New Style Blog (thanks to Jan Jones)

Sorry about having to wade through the cover pictures before getting to the nitty gritty, but I don't seem to be able to get the book covers small enough to fit neatly along the side like Mandy did before! Digitally challenged, that's me. And I used to write for Which Computer. Makes you weep doesn't it?

CWA conference

Well, it's over. And after all my worries, it went superbly well and I had a fantastic time. I've received so many compliments my head will hardly go through the door, but I have to say most of the compliments belong to the hotel, the Hythe Imperial. The service, rooms, presentation and food were simply amazing. My four speakers were praised fulsomely, and I was told afterwards that rarely had they speakers of such uniform excellence. So thank you, Will Randall, Simon Hall, Sebastian Lucas and Tom Harper.

Will and Simon are both writers, and they, together with Simon's lovely wife Jess, Tim Bates, who is our rights agent and my second-in-command for the weekend and Hazel, MD of Accent Press and my and Simon's publisher, spent the weekend with me. With the addition on Saturday of Simon's agent Darrin Jewell, we formed the Naughty Table and much drink was taken.

So now I can concentrate on The Book, which is coming along nicely at last.

Oh - and the glass still hasn't been replaced in the back door...

Gigs, Cats and emails

Judy Astley featured large in my last post, and here she is again. Dd1 (writer-speak for Dear Daughter One - ie the eldest girl - whew!) had a gig at the 100 Club last Monday. As Katie Fforde wanted to see Lou perform (research for a book) we were going together to watch. Big treat for Mummy, going to watch little girl on stage.

Lou's partner Jarrod, also a musician, was in Holland for a mini-tour, so his mother was going to babysit our joint grandson - until, that is, she fell over and broke her hip. You've guessed it. I had to babysit. So MY friends went to see MY daughter without me. And to make matters worse, they had a good time! Ah, well.

Catching up on cats: their first mini-outing into the garden, fairly early in the morning, me in dressing gown. After a few minutes, acting on RSPCA advice, I collected mother cat Godiva and put her inside, shutting the door to keep her in. I then retrieved daughter cat from under a bush, sustaining mild injuries along the way (inevitable with cats, I find), and took her to the back door. The handle fell off.

So there was I - out in the garden with a struggling cat and the door locked fast against me. Visions of walking into town in my dressing gown and slippers and going to the police shop - we don't merit a police station, here - played horrifyingly in my head, and Gloria finally struggled to the floor. I abandoned her and did the only thing possible. Smashed the glass. All over the inside cat.

Luckily the back door is the original with small panes, so only one small one has to be replaced, and this of course is the problem - the whole handle/lock mechanism is also the original, circa 1926, which is why we can't get it back together. Ah well.

Glass swept up, with help from the cats - luckily Godiva had escaped the first fine shower - taped card over the hole and had restorative cup of tea.

The following day, as I went to the bathroom for the morning ablutions, accompanied up the stairs, as usual, by the cats, Gloria did her normal thing of walking unsteadily along the curved bannister rail. And fell off. All the way down the stairs.

She's fine, of course. I am slowly recovering equilibrium. Conference is almost sorted, book is still not going well, and the erstwhile Swain from Switzerland and I are still e-corresponding, and have even had one or two telephone conversations. I do hope his partner doesn't mind...

Laying the Ghost

Now, this is the title of the latest book by my friend Judy Astley, and very good it is too. It is also a very good title for this post, because the book deals with finding - or being found by - people from your past. Which is what has just happened to me, and I'm stunned!

Once upon a time, when I attended Clapham County Grammar School for Girls, a group of us occasionally interacted (!) with a group of boys. Over the years, I lost touch with most of them, girls included, but Brendan stayed a constant. Tall, dark and handsome, he was around to take me for drives, to parties, even to the theatre on one memorable occasion. We last spoke on the phone six months after I'd got together with the late dh, and that was that.

So imagine my surprise, dear reader, when an email turned up in my inbox yesterday morning. He had just joined Friends Reunited, and I'd forgotten I had a brief profile on there. Terribly excited, I paid me money and replied.

This morning I had a long, long email from him remembering all the incidents from our joint past that I also remembered, including some I'd forgotten. As he hasn't got broadband in his flat (in Switzerland) I shall have to wait for him to visit the next internet cafe for the next instalment, but we did spend a lot of this morning when I should have been working emailing back and forth.

Exciting, but is it a dangerous occupation? In her book, Judy comes to the conclusion that it can be, and of course, we all remember the problems Friends Reunited had when it was in its infancy. It's very tempting, especially when drearily over the hill as I am, to fantasise a little, isn't it? And I am...

Bother Judy. I can't use it for a book, now...