps the series too), Annie seemed to have gone back to being vapid and girly again, George was mean and moody and dark (though I liked that actually, for once I didn't like him), and I was at a loss to see the point of Daisy and Ivan pitching up and Daisy seducing George. It also lacked focus, in that I wasn't quite sure who the baddies were this time - the slightly insane Christian group who appear to be trying to cure werewolves by injecting them with something and putting them in a pressure chamber to stop the change happening. Only so far it's a bit disastrous as the werewolves can't cope with pressure and tend to have their brains spattered against the walls - or Daisy and Ivan, who just seem there to cause mischief.

However, I did go back and rewatch it on iplayer, and it worked better on a second viewing. It is still very much a picking up the pieces, where do we go from here, kind of episode, but there are some funny moments - Mitchell meeting Lucy in the loos & telling her "As much as I sympathise if we're comparing isolation and disappointment I think I win", and realising as far as women are concerned he's turned into George - and some extremely touching moments, when Nina finally reveals to George that she is a werewolf too, and George stops Daisy from killing her daughter. Not quite up to par with last year, but still good, because of top notch performances from everyone, including of course lovely Russell Tovey as George, who thankfully by the end of the episode had got over his grumpiness and was sad in pain, sweet George once again.

Episode two was much better, but again we watched it in a fairly disjointed fashion as we missed the first fifteen minutes, and then watched them later to try and find out what we'd not seen, which didn't really work. Thank god for iplayer, eh? Cos watching it again it all made much more sense. I loved this episode, it was really really scary, with Annie, being befriended by Saul, a man she's met in the pub, only for it turn out that Saul has had a near death experience and is having visions from tvs and radios telling him to get Annie to come with him. The creepiest of these was via Terry Wogan on Perfect Recall (a programme I didn't know even existed till I coincidentally caught it a couple of days later). I love Wogan as blog readers probably know (and am still mourning his loss in the mornings), and I thought he was a brilliant choice for this role - delivering his lines with his usual avuncular style but with a dash of hidden menace which gave the whole thing panache. Top casting, and really really spooky. And I never thought I'd say that about Terry Wogan.

In the meantime, Nina is having issues with George about the whole werewolf thing, and Mitchell is having huge issues with the vampires. Thanks to the loss of Herrick, there is no longer a system for disposing of incovenient dead bodies - and one turns up in the shape of the human lover of one of Mitchell's vampire friends, Karl. Despite Karl being clean for years, he has finally given into his desires and ended up killing his lover (oh what an understatement, when asked how the lover looked, Karl says, "disappointed"), and now, there is no system to cover it up. So Mitchell arranges for Karl to fake a suicide and then he and George, with the help of Ivan spirit the body out of the hospital, and away to a new life in Brazil.

While all of this is going on, Annie has problems of her own - the spooky voices on the tv having persuaded Saul it's a really good idea to drink loads and go out for a little drive, with the inevitable consequences. Annie duly turns up at Saul's bedside, only for her to discover, when he dies, and a door appears in the ward, that she and Saul have both been tricked by the voices on the other side. In a totally nightmarish sequence, which scared the bejeesus out of me in a squeeing kind of way, Saul tries to drag her through the door, while all the radio plays music (not quite sure what it was but fab choice) , and the voice talks about the men with sticks and ropes, and black black feathers (eek) waiting to play with Annie on the other side. Fortunately for Annie, Saul decides he can't do it and as George falls into the room, Annie is sitting shocked as the door has slammed shut with Saul behind it. Do you know, I hope we NEVER get to see what's behind the door, because I know it will be a disappointment...

If that wasn't enough to freak me out, when Annie turns up at her next shift at the pub, Hugh, the landlord who's been in love with her can no longer see her, and Nina ends up leaving George at the end of the episode, telling Mitchell they've all gone native, only to fall into the hands of creepy Christian guy at the end (in ep 1 the creepy Christians managed to bug the flat so they know all about Nina)...

By episode 3 I felt Being Human was getting back into its stride - it started with a blackly funny flashback to the 16th century when the tunnels under Bristol were used by Witchfinder Generals (or perhaps Vampirefinder Generals - wonder if any of them were called Van Helsing?) to flush out the vampires living there. There was a horribly funny moment when the Vampirefinder General was readng out their punishment and stopped to ask his assistant to move the light so he could read better, before sending them all to have their teeth smashed out and leaving them stuck down in the dark. Properly nasty that.

Back to the present day, and it appears that vampires are running amok in Bristol, without Herrick to control them, nothing is preventing them coming out to play. Mitchell's new love interest, Lucy, who's a doctor at the hospital, was already joking about the gay vampire lover last week, and now has a patient whose girlfriend has been killed, and who has come in with puncture wounds to his neck. Mitchell realises this has got to stop, and is forced into an unholy alliance with the chief of police, who though human was in cahoots with Herrick and will keep the "process" going if it means the vampires can pay him off, and they concentrate on killing lowlives to keep the crime rate down. I loved this episode - once again, Mitchell is trying to do the right thing, but in order to do so, he has to take some morally dubious decisions. First of all, agreeing to blackmail the human pathologist who has refused to sign anymore false death certificates, by threatening his grandchildren, and then more horrifically having to prove to the rest of the vampires he is really in charge. Egged on by Daisy who points out quite rightly, that Mitchell (who wants them all to go clean ) is asking them to do something against their nature, Mitchell tries to take control of the situation, getting the system back in place, by getting the vampires back at work in the funeral parlour, just as they had been under Herrick.

