Lorraine Jenkin, Author

Editing next year's best seller...

2012-01-25T12:48:00.000-08:00

This week I am editing my new novel. I wrote it last year and have been waiting with baited breath for my editor's notes. For my first novel, although I didn't know what to expect, I do know that when the notes arrived, I hadn't expected what I got. I imagined a post-it note saying, "Marvellous, Lorraine, well done." I didn't get that - instead there were pages of notes saying everything from "that's ridiculous, write it again," to "need a comma there".

The second time, I thought I knew it all and felt assured of the post-it again. Nope. Another tome, this time with a few back and fores about whether a character finding two baby rabbits in a pile of vomit on his doorstep was likely or not. My editor thought not, but then, she has never been to my friend's house...

I feel that I am one of those laboratory hamsters that never learns, and still licks the live wires, but it is fantastic to see her notes kicking the manuscript into shape. I lose a bit of unnecessary waffle here, or a boring character there, but get buoyed up by a comment that shows that she too likes one of my favourite bits.

The best bits about the editing process are the differences highlighted between us: she might not get a phrase that I use ten times a day, or I realise that I have always used a word in the wrong context, but my favourite part of this particular editing process is the fact that she said something was too far fetched - but I KNOW that I saw someone showing how he could put two-pence pieces into his foreskin in the corner of a pub...

Reducing tasks, increasing efficiency.

2012-01-20T15:08:00.000-08:00

Being an overworked drudge, I am always keen to find ways of getting things done a little quicker or reducing the amount of tasks that need doing. I was therefore interested in a conversation I had with my brother, who runs a micro-brewery, about the need to reduce the times a bottle is touched or moved, as when you times it by a thousand it becomes hugely relevant. I decided to apply it to my own life.

I started by checking the things that the girls slung into the wash basket - at first I had been glad that anything made it into the basket, rather than having to be extracted from the carpet, or removed from over-dressed teddies, but I started spotting t-shirts with only a little Weetabix on going in. A bit of spit n rub, and they started heading back to the drawer.

I then moved my attention to the kitchen. I remembered a Peruvian woman I had spotted a few years ago selling some ear stew on the street. She had been given the bowl and cutlery back by her customer. She bid him thanks, looked around, then wiped the bowl on her pinny and put it back for the next customer. At least she didn't lick the fork clean, like I am now doing...

The best example I have seen was on my Uncle Ronald's fishing trawler. When I was thirteen, our class had to arrange some work experience. I wasn't inspired by my peer's choices - primary schools, local factories or offices, so I did mine on my uncle's massive trawler (well, I didn't really as even early Health and Safety wouldn't have let a 13 yr old girl sail around the North Sea for a week, but I did help load and unload, and spent the rest of the week sitting on beaches with my lovely aunty!).

As they had a work experience sucker on board, the fishermen set me the tasks that no-one else wanted to do. I had to crawl around the engine room, greasing all the cogs - I thought it was great, they did too... I was also asked if I could tidy up the galley a bit, and even as a 13 yr old scutter, I was pretty traumatised by what I saw. In that tiny little room, one of the men cooked enough food to feed eight hairy-arsed fishermen who worked for 20 hours a day catching and gutting fish in the cold and rain. It looked as if he'd forgotten to write Jif (it was 1984; Cif was still Jif) on his shopping list for the past ten years.

I spent about three hours in that galley, scrubbing, retching and scratching at things. I even managed to bend the net curtains. Finally the fishermen came down to see how I was doing, and I "ta-daahed" my shiny (ish) reveal. I remember it now. In fact, it probably set my whole life's cleaning mantra. A bloke in dirty yellow waterproof overalls, who smelt of fish and hadn't washed his hands for a whole week, let alone anything else, picked up his mug and said, "Oh, you've cleaned my mug. What did you do that for? I won't be able to recognise it now..."

I think of that now as I wipe a mug clean with a tea-towel, or get the baby to lick a plate. When you're cooking soup, it doesn't really matter what was cooked in the pan before - it's all flavour, so there's no point in cleaning the old one out. Glasses? Pah. Toast plates - a quick smooth over with a sleeve and as good as new. Cake mixture - well, the kids won't allow those bowls to be washed anyway. The time I've saved - priceless.

Something else was set in place that day: as the fishermen shared out their spoils in the pub, I was bought my first ever pint of lager and lime. My uncle would surely have been proud that he installed in me that day a value that I have carried with me since. Every time I've stood at a bar, I've muttered those words, "A pint of lager n loime, please..."

Environmental not-thought-it-throughs...

