Thank you so, so much to Elonex in general, and to Pat and Adam in particular, for making this happen.
http://elonexoutdoormedia.co.uk/
Friday, 11 September 2015
Here it is!
I am overwhelmed!
Thank you so, so much to Elonex in general, and to Pat and Adam in particular, for making this happen.
http://elonexoutdoormedia.co.uk/
Thank you so, so much to Elonex in general, and to Pat and Adam in particular, for making this happen.
http://elonexoutdoormedia.co.uk/
A Little Bit of What You Fancy...
You know you want it.
It's what you have been waiting for, for so long.
Now it's here.
And you can have it...
Finally!
Be at the Artwork Café, Edgbaston, B15 on Sept. 30th from 6-8ish.
It's about my book launch... what did you think I was talking about? ;)
It's what you have been waiting for, for so long.
Now it's here.
And you can have it...
Finally!
Be at the Artwork Café, Edgbaston, B15 on Sept. 30th from 6-8ish.
It's about my book launch... what did you think I was talking about? ;)
Thursday, 10 September 2015
That's what I call an ad!
Look out for the huge digital ad for Split Decision if you are on the A38, Aston Expressway. It will be going live tomorrow... oh the excitement is just too much!
My warmest thanks and deepest gratitude to Elonex, the guys who made it all happen.
My warmest thanks and deepest gratitude to Elonex, the guys who made it all happen.
Music , Maestro, Please!
I have a wide and varied musical taste, ranging from the delightfully soporific Annie's Song by John Denver, through the unashamedly raucous ACDC's Back in Black, to the almost ethereal Jar Of Hearts by Christina Perri. But more often than not it is the lyrics of a song which draws me to it, or perhaps a haunting melody, or in some instances a wonderful combination of the two. Seldom is it the actual voice of the performer which I find captivating.
There are of course instances where this is untrue, but these tend to be reserved for the likes of Celine Dion and Neil Diamond - in other words, unique voices which are so sublime, ringing out so true with every note delivered, that they cannot help but make me stop and listen, not just to the words and the tune, but to the particular tone and timbre of the voice itself.
You may recall that I was holiday in Spain recently. Whilst there I saw a number of tribute acts but it was one in particular which caught my attention. Wendy Manfield WAS Tina Turner, from the pronounced trademark bottom strut, right down to the mannerisms and the gaudy outfits, and I loved every minute of it, although I must confess to not being a huge Tina Turner fan.
So what captivated me so much about Wendy's performance? It was the realisation that Wendy didn't need to be Tina, that in fact she had a much superior voice of her own. Having performed her show as Tina and returned to the stage after thunderous applause, she gave an encore - but not as the superstar.
Instead she sang two Queen anthems in a way that I have never heard them performed. Passion infused her powerful voice and informed it in such a way that I almost believed her to be the originator of the song. She was nothing short of amazing. And I got to wondering why. Why she was performing as someone else when she was so, so much better than that. So here are the answers...
Wendy where are you originally from?
I'm from Darwen in Lancashire.
How long have you been singing and where did you start?
I'm from Darwen in Lancashire.
How long have you been singing and where did you start?
I started singing professionally 25 years ago.(That's scary.) In the working men's clubs, mainly around the North West of England - Blackpool, Manchester, Liverpool and Yorkshire. Under the wings of my aunt Kay; we were a duo called Diamonds. There was a lot to learn back then. Buying equipment, spending countless days learning how to work it. Going to musicians' studios to get all the sheet music transposed. (There were hardly any backing tracks when i started.)
Working with backing tracks gives a singer more freedom, as it's impossible for keyboards and drums to reproduce sounds exactly on the night. But when a singer plays with musicians, it's uplifting, it makes you sing better and you begin to learn your craft again. You don't realize that you have become a little lazy with backing tracks.
My mother was originally an opera singer and she was insistent that I went for singing lessons. I was amazed how much there was, and still is, to learn. There is always something to inspire you with music.
Working with backing tracks gives a singer more freedom, as it's impossible for keyboards and drums to reproduce sounds exactly on the night. But when a singer plays with musicians, it's uplifting, it makes you sing better and you begin to learn your craft again. You don't realize that you have become a little lazy with backing tracks.
My mother was originally an opera singer and she was insistent that I went for singing lessons. I was amazed how much there was, and still is, to learn. There is always something to inspire you with music.
How did you become a Tina Turner tribute?
I was asked by the owner of a venue here in Benidorm. "Tributes put bums on seats," as he put it, "It's what people want."
Are you a fan?
YES I am a fan. Sorry to say I never saw her live... I love her energy and soulfull rock voice.
How difficult is it to mimic that voice?
Tina's higher register is hard to reach. Some people have said she screams...Ha! You trying screaming and sounding as good as her! Hmmm.
When you start to study a singer you begin to realise just how great they are. I have nothing but respect for Tina Turner. You have to give 100% when doing Tina...because that's what she did every time she recorded or set foot on a stage...you can hear it in her voice.
When you start to study a singer you begin to realise just how great they are. I have nothing but respect for Tina Turner. You have to give 100% when doing Tina...because that's what she did every time she recorded or set foot on a stage...you can hear it in her voice.
How long have you been in Spain?
12 years. It's gone very fast and I have seen a lot of changes.....its quiet a transient place.
Do you ever perform as yourself?
Funny you should ask me that question... I only do Tina once a week. My own act is a mix of taking the mickey out of myself in a cheesy kind of way. I do some songs straight. Some people are ready for the funny stuff, while others are just waiting to hear me sing. You can't be everyone's cup of tea. That much I have learned. I just try my best at the venues and I work to entertain everyone. If I was to perform as my self singing the covers that I love to sing, I would probably lose some of the audience.
What do you hope the future holds?
If I get off my lazy behind I hope to learn an instrument, perhaps the piano or guitar, so that I can play and sing music -no sequins, no gimmicks, just music.