Contrasting the darkness of this, Annie decides to get Hugh back with his ex girlfriend, by making George go out with her and being so rubbish about it, she'll realise what she's missing in Hugh. This leads to some very funny scenes, with George sure she'll hate it if he takes her to a subtitled German film, only for it to be her favourite type of movie, and then thinking she'll hate being taken for a kebab afterwards, which of course she loves. His piece de resistance, to read a very very bad poem (which he'd composed for Nina), ends up with her throwing her arms round his neck, and snogging him silly.

There's also a hilarious sequence when Annie tries to get them to have a flat meeting (Mitchell, being otherwise preoccupied hasn't been pulling his weight), and instead of talking their problems through and team building, the boys demonsrate how much from Mars they are by deciding all they need to do is get pissed down the pub, and then Mitchell has a huge and extremely funny hissy fit when he realises that The Real Hustle's schedule has been changed, which is the straw that breaks the camel's back.

The relationship between Mitchell and George is also explored rather poignantly, when George tells Mitchell he's missed having his best friend around, and Mitchell tells him he should grow up, and stop feeling so sorry for himself, he says that's what's mates are for. What? says George, to be insensitive? No, says Mitchell, to tell each other the truth. I felt like cheering - it's those little moments in Being Human that make it so fab - the relationships between them are so strong and their frailties so human, you accept the moral difficulties they have, even if in Mitchell's case they are taking him into a very dark place indeed.

Having sorted out the problem of the boy in hospital with puncture wounds on his neck (simple, dodgy chief of police sends in colleague to inject him with something and make it look, rather uconvincingly like suicide), Mitchell then ends up with another problem in the shape of Cara, who takes it upon herself to attack two fifteen year old girls in a shopping centre. Cara, is probably the most gross of the vampires - a not very bright former cafe assistant, turned by Herrick because he was bored, she has become lost since her "father" died, and doesn't understand at all the constraints Mitchell is trying to place on the vampires. Mitchell cannot allow her to go freelance in this way, and once again, challenged by Daisy, takes her down to the vaults underground, where the vampires eventually adopted the same punishments as the humans did, to control those who need it. One of Being Human's greatest strengths is subverting expectation, and suddenly, from having despised and loathed Cara, when Mitchell took her down there, knocked her tooth out and left her sobbing in the dark, I felt immense pity - not even Cara deserves that fate, and it makes me wonder where this is going for Mitchell. Is he going to end up Macbeth like steeped in blood so deep, he's going to return to drinking? The scene where the vampires cheered him as their new king was heady and terrifying - what IF Mitchell becomes the new Herrick? I love the possiblity of that happening, even if I want Mitchell to stay on the straight and narrow.

George in the meantime takes heed of Mitchell's strictures that he should take responsibility and goes to Hugh's ex, Kirsty, and reveals that he hasn't been honest with her as he's still in love with someone else, leading to an unusually happy note as Kirsty and Hugh get back together. George of course isn't allowed to be happy, so the episode ends with Nina ringing to say goodbye, and making him promise that he will start a new life and live it properly for her. And in between sobbing for George and Nina (you have to you know, they are so meant to be together and clearly cannot be on account of their both being werewolves, and presumably in time having lots of little werewolf babies), I got the shock of my life, when it turns out that not only has Nina got conned into the whole weird Christian thing,but the doctor helping her is LUCY. Oh boy I so did not see that coming. Well done BH team for THAT twist...

I felt SURE this would mean that Nina was for the chop this week. Like I say, I cannot see a happy ending for her and George, much as I want to (and I think it would imbalance the trio of George, Mitchell and Annie - maybe part of the problem with ep 1 was that Nina was in the mix and it didn't quite work), so I felt sure we were going to see her head exploding in that pressure chamber, but it didn't work out like that...

I have to say this episode returned to proper Being Human form for the first time. It was very very funny in places - George writing himself lists to get his life back on track, getting a job in a language school and teaching this students bad language, Mitchell being offered an emo to suck, as she's advertised for it, George and Mitchell behaving like Annie's two dads when she brings home a ghost who saved her from going through another door, George developing Werewolf Tourette's after his plan to put the werewolf to sleep while he changes goes horribly wrong...

And of course this is all interwoven with the usual dark stuff, and boy was some of it dark. Annie's facing up to the realisation that the people behind the door are going to come and get her, and begs Sykes, the ghost who's saved her for help. At first he refuses, but she persuades him and soon he' s teaching her to spot auras, turn off scary tv/radios when the people behind the door start speaking through them, and eventually (in a brilliant Annie on top and in control, yayyy to that woman moment), how to close the door when it opens. He seems to have helped her, and I think he's on her side, but I am not entirely sure. In Being Human, anything can happen, so I wouldn't be surprised if Sykes pitches up later and turns out to be on the side of the men behind the door.

George has thrown himself head first into his new job and new life, even finding himself a potential new love interest (which is taking Nina's advice a little too literally if you ask me), emboldened by his discovery that he can put the werewolf to sleep with tranquilizers, and lock him up in the cage George has had built for this purpose (of course he has now become known in Bristol for S&M activities, but in George world that's better then being a suspected werewolf(-:) Unfortunately, the bi product of this is the wolf is pretty pissed off and is taking over George at random times in the day, leading to his Tourette's style swearing, and over aggression, which eventually leads him to beat up the smarmy head of the college George teaches at, for sneering at him for fancying the college secretary. To see George's loss of control and realisation of what he's done is heartbreaking, because as ever he's been trying to do the right thing and it's all gone horribly wrong.

