Lost for words

That's not a good title for someone who says they are a writer. I've been trying to find something to blog about for the last week. I should have no problem as I do a very interesting day job (but I can't write about it here), and I've just come back from a fantastic week in Norway, cruising up and down the fjords. Please don't misunderstand my choice of words as the ship's captain took care of the logistics of it all - I was merely along for the view, food and drink.
Since then, so much has happened that it all seems a little surreal. We drove back from Southampton docks, stopping at the services to buy June's issue of Writing Magazine containing a new author profile about me and my novel. It was fantastic to read, but a bit strange to see a photograph of myself in such circumstances. My book, Never Forget, has gone on sale airside at WH Smith shops in airports ahead of the publication date of 11th July.  Plus my launch date and venue have been confirmed, lots of family and friends are attending and I've actually signed a couple of copies for people who have been kind enough to buy them. Oh and then someone at work flew from Heathrow and bought a copy, and to top it all, Sainsbury's are stocking the book in 90 stores in the south east of England.
Thankfully, I drink, or it really could all be too much.
There's so much going on at the moment, no wonder I'm confused. I was supposed to meet a friend today at the gym but I had a siesta instead. I thought about telling fibs when I failed to show up. I am writing fiction after all, but then I figured to be a good liar, you need a good memory. I've forgotten two birthdays this week. I have no chance of subterfuge. Just cough up - makes life so much easier.

Why does the weekend fly by so fast?

True, it often involves too much wine so some of it is forgotten or indeed, not remembered in the first place. My husband suggested going out on Friday night when I got home from work, so a short taxi ride and ten quid later, we were in a pub. It started there and ended in a fantastic Gurkha restaurant.
The bill was reasonable. Pretty much a fifty fifty split between booze and food. I definitely paid. I have the credit card receipt to prove it.
The cab ride home is very hazy.
This morning we felt a little jaded but as it wasn't the dog's fault, LG the lively Lab, got his walk. We even indulged him in a game of 'Throw the Stick'. The only rule is once he cocks his leg on it, we find another stick.
Feeling a little bit more together, we decided to go out for a late breakfast to Tenterden. It's a lovely place in Kent with several good places to eat. We found one serving breakfast which like the Gurkha restaurant on the night before, was fantastic.
When we got home, I opened the door to find LG cowering and shaking on the floor. Don't get me wrong, he's a good guard dog and had barked as I approached the house but on realising I actually had a key, he knew he was in trouble. Concerned as to why he was behaving this way, we checked the house but couldn't find what he'd done wrong. It seems that he just automatically worries now when we come home.
Made me think back to our return home the previous night after falling out of the cab. Whatever he may have been told off for then, he's managed to get away with it because neither of us can remember that either.

Wrap up warm: it's an English Easter

Last Sunday was my forty-second birthday. It was a great day, beginning with walking the dog, followed by opening presents and cards. The excitement over, I read a book and had a siesta. Well, it was my birthday. To complete celebrations, that evening, we took a taxi to town, had a meal and then got another cab straight back home. The intention had been to venture to a pub after eating but we decided to call it a night. We were indoors before ten o'clock. Yeah, I know - we're hell-raisers.

It certainly was a bonus to have my birthday on Easter Sunday so I could take full advantage of the four day weekend and devour an Easter egg in one sitting.

The one thing I hadn't expected was the weather to be so cold.

I'm aware that you feel the cold more as you get older but I'm not sure turning forty-two means that I have to wear a hat, scarf, gloves and coat to go to the shops from now on. The high point of my week off was my publishers, Myriad Editions, informing me that my book, Never Forget, was on press. This was great news and I even loosened my woolly scarf in celebration, although the mittens I was wearing hindered me slightly.

My other news, not nearly as exciting as this, but still, I think you'll agree, quite an event, was the discovery that the car we've owned for two years, has a heated seat function. Now that was worth finding out. Reading is one of my favourite pastimes so I'm looking forward to sitting in the car with the seats warming my posterior while I read one of the books I was given as birthday presents. The only flaw in my plan is that I'll have to be sober when sitting in the driver's seat. On second thoughts, it's not that cold in the house...

Singapore Slings and Skype

Friday night was spent in the company of some very good friends. One, sadly, couldn't make it due to work and 250 miles between her and us. Not to be deterred or show our age, we Skyped her. Admittedly, the link cut out about four times and technology hasn't moved on enough to allow her to join in the Singapore Slings or very fine meal cooked by our host. To show my appreciation, I ate two helpings. I didn't want to look like I wasn't enjoying myself, did I?