Can you ever see yourself coming back to Britain?
Honestly? I don't know. I guess, never say never.
With grateful thanks to Wendy Manfield - a real class performer.
With grateful thanks to Wendy Manfield - a real class performer.
Sunday, 6 September 2015
"3 o'clock in the morning...
and it looks like it's going to be another sleepless night..." to quote Crystal Gayle.
I have been up since three, penning a very painfully sad chapter in my newest novel. It was so sad in fact, that now I have written it, I am utterly bereft.
That's the trouble with writing.The emotions which lend themselves to good writing are draining and so now I am tired. I don't often get up in the middle of the night to write but I had started the chapter earlier today and when I couldn't sleep, I knew what I had to do.
Now it is just after six and I will get up, have breakfast, see the children off to school and begin editing another of my books which is due for publication. Ah back to the good old routine! I love it! Yawn...
Happy Reading.
I have been up since three, penning a very painfully sad chapter in my newest novel. It was so sad in fact, that now I have written it, I am utterly bereft.
That's the trouble with writing.The emotions which lend themselves to good writing are draining and so now I am tired. I don't often get up in the middle of the night to write but I had started the chapter earlier today and when I couldn't sleep, I knew what I had to do.
Now it is just after six and I will get up, have breakfast, see the children off to school and begin editing another of my books which is due for publication. Ah back to the good old routine! I love it! Yawn...
Happy Reading.
The Letter
Today I have started back to work and am so relieved. As I told you before, I have to edit a couple of books already written prior to their publication, but I also want to write a book I started some time ago. The story is about a woman whose husband dies of cancer. But just before he does, he reveals something which tears her whole world apart...
Here is a little snippet:-
Here is a little snippet:-
The
Letter
Chapter
1
The house sucked at her energy. It drained
her like a thirsty hiker on a hot summer’s day. She could feel it pulling at
the blood in her veins, causing tidal waves of that vibrant red life-force to
course through her to a never-achieved destination, moving ever onwards,
ceaselessly searching out its well-worn pathway.
But of course it was not the house which
drained her so. It was the situation within in.
Jim waited for her in another room. Weak
and tired, waiting was what he did best now. Waiting was actually all that was
left to him. Fran wondered what was left to her. What would be left when Jim
was finally gone? A thin smell of sickness which seemed to have pervaded the
entire house? The ripe smell of a cancer unchecked, which had permeated the
paint and wallpaper of their bedroom? Was that all there would be?
Or would there be memories too? Memories
which would linger to haunt her as if the images and sounds were captured
within the porous brickwork and plaster, ready to be replayed whenever the whim
took them?
It didn’t bear thinking about. But she didn’t really need to ponder on it.
The situation played itself out and she was just a bit player in every scene,
the one who was necessary to breathe a little life into each act, to make it
real and believable. The only one who would be left standing after the credits
rolled and the curtains closed for that final time.
Funny how even after all these months it
still didn’t seem real. She flicked the switch on the kettle and waited for it
to boil. The kitchen seemed darker than usual and she glanced at the wall clock
by the side of the back door. It was in the shape of a cow, mottled black and
white paint depicting its legs and head, its torso taken up by the clockface
which showed the hour to be six. But six am or pm? She genuinely did not know.
The months and weeks since Jim’s diagnosis had blurred into one and in these
last few days even the days and nights seemed interchangeable.
So if you enjoyed that little bit, take a look at the books I have already published - you won't regret it.
Happy Reading!
Friday, 4 September 2015
Multiverse Me
Have you heard the theories about us living not in a universe, but instead in a multiverse? Many scientists now believe that we live [the me who is writing this post and the you who is reading it] in just one version of countless parallel realities.
It's what fiction writers have always expected of course and the idea has accounted for numerous books and films over the years, where characters suddenly find some sort of portal into another world that's slightly askew from their own.
But according to science, there are not just a couple of these worlds but continuously new and emerging ones, to add to the myriad already spun off. So in one of these worlds for example Carmen Capuano would be married to the first guy who ever asked her, on another there would be a career woman, etcetera, etcetera, each world spun off from the path not taken in this life.
This is in fact the premise of Split Decision - a showing of the other way, the road not taken by Natalie as she made her choice between the two guys. To find out what happens, you will of course need to read the book.
But what concerns me here are all those other versions of me. I feel for them, I really do. They are me and yet not me. Are they happy? Did this current me, the one who writes and is unmarried and lives in Bromsgrove, did she make the right choices?
Strangely enough its a vague worry. I cannot know their circumstances or whether they are ok or not, and indeed I guess in some worlds I would have already died from some illness or accident. And there is a truth that if these theories are correct, in a way it doesn't matter if I make the right choices in life, because that means that some other version of me does, although that might be taking altruism a little too far.
The weirdest thought that all of this has dredged up, is which one is the original me? Am I the one who was born and from that moment spawned a zillion other worlds with my choices and actions? Or instead am I created by the original, spun off like a cheap rendition from that very first split in my own life, perhaps the first childhood sickness I had or even the first time my pregnant mother rushed across a busy road and narrowly avoided an accident?
I will never know. But to those other Carmen Capuanos I would say this if I could, "Good luck and stay strong".
Happy Reading.
It's what fiction writers have always expected of course and the idea has accounted for numerous books and films over the years, where characters suddenly find some sort of portal into another world that's slightly askew from their own.
But according to science, there are not just a couple of these worlds but continuously new and emerging ones, to add to the myriad already spun off. So in one of these worlds for example Carmen Capuano would be married to the first guy who ever asked her, on another there would be a career woman, etcetera, etcetera, each world spun off from the path not taken in this life.
This is in fact the premise of Split Decision - a showing of the other way, the road not taken by Natalie as she made her choice between the two guys. To find out what happens, you will of course need to read the book.