Mitchell's attempts to get the vampires clean, seem to be working somewhat better, especially when he manages to persuade Ivan (who as the oldest vampire among them carries much weight) on board. Of course, nothing is that simple, and Ivan can't do it, so now he's going to Mitchell's BA meetings and swearing blind that he's given up the red stuff, when Mitchell knows he needs feeding and ends up giving him to the emo who Mitchell rejected at the beginning. Oh Mitchell, you're on a slippery path now...

In the meantime, when it looks like Nina's head is going to be exploded against the pressure chamber, Lucy persuades them to stop - we see from her back story she's written a thesis about an evil gene, and mad Christian man has persuaded her to join him, so she can actually research it. But Lucy is clearly having doubts, pointing out that Mitchell is trying to get the vampires clean, while mad Christian man, is sure that now the system is back in place Mitchell is reverting to type, because vampires can't be saved....

I absolutely loved this episode, it was sharp, witty, scary, tense - and every bit as squee making as any of the episodes last year. I think series 2 has finally discovered its groove, and I can't wait to see what next week brings (Mitchell falling off the wagon and Lucy potentially putting a stake in his heart by the looks of it...). AND I've just realised we're only half way through as this series of Being Human has eight episode. Squee, squee, and squee some more....

A labour of love

In my very first job in publishing - ahem - years ago I worked in the production department of an academic publisher. I remember one of the first things I was told was that a book's gestation is usually around 9 months. It can of course be quicker then that, but factoring things like authors failing to deliver ms on time(guilty as charged), copyeditors/proofreaders not sticking to schedules, designers/desk editors getting snowed under and not sticking to schedules etc etc 9 months is about right.

Now I'm on the other side of the fence I'm discovering a book's gestation from the first spark of an idea to finished ms, is significantly longer then 9 months. And in the case of my latest book, The Bridesmaid Pact, the labour has been long, drawn out and rather bloody...

When I started thinking about this book, way back in 2008, I talked about the emotions driving me to write this particular story here . I knew it was going to take me into emotionally uncomfortable places (though I hasten to add, none of the dilemmas I've given my four characters are ones I've faced, but alot of the emotions they experience, resonate with me). My early attempts at writing things down seemed to flow rather nicely. For the first time since I've been published I have written in the first person, as something about the story made me feel it needed to be told from each character's perspective. This turned out to be trickier then I thought, as not only did I have to ensure my characters had four very distinctive voices, but they also seemed to dictate how the story unfolded. So for the first time I didn't have a plot to follow, which was the writerly equivalent for me of doing the highwire without a safety net. And is quite possibly why I found myself this time last year writing here about my lack of inspiration.

From that early free flowing start, nothing about this book has been easy. I procrastinated (well, that's nothing new, I am champion at that), couldn't get down to it, when I did get down to it it was like getting blood out of a stone. I felt my mind was in a total fog when it came to structuring the damned thing, as I was flipping back and forth between past and present, and on more then one occasion I wondered what on earth made me think I could produce a book like this.

On top of all this, I had more then my usual fare of domestic distractions, as at the start of the year my mother in law was ill. By the time she fortunately picked up in the spring, we were busy planning her 85th birthday party, which was wonderful and a great success, but rather took over my life and prevented any writing getting done. As the summer term crept to its end, with two children leaving to move onto other schools, my world was a whirlwind of attending leavers' events as well taking the eldest to endless rehearsals for the two shows she was in. As a result I was barely working at all, and I realised I was heading for a major FAIL in the delivery department.

By July instead of finishing the damned thing, I was only a quarter of the way through. So I resolved to take my laptop on holiday, having fond notions that I would sit by the pool in the afternoons, while my beloved family cavorted around me in the sunshine. I should have know THAT was a stupid idea. As readers of this blog may remember, I ended up in A&E the day before our hols, when I hadn't quite finished packing, and I was feeling so bloody ill when I got on the plane, any thought of taking my laptop with me was long gone from my mind.

I DID however discover that I could write a fair amount by hand, so I managed to scribble quite alot over the fortnight I was away. Coming home, I reckoned I could continue while the kids were still on hols, given that they're all a bit older now and don't need so much of my time. But that was a total disaster too, as I was having panic attacks on a near daily basis and couldn't settle to anything. And the mere thought of either sitting at a computer or putting pen to paper set me in a flat spin, which was really frustrating, as I have lots of things that make me angsty but writing isn't one of them. Thinking about it now, I think it was probably my panicky state reacting to a looming (and already missed) deadline, and also the fact that I WAS delving deep into various emotional crises I've been through making the writing experience more traumatic then normal.

Once the kids were back at school in September, I thought I'd get back into it, but no. Real life came biting me on the bum again, and my mother in law had a fall, and since then we've been on a roller coaster of time spent in care homes/hospital with the odd scary moment when she's home. None of which, is at ALL conducive to writing, I can tell you. On top of all this my lovely editor announced she was leaving. This book was her suggestion and she's been with me all the way, so I really wanted her to read it before she left. If there's ever a greater incentive to a procrastinating author to get a manuscript finished before her editor goes, I'd like to find it. Eventually I was done, even though, much to Spouse's annoyance I took my laptop on a trip to Shropshire with me, to get it finished. Because, the other insane thing I found about writing this book was, because I'd written it by hand, I ended up having to type the whole thing up later, which not only took forever, but I suddenly realised I had skimped in places because my hand was getting tired, and some of my chapters were waaaayyy tooo short.