We're now in our thirty-first year of friendship. You'd have thought that we'd have ran out of things to say, but no, we covered a number of topics and there was never a lull in the conversation. Even with generous amounts of food and a dessert (I abstained in case I exploded), there was little break in the conversation.

One of the many things we talked about was that my friends are very much looking forward to my book launch. Some of them have pre-ordered 'Never Forget' on Amazon. I was quite touched by that. Just hope that I live up to their expectations. No pressure then...

It's all about the vowels.

Listening to someone's accent can distract me from the business of hearing what they're saying. It comes down to the way someone is speaking being more important than the content. Despite that, I always listen intently to every word from my friend from Belfast, who despite having lived in England for some twenty years, has not, to my ears anyway, lost her accent. Everything she says, brightens my day.
Hearing her say 'darling' or 'film' in her Northern Irish accent still make me smile. I was especially pleased to have her tell me one of her latest tales involving her midwife's appointment weeks ahead of her baby's arrival in March.
"There was a bit of a communication issue regarding accents," she told me.
"Oh," I said, "where was the midwife from?"
"She was English," my friend replied. "It was my accent that caused the problem."
I promise that I have her permission to tell you the misunderstanding that followed.
"I asked her if it was normal for there to be so much pain when I'm walking for more than a couple of minutes?" she told me.
As soon as I heard my friend say this, I started to laugh. If you don't have the good fortune to have a Northern Irish friend, try saying 'pain' but emphasizing the a and doubling the vowel sound.
The midwife's response was to tell her to practice her pelvic floor exercises and marked her notes up as 'stress incontinent.'

Good luck to you both next month. xx

Keep in touch - it's always sincere...

Bit sad that I still get a sense of excitement when the postman delivers letters to my house. It's usually short lived: a leaflet enticing me to sell my old clothes by the kilo (I'm sure I've got a heavy, itchy cable sweater somewhere) and an array of bills. The initial feeling of 'ah, someone's written' is replaced by 'blimey, when's payday?'

That excitement over with for the day, I then turn to my email to see if anyone cares and wants to say hello.  Like many people, I get a lot of emails, many via Twitter, and these I love reading. Turning on my computer and checking my spam, is a different task. Today, I had 45 spam emails. My life expectancy wouldn't allow for me to need that many pre-approved credit card applications, dates with men that the internet swears are all gorgeous, todger enhancement, AND parcels that someone had tried to deliver but couldn't so would I just provide all of my personal details via email for its redelivery?

Problem is, I'm not expecting a parcel. Unless of course it's the member extension I ordered via the internet. These people would have to get up really early to catch me out.

Presents under the tree are tempting even at my age

Like many others, I'm looking forward to Christmas. Today, however, the excitement was taken up a notch when my husband wrapped a number of presents and placed them under the tree. I refuse to take all of the blame for being a big kid and wanting to rummage around the gift-wrapped goodies - I've just recovered from flu. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.
Aching limbs, headache and a need to fester in bed have killed any kind of the usual build up of festivities for me. Last week, I even missed my office Christmas do. That really was a shame. There was not a chance I could have managed to be there but even so, I was miffed that I missed out. Many of my colleagues and friends were saddened that I wasn't hanging around their necks telling them, "I really love you" at two o'clock in the morning. I was of course, sorry to disappoint them all.
The way things stand at the moment, I have written my cards, purchased and wrapped the presents and with the exception of one or two gifts, they have all been distributed to family and friends. We have a freezer and cupboards full of yuletide food, so we're just about done.
Why then have my husband and I, twice, had the saddest conversation, plotting our outing to the supermarket to buy the last chance milk, bread and vegetables?
Every year we mock those who panic purchase in the shops, saying "But they're only shut for two days. They'll be open again after Boxing Day. What's the problem?" And what have we done? We've conspired to get the better of every other shopper with our Christmas Eve consumables manoeuvres. The suggestions so far consist of getting up at 5am as the supermarket opens at 6am, or one of us circling the car park waiting on the other buying the goods for a quick getaway, or we settle for frozen everything.
Living in the Garden of England stops me opting for the latter so I've decided that next year, I'm planting my own spuds and sprouts to have with the turkey. Though to see the plan through, I'm going to have to find room to build a bread oven and keep a cow. That will definitely take the stress out of Christmas.
Have a peaceful and happy Christmas and prosperous 2013.