But what concerns me here are all those other versions of me. I feel for them, I really do. They are me and yet not me. Are they happy? Did this current me, the one who writes and is unmarried and lives in Bromsgrove, did she make the right choices?
Strangely enough its a vague worry. I cannot know their circumstances or whether they are ok or not, and indeed I guess in some worlds I would have already died from some illness or accident. And there is a truth that if these theories are correct, in a way it doesn't matter if I make the right choices in life, because that means that some other version of me does, although that might be taking altruism a little too far.
The weirdest thought that all of this has dredged up, is which one is the original me? Am I the one who was born and from that moment spawned a zillion other worlds with my choices and actions? Or instead am I created by the original, spun off like a cheap rendition from that very first split in my own life, perhaps the first childhood sickness I had or even the first time my pregnant mother rushed across a busy road and narrowly avoided an accident?
I will never know. But to those other Carmen Capuanos I would say this if I could, "Good luck and stay strong".
Happy Reading.
Thursday, 3 September 2015
Wednesday, 2 September 2015
Something in the air...
Do you remember being eight? Cast your mind back to that time all those years ago...
It is still dark, the first light of morning has not yet penetrated the deepest, blackest sky and there is a chill in the air.
You are up early, way too early for anyone else in the house to be awake. Every room lies still and quiet, its inhabitants lost in the world of sleep. Only you are awake within the whole house.
It is still dark, the first light of morning has not yet penetrated the deepest, blackest sky and there is a chill in the air.
You are up early, way too early for anyone else in the house to be awake. Every room lies still and quiet, its inhabitants lost in the world of sleep. Only you are awake within the whole house.
You alone are aware that this day will be magical, that this Chritmas will hold everything you ever wanted; that the presents lined up so neatly under the tree are not just mere gifts, trinkets and toys bought from shops and carried home with heavy arms...
They are instead the fragments of dreams, gossamer threads of hope and fantasy made real, and bound to the world by love and generosity.
Do you remember that feeling, that excitement? That's EXACTLY how I feel right now... and I'm loving every minute of it!
Happy Reading.
They are instead the fragments of dreams, gossamer threads of hope and fantasy made real, and bound to the world by love and generosity.
Do you remember that feeling, that excitement? That's EXACTLY how I feel right now... and I'm loving every minute of it!
Happy Reading.
Sunday, 30 August 2015
Destiny Calling!
Do you believe in fate, destiny, preordination? Or do you think its all hogwash, hokum of the worst kind?
I can't say that I believe everything happens for a reason but I do think that some things are pointers to the way ahead...
When the children go back to school I will immediately move onto two separate things. One is to write a novel that has been waiting a long time to be set down on the screen, and the other thing is to edit Ascension, so that the courageous Jess Stone can have her story presented to an audience.
And it was Jess and her tale which was on my mind this morning as I awoke. So imagine my surprise when I saw the name of my newest twitter follower...Alek Cole.
Alex Cole [ok so it is slightly different I grant you] is a key character in Ascension. He is the man whose motives are unknown.
Is the finger of fate pointing? Damn right it is...
Happy Reading!
I can't say that I believe everything happens for a reason but I do think that some things are pointers to the way ahead...
When the children go back to school I will immediately move onto two separate things. One is to write a novel that has been waiting a long time to be set down on the screen, and the other thing is to edit Ascension, so that the courageous Jess Stone can have her story presented to an audience.
And it was Jess and her tale which was on my mind this morning as I awoke. So imagine my surprise when I saw the name of my newest twitter follower...Alek Cole.
Alex Cole [ok so it is slightly different I grant you] is a key character in Ascension. He is the man whose motives are unknown.
Is the finger of fate pointing? Damn right it is...
Happy Reading!
Friday, 28 August 2015
NEWS!
One of my very first reviews ever, was from a gentleman in Hawaii who raved about The Owners, Volume I, and insisted it should be compulsory reading in schools.
I have never forgotten those kind words, and will be eternally grateful, Richard Sommery-Gade. So today I am posting here to say that your comments were perhaps far-seeing.
Yesterday, I discovered that my books were being considered for schools not only in England, but in Egypt! So keep your fingers crossed for me folks and I'll let you know what happens.
Happy Reading!
I have never forgotten those kind words, and will be eternally grateful, Richard Sommery-Gade. So today I am posting here to say that your comments were perhaps far-seeing.
Yesterday, I discovered that my books were being considered for schools not only in England, but in Egypt! So keep your fingers crossed for me folks and I'll let you know what happens.
Happy Reading!
Thursday, 27 August 2015
Press Release.
Bromsgrove author Carmen Capuano will be counting the cars
racing by on the Aston Expressway this autumn, when the large digital billboard
located there is displaying an advertisement for her latest book.
“I really can’t believe that my novel will be up there for
everyone to see – it’s almost beyond my wildest dreams!” said the popular
writer. “Thousands of cars pass that spot every day – and now they will see the
cover of Split Decision!”
To add further to Carmen’s excitement, WHSmith in Birmingham will
be stocking the newly released book on its shelves, facilitating its shoppers’
searches for a good read.
Said Manager Adrian Rankovic of
the decision to put Ms Capuano’s novel on display in a prime spot in the
window, “We are aware of exactly what our customers are looking for in a book.
They want something they can fully immerse themselves in; good writing with a
great plot. So if they haven’t already discovered Carmen Capuano for
themselves, we are happy to bring her to their attention.”
So things may not quite be “written in the stars” yet for the
Midlands author, but they are certainly getting higher in the sky.
Tuesday, 25 August 2015
An old memory...
I was in Bromsgrove town today. It had just started to rain heavily as I drove past a particular building, sparking a memory of a talk I gave there around this time last year, so I have reposted it for your amusement.
Here it is...
But what I really want to tell you about is yesterday, when I conducted my author talk at the Women's Institute.