However, I got it there. Eventually. Only three months late (sorry lovely Avon ladies).
In November I went into the Harper Collins office to say goodbye to my lovely editor and meet my lovely new editor, and we thrashed out the many many things that were wrong with the first draft. Optimistically (and idiotically - mouth, brain engage properly why don't you?) I thought I could get it done before Christmas.

But oh dear god. Whenever I sat down to look at it, I had major brain drain. I knew it needed restructuring but I couldn't for the life of me see how what or where. I sat for hours looking at the computer, conscious of my pigsty of a house, conscious of the Christmas shopping I needed to do, conscious I was completely wasting my time and still nothing came...

So come the week before Christmas, I had to admit failure and crawl to lovely new editor and promise to do better next time. I then agreed to get the ms back for the beginning of January, thinking that maybe when the kids were all playing on Wii Fit which I'd guessed Spouse had bought me, I might be able to sneak away to my study periodically. Wrong! Of course it didn't work like that, as mil came out of hospital just before Christmas and between us and bil and sil we were balancing crises on a near daily basis. So once again, much crawling was done in the New Year, and a promise to get the book in by last Thursday, completely doable I thought...

And then of course the snow happened....

In the end I had to just ignore my family and get on with it. Luckily in one of my more organised moments at Christmas I had made lots of meals and frozen them, which came in handy, I can tell you. Also due thanks go to the sterling efforts of Spouse who organised the kids in a way that I can't to get their rooms tidied, and even picked up a hoover, for probably the first time in our marriage (it's ok, he does other domestic tasks, but not normally the hoover). I sat up till 1am last Wednesday finishing it off and then reading things through, and had to stop when I had a major crisis and discovered two chapters which had saved half my changes and hadn't saved the rest. I spent last Thursday amending it, and eventually got it off by school run time.
At which point I collapsed in a little heap on the floor, and have stayed in a state of semi collapse since.

I'm delighted to say that despite all the travails in producing this latest labour of love, lovely editor seems to like it (and I am ENORMOUSLY grateful to both her and the rest of the Avon team for putting up with me over the last few months), and I now have a little break before I start thinking about the next book. Which is scheduled for delivery in ten months time, which is just about the right gestation period...

Belated New Year Greetings.

Happy New Year to you all. Sorry to be so dilatory in my greetings, this is a) because aged mil went back into hospital again last Saturday, b) the kids went back one day before the snow so I have had a houseful again and c) I am officially in deadline rewrite hell. So can't stop long. Would show you a picture of how pretty my garden is but the camera isn't working. Which sort of sums up my life somehow.

Anyway, was just sent this rather lovely good well wish for the New Year, from a friend, and thought I'd pass it on:

If 2010 is going to rain, let it be showers of blessings.
If it's going to be sunny, let it be sunshine to make your life shine.
If windy let it blow good tidings your way.
And if dry let it dry the evil might come your way.

I wish all my blog readers old and new (and especially the new readers who've thoughtfully found me out to let me know they enjoyed Last Christmas), the very happiest of new years. Hope many good things come your way in 2010!

Happy Christmas!

I have been really snowed under this week and haven't blogged at all, but just wanted to say to all you lovely people who read my blog, thanks for dropping by this year. I wish you all a very merry Christmas and hope Santa puts many good things in your stockings!

And for all the many people who've gone out and bought Last Christmas (and there really appear to have been an awful lot of you!) I'd like to say thank you very much. At a particularly difficult time in my personal life, it has been very welcome to have a little bit of fairy dust in the shape of a book which I loved writing doing so well. To blow my own trumpet a little bit, thanks to all you nice people, I've been in the Heatseekers chart for six weeks ( I dropped down to no 3 this week), and made it into the top 20 pb bestseller lists for two weeks. I reached the dizzy heights of 15 last week, but have now gone back to 22, which is still fabulous. It has been very exciting and a lovely and unexpected treat. So thank very much for buying it! Fans of Hope Christmas might be pleased to know that going to see our local nativity last night, I came up with a GREAT idea for another Hope Christmas story. Well I think it was great. A fair bit of red wine has passed by me since then...

Anyway, must go and check on the turkey (current plans for the day include transporting a turkey and trimmings up the road to mil's in the wheelchair we borrowed to get her down here. It's going to be an unusual Christmas(-:), and see whether the children have started fighting yet.

A very happy Christmas to one and all!

On second thoughts

Earlier today I posted a bit of a rant about our current family situation. I was feeling angry and upset and letting off steam. On second thoughts, I've decided it was a bit too personal and so I've now deleted it. I'd really like to say thanks for the support I got though. The blogosphere rocks!

RNA Awards

Normally at this time of year, the Romantic Novelist's Association of which I am HUGELY proud to be a member (in my book the RNA is the best friendliest and supportive writer's organisation going) asks its members to publicise the longlist for their annual award, which has just been announced here. I'm always delighted to do so because the RNA has supported me from my very first feeble attempts at writing and more often then not there are one or two of my pals on the list. However, for the first time this year, I'm on it too. I wouldn't brag about something like this normally, but I do feel it is such a huge honour to be on this list, which includes many many more worthy names then mine, I wanted to say thank you to the RNA for my nomination, and also all the readers who voted for me. Am utterly gobsmacked to say the least!

I'd also like to congratulate my fellow RNA nominees: Sarah Duncan, Katie Flynn, Jean Fullerton, Veronica Henry, Erica James, Judith Lennox, Mary Nicholls and Nicholas Sparks, and my fellow Avon writer, Miranda Dickinson whose Fairytale of New York is quite rightly speeding up the charts.

I am under no illusions about making the short list, the competition is far too hot! However I am delighted to have been privileged to be nominated at all - a completely unexpected pleasure. Having just updated my website: http://www.juliawilliamsauthor.com/ I'd better go and update it some more...

Hullo I must be going...

Busy busy busy here so not blogging too much.

However, if you should find yourself in the vicinity of Burway Books in Church Stretton tomorrow, I shall be there from 2pm signing copies of Last Christmas.

In the meantime am frantically doing rewrites on The Bridesmaid's Pact. (It's like getting blood out of a stone, since you ask). In order to help me with some much needed inspiration I've been listening to Razorlight's Wire to Wire. A truly fabulous song that sends chills up my spine and is the theme tune of one of my characters. So being a generous sort I thought I'd share it with you...

Is there a doctor in the house?

I am a big fan of the NHS. My mother was in the first post NHS nursing set at the London Hospital in 1948. Two of my sisters have worked as nurses, a bil works in NHS management and my husband is an NHS employee.

As a family this year we have had huge cause to be grateful to the NHS. Not only did I have my little A&E encounter in the summer, but I've also had checkups both for heart disease and breast cancer (both thankfully ok). On top of that no 4 has had several hospital visits, including an ultrasound, an MRI and a bone scan to check out a strange lump on her foot (nothing serious either, phew). And if that weren't enough we've had mil in casualty after her fall two months ago, and then back again a month ago when she couldn't get up one day.

From the fall it was established that mil has a blood disorder common in the elderly which means she isn't producing enough red blood cells. Our GP got her into hospital and suggested she needed a blood transfusion. It transpired that she didn't, but she has remained in hospital ever since because her mobility is variable and her blood count is still low.

The first week she was there, she was very poorly, and we feared the worst. She spent two days being assessed in a Clinical Assessment Unit, where no one seemed to know anything, and despite bil and sil's best efforts, we had only fleeting contact with doctors. Then she was moved to a surgical ward because there was no room on the medical one. There, the flow of nurses was constant, there seemed to be no consistency of care, and we all felt we were banging our heads against a brick wall, when we repeated constantly that she suffers from a benign essential tremor and her medication had been altered, that she probably had an infection because she was confused, that it was likely she would just nod and say she was fine when she wasn't. And still we found ourselves unable to get any sense out of a doctor as to what was actually wrong with her.

Eventually she moved into the medical ward, which was much better, as it had just been done up. But there you feel a slight despair about the money that gets wasted in the NHS. As she arrived on the ward, there were engineers putting the finishing touches to a new state of the art, TV/Radio and phone system - so state of the art it's being trialled first in our hospital. The room mil was on was full of the elderly and infirm. Not a single one of whom was going to get any use or show any interest in this new system. I'd rather the money was spent on better communication with the medical profession frankly.

The only person I spoke to who seemed to have a clear understanding of mil's problems, and who also took on board our concerns that her level of confusion had worsened since her stay in hospital, and was different from the confusion caused by her infections, was a wonderful young OT girl. She wrote everything down I said, but whether anyone else took notice I don't know, because it seemed everytime we spoke to a nurse they had to consult the notes, or didn't know anything about mil.

On two occasions bil was told that the consultant would be in in the morning, only for him to turn up and no consultant would arrive. Eventually, after three weeks, though we did manage to see him. He was very nice. He was very informed. He knew what the problem was, but hadn't a clue that she was confused or that had got worse. But why, did it take us so long to get hold of him? The system caters always to the patient, asking the patient what their needs are, which is obviously a good thing. But anyone who's ever spent time in hospital will know, that even if you are relatively young and compos mentis, you will be hard pressed to remember what a doctor has said to you. For an elderly confused individual it must be impossible, and it's abysmal that no one thinks to consult the relatives more. What frustrated me the most is that, having spent the best part of this year being fully conversant with mil's problems, I know what medication she is on, I can give an accurate case history of what has happened to her, and I know (as we all do) that her condition is worse then when she came into hospital. There should be a better way of using people like me as a resource.

The care mil received was perfectly fine, but the ward she's been on was a busy one and not suitable for an elderly lady who needs a lot of help to get back on her feet. So fortunately last week, she was transferred to a local community hospital, where the pace is slower, the nurses ensure she is up and dressed every morning, she's getting physio every day, and she is much calmer and more content. And praise be the lord, the first day she arrived, the sister in charge of the ward actually asked me what had happened to her, and then said the magic words, what outcome do you as a family want? Better late then never, I suppose, but it shouldn't have taken three weeks.