I had never been to a WI meeting before and felt strangely excited at the prospect. The WI holds a strange fascination - images of a secret ceremony reminiscent of the Mason's was almost what I expected, symbolic vestments and ritualistic handshakes what I was on the look-out for, and animal-sacrifice what I almost feared!
Instead of any of those things I found a group of exceptionally pleasant and welcoming ladies, who discussed events with the easy familiarity of long-held friendships.
A slightly older audience than I am used to, they were nonetheless attentive and interested with a notable exception. One elderly lady, well into her late-eighties either fell sound asleep during my discourse or actually died. It was a toss up between the two as to which was the most likely outcome.
Now I am not known for my boredom factor, so I surmised that this narcolepsy must have been due to the lady's age rather than the sound of my dulcet tones, however it did make me start when I looked up from reading my book excerpt to find her with her head rolled forward onto her chest and looking as pale as parchment.
"Oh God, someone get a mirror and let's check if she is breathing!" I wanted to shout but casting my gaze around I found that I was the only one who was wide eyed with panic...clearly this was not a one-off event.
I struggled to continue the reading, worried about the welfare of my elderly listener. So when another of the ladies drifted off, I knew I was done for! I kept my eyes on the page and stifled the giggles that threatened to well up in me.
I think it was only the applause at the end which roused them [or perhaps the vibrations restarted their hearts, who knows?]
But even so they were a truly wonderful group of women and if I ever get to their advanced age, I hope someone lets me nap when I am tired :)
I know the rest of the group enjoyed the talk immensely and I even gave them an extra laugh at the end of the session, when leaving my car in their car park, I popped over to the supermarket a few minutes away and then had to return to the car with two heavy shopping bags in tow, wearing a white summer dress in the sudden torrential downpour.
They drove past me out of the car park, literally rolling in their seats at the sight of the stupid, never-quite-in-the-real-world author with her hair plastered to her scalp and her dress stuck to her skin...
And as for the two old ladies who fell asleep? Well I will forever remain in their memories as that young author with the relaxing voice...
Happy Reading. :)
Here it is...
But what I really want to tell you about is yesterday, when I conducted my author talk at the Women's Institute.
I had never been to a WI meeting before and felt strangely excited at the prospect. The WI holds a strange fascination - images of a secret ceremony reminiscent of the Mason's was almost what I expected, symbolic vestments and ritualistic handshakes what I was on the look-out for, and animal-sacrifice what I almost feared!
Instead of any of those things I found a group of exceptionally pleasant and welcoming ladies, who discussed events with the easy familiarity of long-held friendships.
A slightly older audience than I am used to, they were nonetheless attentive and interested with a notable exception. One elderly lady, well into her late-eighties either fell sound asleep during my discourse or actually died. It was a toss up between the two as to which was the most likely outcome.
Now I am not known for my boredom factor, so I surmised that this narcolepsy must have been due to the lady's age rather than the sound of my dulcet tones, however it did make me start when I looked up from reading my book excerpt to find her with her head rolled forward onto her chest and looking as pale as parchment.
"Oh God, someone get a mirror and let's check if she is breathing!" I wanted to shout but casting my gaze around I found that I was the only one who was wide eyed with panic...clearly this was not a one-off event.
I struggled to continue the reading, worried about the welfare of my elderly listener. So when another of the ladies drifted off, I knew I was done for! I kept my eyes on the page and stifled the giggles that threatened to well up in me.
I think it was only the applause at the end which roused them [or perhaps the vibrations restarted their hearts, who knows?]
But even so they were a truly wonderful group of women and if I ever get to their advanced age, I hope someone lets me nap when I am tired :)
I know the rest of the group enjoyed the talk immensely and I even gave them an extra laugh at the end of the session, when leaving my car in their car park, I popped over to the supermarket a few minutes away and then had to return to the car with two heavy shopping bags in tow, wearing a white summer dress in the sudden torrential downpour.
They drove past me out of the car park, literally rolling in their seats at the sight of the stupid, never-quite-in-the-real-world author with her hair plastered to her scalp and her dress stuck to her skin...
And as for the two old ladies who fell asleep? Well I will forever remain in their memories as that young author with the relaxing voice...
Happy Reading. :)
Monday, 24 August 2015
Split Decision review
Reviews of Split Decision are beginning to come in now.
Here is what one reader had to say: "I could not put your book down last night and ended up finishing the novel and going to bed really late! Certainly it is the best yet in my opinion." Thanks Sheila from Edgbaston!
Happy Reading!
Here is what one reader had to say: "I could not put your book down last night and ended up finishing the novel and going to bed really late! Certainly it is the best yet in my opinion." Thanks Sheila from Edgbaston!
Happy Reading!
Thursday, 20 August 2015
It's a new day...
Here are my options for the day.
1. Write some more - not really an option with the kids around.
2. Clean the house - what AGAIN?
3. Go and decorate the new house - not in the right frame of mind, besides I worked there yesterday and need a break.
4. Do something exciting with the kids - whether they want to or not.
5. Do all of the above - this is the most likely option knowing me.
6. Do nothing - impossible.
7. Fritter away the day in spontaneous and unplanned fun...now I like the sound of that...
1. Write some more - not really an option with the kids around.
2. Clean the house - what AGAIN?
3. Go and decorate the new house - not in the right frame of mind, besides I worked there yesterday and need a break.
4. Do something exciting with the kids - whether they want to or not.
5. Do all of the above - this is the most likely option knowing me.
6. Do nothing - impossible.
7. Fritter away the day in spontaneous and unplanned fun...now I like the sound of that...
Wednesday, 19 August 2015
REPOSTED AS REQUESTED BY YOU
I referred to this post during Holiday Heaven or Holiday Hell but some of you could not find it, so here it is again, just for you!
Welcome back! I hope you all had a great Christmas and New Year. Mine unfortunately was a mixed bag and I suspect it will continue to be so for some considerable time :(
Anyway as they say in Scotland, "out with the auld and in wi' the new!"