As always in these situations, I can't help thinking about those poor sods who don't have irritating rels like me to fight on their behalf, or the elderly and infirm who don't know how to stand up for themselves. There must be so many of those kind of people who get lost in the system. I saw an elderly man discharged from CAU, who had had a fall. He could barely walk and was clearly in a lot of pain. It didn't seem right that he was being sent home. Neither did it seem correct that another lady who I assume was suffering from cancer, and who also was clearly in great pain, was being sent home to her daughter with whom she lived. The daughter said to me in despair, do you think she looks well enough to go home? It was quite clear she wasn't.

We have a lot to be grateful for in the NHS. It is there for us in emergencies. It is free and the majority of those working in it are dedicated and caring professionals. But there is too often a huge waste of resources, and communication could be hugely improved. I know people are busy and they have a job to do, but it is all too easy to lose sight of the person, and focus on tasks that need doing, particularly when dealing with the elderly. We are lucky that mil has ended up somewhere where she can be properly looked after, particularly as swingeing cuts mean that the number of beds available in community hospitals are being severely reduced, but it shouldn't have been so hard to get her there or fight for information. The patient is entitled to be told the truth about their condition, but when they are not in a state to make informed choices, families need to know to. Because after all, we can help.

Twenty Years of Freedom

Twenty years ago today, the East German government took a momentous decision and finally allowed its citizens to travel freely in the West. In our family this day had and still has a special resonance.

Mil comes from a little town in East Germany called Gardelegen, a beautiful mediaeval town which ended up just within the East zone after the war. Ironically, the Americans arrived there first, but Gardelegen ended up being part of the area which was given to the Russians followng the decision to split Berlin into four sectors. By then the Americans had passed on and Gardelegen was being run by the British. Mil's father was an estate manager in charge of an estate called Isenschnibbe which is about a mile outside of town .

Unfortunately, if you look both Gardelegen and Isenschibbe up the likelihood is you will find the story of a massacre which occurred on the estate in the dying days of the war. According to mil, there were several days of chaos while the Americans waited outside the town, too frightened of their own shadows to enter. During that time a trainload of slaveworkers from the factories in Nordhausen who were being shipped out by the SS (who had orders to kill them) to prevent them telling the Allies Nazi secrets, found they could go no further. They were rounded up by their SS guards, taken into a barn on the Isenschnibbe estate, locked in and the barn was burnt down. It was an horrific atrocity in which over 1000 people died. Those few that did escape were hidden by the Gardelegers, who from my understanding of the story had nothing to do with what happened and were powerless to prevent it. Mil tells me that her father had locked themselves within the walls of the estate, because everything was so lawless outside, so they were unaware of the tragedy till after it had happened. From fil, whose regiment came to Gardelegen to relieve the Americans, we have a series of horrific photographs showing the extent of the atrocity. I always had the impression from him that the Gardelegers were not accountable for it, and I'm inclined to believe it. In this country we're lucky enough not to have lived in a dictatorship. Nothing in Nazi Germany was straightforward - if you were a member of any of the professions: a lawyer, doctor, teacher, nurse you had to be a member of the Nazi Party or you couldn't work. Mil's family were not Nazis, but I don't think it is possible for us to understand the knife edge that ordinary people must have lived under, in a regime that they detested but could do nothing about.

When the Americans did move into the town, they quickly discovered what had happened (mil has always felt if they'd been more decisive and got into the town straight away it might have been prevented). They stayed for a while, and used Isenschibbe as their base. They were reguarly visited by entertainers, including, get this, Louis Armstrong. Mil still has a Christmas card he sent her dad.

I'm not sure how long the Yanks stayed before handing over to the York and Lancaster regiment, which happened to be fil's outfit, though he didn't get to meet mil till later. Mil's father built up a good working relationship with colonel in charge of the regiment. I presume this is why the colonel told mil's dad that the Russians were coming, and suggested that mil and her sister should be sent to the west. (Mil's best friend had even less time to prepare, she and her family literally had to abandon the family farm and leave all their belongings behind.). So one sunny morning in May 1945, mil and her sister set off on their bikes with a young soldier who was supposed to be looking after them. From mil's accounts he was a bit of a waste of space, and when her bike developed a puncture, she mended it not him. They arrived safely in Heidelberg where they had family and stayed for a couple of weeks. Astonishingly mil's dad was able to take a tractor to Heidelberg (which is quite a hike from Gardelegen) loaded with belongings, but he then went back to make sure the people of the estate who were under his care were ok. As a result, he along with four other key members of the town ended up in Buchenwald, where he remained for three years.

He was one of the lucky ones, in that he came home alive, but his health never recovered. The one and only time Spouse and I have been to Buchenwald (best remembered for the infamous Beast of Buchenwald, Ilse Koch who committed hideous atrocities on prisoners there), we found a memorial stone to the thousands of Germans who died in the years after the war at the hands of the Russians. We were there in the early evening and as we looked into the gloom of the wood, we realised we could see hundreds and hundreds of wooden crosses. Maybe some of those people deserved their fate, having committed atrocities of their own under the Nazis, but I'm sure the majority were, like my grandfather in law, decent enough people who were caught up in events they were powerless to prevent.