Now I would like to tell you a little tale of what happened to me just before Christmas.
'Twas the night afore Christmas [actually it was the 23rd but what the heck] and all was still and quiet all around. I had a friend staying over and the house was festive and Christmas looking. Tinsel adorned picture frames, cards littered the mantelpiece and hearth and there was a large glowing fibre-optic tree in the lounge window and another two scattered around the house.
As usual I had several items which had just sold on Ebay, one of which was my old dining room table set and I was awaiting its collection. My friend and I had just returned from walking the dogs and both humans and canines were dishevelled and muddy.
The children were excited and all around us there was much high pitched talk and laughter, children racing each other up and down the stairs and causing the biggest dog to whirl around and around, trying to catch her own tail in anticipation of some extraordinary event. The very air was charged with adrenaline and the scent of some long awaited pleasures and surprises.
It was at that precise moment that the doorbell rang and I ushered in a very dapper looking Asian man who turned out to be my Ebay buyer. Having returned late from the walk, I had not had time to dismantle the table as I had assured him I would do, so I did as any insane Scottish five-foot-two author would have done - I lied!
"I was thinking that to save you the bother of having to assemble it with all its various parts," were there various parts, I had no idea but I was into the bluff now and damned if I was going to fall at the first hurdle I encountered, "and as I knew you were bringing a big van for the collection," I had known no such thing but luckily he had turned up in a big white van, "you might want to take it out assembled and save yourself some bother." I actually managed to nod sagely at myself as if it was the best idea ever spoken aloud.
The dapper Asian gentleman agreed. So we began, the Asian man at one end of the table and my friend at the other. We tried to manoeuvre it through the lounge door into the hall ...no way was that happening! The legs of the table almost jammed in the door frame and we had to beat a hasty retreat.
But of course there was the piece de resistance - the patio doors which led from the conservatory to the back garden. We got the table back through the double doors from lounge to dining room and then dining room to conservatory and finally the outside with no ill effects. But the brick walls of the side passage which leads from back garden to front were a daunting obstacle. Unbending and unyielding they stood steadfast in their foundations and taunted me with their narrow confined space.
There was nothing for it but to dismantle the table - there would be no other way of removing it from the home. My mind searched through the old memories of the ex-boyfriend who had assembled the table originally. I remembered there had been a lot of cursing and many tools and instruments used in the process. But for goodness sake, it was a table...not a build-your-own-house-kit, how complicated could it be? Then I remembered that half-way through the job he had left to buy some bolts...there were bolts holding the table together! My blood ran cold. How on earth was I going to get the table dismantled with the new owner looking on? In absolute panic I turned to my friend.
Like a horse fed on a diet too rich in oats I must have resembled nothing more than a panicked little pony [I would have liked to say horse but that's stretching the truth a little too thin.]
Lips pulled back in a tight grimace and eyes rolling wildly, I assured the buyer that my friend would have the table dismantled in a jiffy. The Asian man went back outside to tell the van driver that there was a delay. It was at this point that it started to rain.
Huge sheets of glacier drops shattered to the ground, soaking everything in their path within seconds. Like rapiers, the raindrops sliced through clothing and footwear; mini heat-seeking missiles which leached the warmth from bones and the humour from hearts.
I could tell that by now the Asian gentleman was no longer impressed. I went back inside to see how my friend was faring.
Like an old beloved relative who is past his prime but wishes to be shackled to the home he has known and loved for so long, the table seemed to be resisting all his efforts to dismantle it. And even more unfortunately the house appeared to be colluding with it! I watched transfixed as the first screws were removed and promptly fell into the cracks between the dining room floor boards. I lunged across the room and using a butter knife, began to frantically gouge the minuscule gap in order to retrieve the screw. Hair plastered to my scalp by rain and the thin sweat of fear and embarrassment I grappled with it until I managed to clasp it in my damp palm.
Meanwhile my friend had moved on to the bolts. The table fought bravely, seeming to withdraw the bolt heads deeper into their holes and securing them there with a determination I had not known an inanimate object could possess. My friend persevered. The table resisted. My friend grunted and groaned. The table remained quietly victorious. Until with a quickness of wrist and keenness of eye my friend held the table a certain way, twisted the bolt whilst simultaneously pushing away from it and in one fell swoop, the table was finally undone, mastered, defeated.
And somewhere inside the very pit of my stomach it felt like a hollow victory...perhaps it was the presentiment of things yet to come...
We carried the table remains outside. By now the unrelenting rain had turned to hailstones of the most frightening kind. Huge balls of ice struck us as we hurried the wooden parts to the two men waiting in the white van.
It was on the first return journey that my friend turned a peculiar shade of white. "Get a bit of paper and take down their registration," he hissed at me theatrically.
"Why," I hissed back, just as theatrically [I hate to be outdone and have a terrible competitive streak.]
"Just bloody do it!" he sniped back, seemingly in a mood not to be outdone. But something about the thin set of his lips and anger in his eyes made me bite back any words which came immediately to my mind.
So it was that I stood outside of my house, in slippers and drenched clothing, in front of the van and tried to look as if I were inconspicuously eyeing up my neighbours property when in fact I was memorising the licence plate of the van for God knew what reason.
But being me, I could not bear the suspense and begged my friend to let me know what all the cloak and dagger stuff was about.
"You know when we went out with the first lot of wood from the table?" he said slowly, as if talking to a demented five year old.
"Yes?" I said, trying and failing to hide my annoyance.
"Well I noticed my car door was slightly open and the glove compartment lid was down... and my satnav is gone! Those men have stolen it."
"Well, I will go and confront them!" I said, feeling like I could now take on the world even though my knees were knocking. I told myself it was temper and sheer anger but in the calmer light of day as I write this I am less afraid to admit that yes, there was a little bit of fear in there too.
"No!" he said. "They will deny it and you have no right to search them. "We will have to phone the police."
I watched the two men battle the elements and lock up their van, all the while willing myself to go shove a banana up their exhaust pipe or a nail in their tyres, anything, everything that would prevent their leaving and prompt them into full disclosure and repentance, culminating in them returning our stolen property.
But of course, none of that happened. instead I snatched the money for the table from the man from behind a half-closed door and then slammed it shut in his face, hating myself for being so inadequate.
Then I reached for the phone.
The police, I have to say were very understanding. They were also very quick. Unusually so. I guess that should have started alarm bells ringing in my head...
"We have a rapid response team on the way and there is a helicopter in the area," the 999 controller informed me.
"Oh, um, ok," I responded. "But you will probably not be able to catch them, they left a few minutes ago," I explained.
"Do you know where they were headed caller?" she asked.
"They are on their way back to London," I related what they had told me.
"London, eh?"
Ok so at this point I should have known that things had become more than a little farcical I guess. But you know what? When wrapped up in the situation as it is actually unfolding, you cannot always see the wood for the trees. In my defence, Your Honour!
"So will you let me know what happens?" I asked.
"We have stopped them and are doing a full search on them as we speak," she stated triumphantly.
Now whilst we had been on the phone I had heard several police sirens but could not bring myself to believe it was in response to my call. But yes, it appeared that indeed it had!
Then the police controller said something which made it all fall into place. "We were in your area anyway as there have been a number of thefts within the past twelve hours, many involving satnavs and we think it is a gang targeting your area. With your help we might just have caught them. Hang up now caller as a constable is on his way to your house with more information."
I thanked her and duly hung up.
No more than ten minutes later, two very soaked PCs arrived at my house with a satnav.
"Is this it?" they asked brandishing the said article in my face.
"No," I stuttered dejectedly. "Did you find any others?"
"Well here's the thing..." he said slowly, strangely using that same tone of voice my friend had used on me earlier, the one that made me feel about knee high to a grasshopper and only half as intelligent.
"We searched the men extensively. We made them empty everything out of their van." He didn't say 'in the torrential rain and hail' but I felt the words anyway. "We made them unlock every box and empty out every holdall and bag in the van..." And oh dear God the feeling in my stomach was telling my head and heart things it did not want to know.
"We looked everywhere and there were none of the stolen goods from any of the houses." He looked me in the eye and we both knew he knew I was an idiot. "Is it possible that the theft had occurred before these men arrived and that their arrival was just a coincidence?"
It was of course the only logical answer and I was doubly humiliated. Not only had I caused innocent men to be pulled over and virtually strip searched but I had not even been aware of the burglary in the very first place!
I bowed my head in shame and felt the weight of life upon my shoulders as the policemen trudged away, back to the innocent men who waited still bent over their van in the rain and hail, searched and grappled with to within an inch of their lives. Treated like ghetto drug dealers - because of me!
So now every time I go to my Ebay account and view the feedback, I cringe. Nothing has been posted there - yet - but I imagine it nonetheless. It will read something like this:-
"Avoid like the plague. This woman will lure you to her home with promises of Ebay bargains but whilst you are there she will waste your time, snatch your money from your hand and then have you strip searched by the police on departure. AVIOD AT ALL COSTS!!!"
So dear readers, this blog post is my way of an open apology to those poor innocent men.
Now can I interest anyone in an only slightly used dishwasher?
Anyone?
[N.B. The above is a true story - unfortunately for all participants.]
Welcome back! I hope you all had a great Christmas and New Year. Mine unfortunately was a mixed bag and I suspect it will continue to be so for some considerable time :(
Anyway as they say in Scotland, "out with the auld and in wi' the new!"
Now I would like to tell you a little tale of what happened to me just before Christmas.
'Twas the night afore Christmas [actually it was the 23rd but what the heck] and all was still and quiet all around. I had a friend staying over and the house was festive and Christmas looking. Tinsel adorned picture frames, cards littered the mantelpiece and hearth and there was a large glowing fibre-optic tree in the lounge window and another two scattered around the house.
As usual I had several items which had just sold on Ebay, one of which was my old dining room table set and I was awaiting its collection. My friend and I had just returned from walking the dogs and both humans and canines were dishevelled and muddy.
The children were excited and all around us there was much high pitched talk and laughter, children racing each other up and down the stairs and causing the biggest dog to whirl around and around, trying to catch her own tail in anticipation of some extraordinary event. The very air was charged with adrenaline and the scent of some long awaited pleasures and surprises.
It was at that precise moment that the doorbell rang and I ushered in a very dapper looking Asian man who turned out to be my Ebay buyer. Having returned late from the walk, I had not had time to dismantle the table as I had assured him I would do, so I did as any insane Scottish five-foot-two author would have done - I lied!
"I was thinking that to save you the bother of having to assemble it with all its various parts," were there various parts, I had no idea but I was into the bluff now and damned if I was going to fall at the first hurdle I encountered, "and as I knew you were bringing a big van for the collection," I had known no such thing but luckily he had turned up in a big white van, "you might want to take it out assembled and save yourself some bother." I actually managed to nod sagely at myself as if it was the best idea ever spoken aloud.
The dapper Asian gentleman agreed. So we began, the Asian man at one end of the table and my friend at the other. We tried to manoeuvre it through the lounge door into the hall ...no way was that happening! The legs of the table almost jammed in the door frame and we had to beat a hasty retreat.
But of course there was the piece de resistance - the patio doors which led from the conservatory to the back garden. We got the table back through the double doors from lounge to dining room and then dining room to conservatory and finally the outside with no ill effects. But the brick walls of the side passage which leads from back garden to front were a daunting obstacle. Unbending and unyielding they stood steadfast in their foundations and taunted me with their narrow confined space.