After two weeks in Heidelberg, it was clear that mil's relatives who were struggling as they had to have refugees living in their house, couldn't keep mil and her sister, so hearing that the York and Lancasters were in Wolfenbuttel, mil and her sister left to go there. Here was the lucky part of the story for mil, because she was able to get a job at the Officers Club as a translator, which meant she could have her sister lodging with her as her refugee. And it was here, that she finally met fil (who'd in the meantime met her dad in Gardelegen at some point). By all accounts they were difficult days as food was scarce, the family mil was staying with didn't know what had happened to the father of the family as he was a POW and there wasn't much money. But judging by the photos, taken when mil and fil went with friends on skiing trips to the Harz mountains, they were happy days too. I'm not quite sure at which point they decided to get married, but by then mil's father was in Buchenwald, and she had to make a huge decision about coming to England. Apparently she asked an uncle, who'd lived in England prewar what he thought. Well, he said, pondering her dilemma for a moment, England is very like Germany. There are lots of trees. I think you'll like it. A slightly spurious basis, perhaps, on which to leave your homeland, but given the choices she faced staying, I think it probably wasn't such a hard decision.

Fil by now had got back to England, and he and another friend were trying to get mil and the friend's fiancee over. Fil's friend had managed to charter a plane at vast expense, but fil was able to wangle them a passage on a boat at a much cheaper price. His friend was so grateful he promised to buy fil a drink every time he came to London, which he did pretty much until he died.

When they arrived off the boat at Hull, fil and his friend were there to greet them, as were several photographers, and fil told them to keep schtumm and pretend they weren't German. When they got on the train to London, they had a carriage to themselves, and somehow had found a record player. So they danced all the way to London, which I think is dead romantic!

Eventually, mil's sister was able to join her in England, but her mother remained in Gardelegen, building a house which she and mil's father lived in when he returned. He did manage to come over once on a false passport, and was tickled pink to go to Windsor Great Park and stand next to George VI, when he was in the country illegally. Mil and fil also went over to Germany a couple of times, with Spouse's two brothers and fil's parents. Spouse's granny told me the story of how they went to a clearing in the woods, from where they could see a watchtower with a sentry, which scared her rigid. As they waited in the clearing, people started arriving with food stalls and the like. Eventually they spotted movement in the woods. All the people from East Germany were dressed as peasants, sweeping the fields, and they swept their way into the woods where they then made their way to the clearing and found their families. I'm not sure how long they spent together before they then had to go home, but that was the only physical contact mil had with her parents for many many years. And when her father died in 1958, she was unable to go the funeral. Imagine that. Not being able to go to your dad's funeral because there's a danger that the State won't let you go again, never mind that you have become a British citizen and have a family back home.

Mil's mother stayed on in Gardelegen, having developed some kind of motor neurone disease which mil always puts down to the stress. Eventually she became so decrepit the East Germans didn't want her, so mil had to go out to get her back to the West. Even this was fraught with difficulty. Newly pregnant with Spouse, she spent three months in Germany, bribing the German guards with cigarettes every time she crossed the border. She wasn't certain of success till the very last minute, and all the time was on a knife edge thinking if she said or did the wrong thing she might end up being detained.

Because here's another thing, which from my cosy safe pov, has always seemed unimaginable to me. People mil knew did disappear. One family she knew were imprisoned for a year, just for unwittingly posting a letter from a dissident; the sister of one of her closest friends escaped from Gardelegen in a train full of wood, hidden in a fake compartment underneath. She was one of the last people to get out this way, as the next poor unfortunates who tried it were caught. While she was escaping her brother and his family were being closely questioned by the Stasi, and had to pretend they hadn't seen her for days. By all accounts, though people lived and worked, and got on with their lives in East Germany it was a tense and unnerving place to be. The tragedy of the division in families never more poignantly apparent then visiting towns which were literally split in two by the border. One we saw, near Wolfsburg where we usually stay was 30km from the nearest border crossing. So in order to visit family members you had to not only apply for a permit but take a round trip of 60km just for the privilege. It is staggering to think how difficult that must have been.

When in 1989 we first started to get wind that things were changing in Germany, mil I don't think wanted to dare think about it. She'd left her home town in 1945 and only been back that one time to get her mother. We started to hear rumours of people escaping via Hungary - in fact the daughter of one her friends did exactly that. Then we heard that there were marches, in Leipzig and Dresden, and eventually even the Alexanderplatz in Berlin - we waited with bated breath, worried that we might be about to witness another Tiananmen Square. But it never happened. So today twenty years ago, mil finally heard the news she'd waited most of her life for, that she was free at last to go home.

On New Year's Eve 1989, she rang us up rather tipsy, having watched the people of Berlin climbing on the Wall and tearing it down. In Germany traditionally people literally jump into the New Year. Mil always celebrates twice, first at eleven for Germany, then at twelve for England. Fil had fallen asleep leaving her to celebrate alone. We were rather alarmed when we discovered she'd been jumping off the sofa, not once, but twice, but somehow it seemed appropriate...

Last Christmas I gave you my heart...

I have been very very slow in shouting out a big hurrah for my latest ouevre hitting the shops. Blame it on half term last week and on sod's law making my continued search for my happy place rather difficult. I think I have whinged quite enough about my personal life of late, so I'm not going to whinge anymore, because I do have something to celebrate.

Last Christmas is out now and available in: Smiths, Waterstones (hurrah, I'm on their 3 for 2 table!), Tescos, Asdas and via Amazon.

As ever am hugely grateful to the Wunderkinder team at Avon who have pulled out all the stops for me this time.

You may find me splurging on about all things Christmas related all over the web, as I have a very hardworking pr person getting me all manner of features (waves thank you at Tory!)
I've done an interview with Femail First here and written a piece about coping with large family gatherings here. Hoping I don't sound too bossy and like my character's alter ego, The Happy Homemaker, who is a purely ironic creation...