There was nothing for it but to dismantle the table - there would be no other way of removing it from the home. My mind searched through the old memories of the ex-boyfriend who had assembled the table originally. I remembered there had been a lot of cursing and many tools and instruments used in the process. But for goodness sake, it was a table...not a build-your-own-house-kit, how complicated could it be? Then I remembered that half-way through the job he had left to buy some bolts...there were bolts holding the table together! My blood ran cold. How on earth was I going to get the table dismantled with the new owner looking on? In absolute panic I turned to my friend.
Like a horse fed on a diet too rich in oats I must have resembled nothing more than a panicked little pony [I would have liked to say horse but that's stretching the truth a little too thin.]
Lips pulled back in a tight grimace and eyes rolling wildly, I assured the buyer that my friend would have the table dismantled in a jiffy. The Asian man went back outside to tell the van driver that there was a delay. It was at this point that it started to rain.
Huge sheets of glacier drops shattered to the ground, soaking everything in their path within seconds. Like rapiers, the raindrops sliced through clothing and footwear; mini heat-seeking missiles which leached the warmth from bones and the humour from hearts.
I could tell that by now the Asian gentleman was no longer impressed. I went back inside to see how my friend was faring.
Like an old beloved relative who is past his prime but wishes to be shackled to the home he has known and loved for so long, the table seemed to be resisting all his efforts to dismantle it. And even more unfortunately the house appeared to be colluding with it! I watched transfixed as the first screws were removed and promptly fell into the cracks between the dining room floor boards. I lunged across the room and using a butter knife, began to frantically gouge the minuscule gap in order to retrieve the screw. Hair plastered to my scalp by rain and the thin sweat of fear and embarrassment I grappled with it until I managed to clasp it in my damp palm.
Meanwhile my friend had moved on to the bolts. The table fought bravely, seeming to withdraw the bolt heads deeper into their holes and securing them there with a determination I had not known an inanimate object could possess. My friend persevered. The table resisted. My friend grunted and groaned. The table remained quietly victorious. Until with a quickness of wrist and keenness of eye my friend held the table a certain way, twisted the bolt whilst simultaneously pushing away from it and in one fell swoop, the table was finally undone, mastered, defeated.
And somewhere inside the very pit of my stomach it felt like a hollow victory...perhaps it was the presentiment of things yet to come...
We carried the table remains outside. By now the unrelenting rain had turned to hailstones of the most frightening kind. Huge balls of ice struck us as we hurried the wooden parts to the two men waiting in the white van.
It was on the first return journey that my friend turned a peculiar shade of white. "Get a bit of paper and take down their registration," he hissed at me theatrically.
"Why," I hissed back, just as theatrically [I hate to be outdone and have a terrible competitive streak.]
"Just bloody do it!" he sniped back, seemingly in a mood not to be outdone. But something about the thin set of his lips and anger in his eyes made me bite back any words which came immediately to my mind.
So it was that I stood outside of my house, in slippers and drenched clothing, in front of the van and tried to look as if I were inconspicuously eyeing up my neighbours property when in fact I was memorising the licence plate of the van for God knew what reason.
But being me, I could not bear the suspense and begged my friend to let me know what all the cloak and dagger stuff was about.
"You know when we went out with the first lot of wood from the table?" he said slowly, as if talking to a demented five year old.
"Yes?" I said, trying and failing to hide my annoyance.
"Well I noticed my car door was slightly open and the glove compartment lid was down... and my satnav is gone! Those men have stolen it."
"Well, I will go and confront them!" I said, feeling like I could now take on the world even though my knees were knocking. I told myself it was temper and sheer anger but in the calmer light of day as I write this I am less afraid to admit that yes, there was a little bit of fear in there too.
"No!" he said. "They will deny it and you have no right to search them. "We will have to phone the police."
I watched the two men battle the elements and lock up their van, all the while willing myself to go shove a banana up their exhaust pipe or a nail in their tyres, anything, everything that would prevent their leaving and prompt them into full disclosure and repentance, culminating in them returning our stolen property.
But of course, none of that happened. instead I snatched the money for the table from the man from behind a half-closed door and then slammed it shut in his face, hating myself for being so inadequate.
Then I reached for the phone.
The police, I have to say were very understanding. They were also very quick. Unusually so. I guess that should have started alarm bells ringing in my head...
"We have a rapid response team on the way and there is a helicopter in the area," the 999 controller informed me.
"Oh, um, ok," I responded. "But you will probably not be able to catch them, they left a few minutes ago," I explained.
"Do you know where they were headed caller?" she asked.
"They are on their way back to London," I related what they had told me.
"London, eh?"
Ok so at this point I should have known that things had become more than a little farcical I guess. But you know what? When wrapped up in the situation as it is actually unfolding, you cannot always see the wood for the trees. In my defence, Your Honour!
"So will you let me know what happens?" I asked.
"We have stopped them and are doing a full search on them as we speak," she stated triumphantly.
Now whilst we had been on the phone I had heard several police sirens but could not bring myself to believe it was in response to my call. But yes, it appeared that indeed it had!
Then the police controller said something which made it all fall into place. "We were in your area anyway as there have been a number of thefts within the past twelve hours, many involving satnavs and we think it is a gang targeting your area. With your help we might just have caught them. Hang up now caller as a constable is on his way to your house with more information."
I thanked her and duly hung up.
No more than ten minutes later, two very soaked PCs arrived at my house with a satnav.
"Is this it?" they asked brandishing the said article in my face.
"No," I stuttered dejectedly. "Did you find any others?"
"Well here's the thing..." he said slowly, strangely using that same tone of voice my friend had used on me earlier, the one that made me feel about knee high to a grasshopper and only half as intelligent.
"We searched the men extensively. We made them empty everything out of their van." He didn't say 'in the torrential rain and hail' but I felt the words anyway. "We made them unlock every box and empty out every holdall and bag in the van..." And oh dear God the feeling in my stomach was telling my head and heart things it did not want to know.
"We looked everywhere and there were none of the stolen goods from any of the houses." He looked me in the eye and we both knew he knew I was an idiot. "Is it possible that the theft had occurred before these men arrived and that their arrival was just a coincidence?"
It was of course the only logical answer and I was doubly humiliated. Not only had I caused innocent men to be pulled over and virtually strip searched but I had not even been aware of the burglary in the very first place!
I bowed my head in shame and felt the weight of life upon my shoulders as the policemen trudged away, back to the innocent men who waited still bent over their van in the rain and hail, searched and grappled with to within an inch of their lives. Treated like ghetto drug dealers - because of me!
So now every time I go to my Ebay account and view the feedback, I cringe. Nothing has been posted there - yet - but I imagine it nonetheless. It will read something like this:-
"Avoid like the plague. This woman will lure you to her home with promises of Ebay bargains but whilst you are there she will waste your time, snatch your money from your hand and then have you strip searched by the police on departure. AVIOD AT ALL COSTS!!!"
So dear readers, this blog post is my way of an open apology to those poor innocent men.
Now can I interest anyone in an only slightly used dishwasher?
Anyone?
[N.B. The above is a true story - unfortunately for all participants.]
Tuesday, 18 August 2015
Breaking news...
Big exciting news... My latest novel is going to be displayed on a giant media screen on the Aston Expressway AND WHSmith will be stocking Split Decision in their stores!
I can't tell you how excited I am! I will be standing there gazing up at the display for hours on end no doubt.
People often ask what it is like to see your name on a book or to hold in your hands something that you created. The answer is that its a strange feeling. A novel is a piece of work that a novelist doesn't just write, they imagine it into being, so to hold it finally in your hands is rather surreal, almost magical, in the truest sense of the word.
I will keep you posted about the advertising date and perhaps you will be passing by at just the right time...
I know I will :)
I can't tell you how excited I am! I will be standing there gazing up at the display for hours on end no doubt.
People often ask what it is like to see your name on a book or to hold in your hands something that you created. The answer is that its a strange feeling. A novel is a piece of work that a novelist doesn't just write, they imagine it into being, so to hold it finally in your hands is rather surreal, almost magical, in the truest sense of the word.
I will keep you posted about the advertising date and perhaps you will be passing by at just the right time...
I know I will :)
Monday, 10 August 2015
Coming Event!
Don't forget that this Thursday you can find me at Lord Morton's Tearooms, where I will be giving a talk about my books, my love of writing and my plotlines.
For details contact 01299851201. I can't wait to see you there!
Happy Reading!
For details contact 01299851201. I can't wait to see you there!
Happy Reading!
Small but perfectly formed.
I'm not good with directions. I seem to have no knowledge of which way up to hold a map and whether a turn is to the left or the right...and yet I managed to find my way to an event I had been invited to, at Bar Opus in Birmingham, even though I tend to get lost if I stray too far from New Street.
Bar Opus is situated at Snowhill, an area I am not at all familiar with. Large windows front the building and there is an outside seating area too. Initially I took up residence there, happy to watch the world go by in all its hustle and bustle.
In addition to the shoppers outside, I had a good view of the staff working in the open plan kitchen and this is something I have always enjoyed [not to see other people working whilst I am relaxing, you understand] but to see how professional chefs carry out their trade.
Looking at the menu, I have to say it wasn't extensive, but it did offer some interesting food combinations with some ingredients being prepared in such as way as to make the completed dish both unique and enticing. 'Scorched lemon' was one such ingredient. How and why anyone would chose to scorch a lemon is beyond me, but I was assured by one of the customers that it gave an edge to the dish it was used within.
The décor was a little retro and the overall effect of the place was small and sophisticated with an extensive range of alcoholic beverages on display. But there was one thing I didn't like - the two unisex toilet cubicles. Now quite frankly I don't want to share a bathroom with a man unless I intend to marry him! And as the two cubicles were separate, I couldn't see why one hadn't been allocated to men and the other to women.
I don't know what men think about this latest trend, but I can tell you one thing - women don't like it! It may well be very cosmopolitan but its also downright embarrassing for men and women alike!
So if you fancy a quick drink in a lovely bar with perhaps a bite to eat from an interesting menu, then Bar Opus is the place for you. Just make sure your bladder is empty before you arrive, otherwise that woman queuing behind you just might be me.
Bar Opus is situated at Snowhill, an area I am not at all familiar with. Large windows front the building and there is an outside seating area too. Initially I took up residence there, happy to watch the world go by in all its hustle and bustle.
In addition to the shoppers outside, I had a good view of the staff working in the open plan kitchen and this is something I have always enjoyed [not to see other people working whilst I am relaxing, you understand] but to see how professional chefs carry out their trade.
Looking at the menu, I have to say it wasn't extensive, but it did offer some interesting food combinations with some ingredients being prepared in such as way as to make the completed dish both unique and enticing. 'Scorched lemon' was one such ingredient. How and why anyone would chose to scorch a lemon is beyond me, but I was assured by one of the customers that it gave an edge to the dish it was used within.
The décor was a little retro and the overall effect of the place was small and sophisticated with an extensive range of alcoholic beverages on display. But there was one thing I didn't like - the two unisex toilet cubicles. Now quite frankly I don't want to share a bathroom with a man unless I intend to marry him! And as the two cubicles were separate, I couldn't see why one hadn't been allocated to men and the other to women.
I don't know what men think about this latest trend, but I can tell you one thing - women don't like it! It may well be very cosmopolitan but its also downright embarrassing for men and women alike!
So if you fancy a quick drink in a lovely bar with perhaps a bite to eat from an interesting menu, then Bar Opus is the place for you. Just make sure your bladder is empty before you arrive, otherwise that woman queuing behind you just might be me.
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