If I get myself organised I may be tweeting recipes via my website which is under reconstruction. But that depends on the gremlins that are currently screwing up
my life giving me a break. Which they don't seem quite willing to do right now (sigh).

I'd really like to say a big thank you to all the people who've bought/read the book so far, because I've been getting some really positive feedback which for an author makes the job hugely worthwile. And like every writer I am a complete neurotic freak at heart, so it's nice to hear that people like my scribbles!

And here are those lovely boys from Wham! to get you all in the mood...

Where was I?

Oh yes...

Trying to find my happy place. This hasn't been quite as possible as I'd like it to be because life does keep conspiring against me. Today's part of the conspiracy was to hear the sad news that a much beloved cousin on my mother's side had died. I don't normally go this personal here, but I think she deserves a shout out for being an utterly brilliant human being.

My cousin Angela was like the best of all fun aunties to have (though she wasn't an auntie and we never called her one). She came at Christmas and birthdays providing exciting presents the likes of which we never got anywhere else (being one of eight teaches you to be grateful for what you get quite frankly). She came on holidays with us and was a source of fun and joy, usually conspiring with us the kids against the grown ups. I think everyone deserves at least one adult like that in their lives in childhood.

But the best thing about her was that she had the coolest job of anyone I never knew. Which you can read all about here, namely to find or provide sound effects for films. When I was 12 years old Star Wars came out. Angela had not only worked on the sound effects but get this, she knew Mark Hamill ,who was my pinup then (much prefer Harrison now). Apparently she'd met him once in the bar at Elstree or Pinewood with I think it was an alligator on his lap. Quite why I don't know, but that seemed dead exciting to me at the time. As our Christmas treat that year she took the whole family (all ten of us, immensely generous!) to see Star Wars at the Empire Leicester Square. I'll never forget the impact of those space ships going over my head. Seems so tame now but it was genuinely groundbreaking at the time, and we got to see it before anyone else at school. For a glorious week in January 1978, I was actually cool at school thanks to Angela. Later on she did the same for Superman, which she also took us to see. She also did the soundtrack for The Omen, allegedly recording one sound in the local catholic church which then had to be exorcised. At my sister's wedding she made all the female guests jealous by mentioning she just happened to have met Mel Gibson (this was when he was still a sex symbol and not weird.)

In her private life, though she never married, she spent years involved in local drama projects - much to her elderly mother's (my great Aunt Madge, another awesome character) disgust. "Don't know what she sees in all that drama," Auntie Madge used to sniff, even though it was Angela's raison d'etre. They were devoted to each other, but in the way two women living alone often do, spent most of the time sniping at one another, so it was easy to miss the deep love between them.

When Angela needed people for sound effects, she used to arrange what she termed as "Shouts" getting lots and lots of people together to make the sound she was after. Although we frequently got invited on these occasions, as we lived in North London and she lived in Essex, to my disappointment I never actually made it to one. I'm sure knowing Angela they'd have been a right laugh.

Over recent years I hadn't seen much of her. My family commitments mean I can't often venture into Essex, where most of my mother's family live (sounds pathetic now I write it down, but there really is not time when the kids are at school and the holidays go too fast). Recently though an aunt was over from America and knowing everyone was meeting at my godmother's house I made the effort to get over to see them all. I knew Angela had been ill, and was delighted to hear from my mother that she was out of hospital and would be there. However, when I arrived it transpired that she'd been taken ill again. On the way home my older sister was planning to stop off to see her. I dithered for a minute, knowing I was needed at home, then thought, bugger it, I'm never in this part of the world, who knows what will happen. So I made the effort and went to see her. I'm so glad I did.

Angela was clearly not well, but still cracking jokes as much as ever. She laughed at the miserable old woman in the bed next door who kept saying she wanted to die, and talked longingly about getting well enough to get involved again in her beloved drama. She was delighted to see us, and remembered (as I to my shame had not) that the last time we'd met was at no 3's christening. When we left she got up and walked us to the door. I had a feeling we weren't going to meet again.

She did get out of hospital again, but was admitted last week. Yesterday she spent the afternoon laughing with her cousins (my mother and my aunts). She seemed in such good spirits my mother judged it ok to go back home. Sadly she deteriorated overnight and died at 6.30 am this morning.

I cannot mourn her passing for the fact that her quality of life was so very grim, and she isn't suffering anymore. But I am sorry the world has lost someone with such a joyous sense of fun, who enjoyed the absurdities of life to such a great extent.

I've been thinking about her all day, and the memory that has come back more then most was of a couple of nights before my wedding. She and her mum were staying down the road at a little bungalow, attached to the house of the landlady. She'd put Auntie Madge to bed and come up to us for dinner, but because of Auntie Madge she couldn't stay out late. My dad decided she couldn't go back to the bungalow empty handed so provided some alcohol (beer?) to keep her spirits up. We went clanking down the road with all the bottles, giggling like a bunch of school kids, especially when we went into the bungalow and were trying not to waken the very stern landlady. The harder we tried not to laugh the more we laughed. It was a joyous moment with the two people in my life who've taught me there is always time for giggling and being silly.

So, a sad day today, but I think, thanks to Angela, I've been reminded of the importance of laughter however grim life seems, and I've found my happy place. Or certainly one of them. I hope she has too.