2012-01-08T13:58:00.000-08:00

I would like to think that I am environmentally aware - I do try and not use / am tight. I recycle, and keep rotten food in the house until it's putrid and stinking as I can't be bothered to put my wellies on to go through the mud to the compost bin and Huw won't let me go in my slippers any more. I am, however, very aware of plastic hippies and stupid contradictions where environmental consumption is concerned, and today I think I saw the best yet.

Before I had children I thought I'd be the kind of parent who spurns all the modern trappings of babies - I'd not bother with nappies, I'd bind my child in rags and let Nature take its course. However, after a few times of being covered in orange slime, I decided to sod it and get some nappies. I started with the compostable ones, but soon found them very expensive - and if you dig about in the undergrowth in my garden, you'll still find odd-shaped balls with fossilised turds in them. Eventually I did what every other parent does and bought shed loads of whatever was cheapest, and piles and piles of wipes. My contribution to environmentalism is to change nappies as infrequently as possible - I expect them to be at least banging around their knees before I'll fetch a new one. With wipes, I use every square inch and reckon to get at least four down-to-knees nappy changes with each one.

Therefore I was delighted to mock a pack of wipes that had a "Help us wipe out waste" logo on the front - "The irony," I laughed, as I tossed my take-out coffee cup into the bin, "trying to be environmental with a product that is an unecessary luxury anyway!" Their idea to cut waste? To save the packet that the wipes were in, print out a postage label from the internet, put the old wipes package into an envelope, post the envelope to a new depot hundreds of miles away so that it could be recyled and turned into (and this is my favourite bit) baby chic items.

Although they may have held a workshop and found out that this actually stands up, I think it could possibly go in the haven't really thought it through basket. If a manufacturer wants to reduce the waste in their product, make it bio-degradable or don't make it at all - print us a leaflet on a doc leaf about how to best wash your baby's backside in a puddle instead.

I can imagine the computers and printers around the world being cranked up, paper jams, printer cartridges running out, jiffy bags being the only things to hand, rolls of sellotape being used to stick the labels on, parcels being driven all over town - all of which are racking up loads of environmental bad-things. Then when the new (heated) depot finally receives the parcels, it would then use loads more energy to turn them into baby chic things.

I have decided to right the wrongs. I have turned my wipes packets into shoes. I shall wear them until I feel that I have made up for all the jiffy bags, sellotape, road miles, print toner and heated depots.

If you wish to support my stand, please send my baby a handful of doc leaves from your back garden to save her from becoming socially unacceptable.

Many thanks.

Christmas sales and nodding reindeers

2011-12-26T14:28:00.000-08:00

I watched the news today with a snigger, as people stampeded through a door in London after having queued for hours in the rain in order to save £3.50 on a pair of trainers. As I sat on the sofa in front of the fire, I did ask myself whether that £3.50 could ever make up for looking an arse on national news?
I've never really understood the desire for material things that would warrant that amount of effort - the only thing that I feel would be that valuable would be one's health or a cup of tea and an hour's peace, neither of which would be remotely improved by queuing in a puddle next to a pile of people wondering if there was an app for weeing behind a car without anyone seeing.
To me, it's second only in complete pointlessness to exterior Christmas lights. I can't imagine ever having enough time on my hands to warrant saying, "Oh, I think I'll just drag the ladder out of the shed and climb up in the rain and fart about with a tangle of lights". Saying that, nor can I imagine ever having enough money to justify buying dozens of wire reindeers for other people to look at as my electricity metre spun around.

I read this over for grammar, but have just learnt something about myself: what a miserable bastard...

The A470 bypass! It's open!

2011-11-26T01:13:00.000-08:00

The New Road – It’s open!
Living in Mid Wales you come to expect that getting anywhere takes a huge amount of
time – mainly because anywhere you might want to take a proper trip to, is far
from here, but also because the roads are still on the old routes that the drovers
took and they didn’t mind the windy bits.

Our village is cut in half by a trunk road and as we scuttle across the road with
massive lorries bearing down, we cry, “Run! Run for your lives!” to anyone we
are dragging across with us. There were big plans to bypass the village and I
thought that this would be good – in my mind, the pedestrian should be king and
this would solve many of our other problems: people stop and chat, they get to
know each other and so take an interest, they get fit (well, fitter than they
would be if they drove the half mile to the shop and back), and their dogs crap
in a range of places, rather than it all being concentrated in the children’s
play area with the parking space next to it.

But, then the recession hit, and the Welsh Office was looking to cut back, so it
decided to shelve the village bypass and instead turn the section of road
leading to the village into a race track on a sixty-foot-high bund. To us, this
has the double whammy of not only not by-passing the village, but also
increasing the traffic speed of the cars entering the village by about 20 miles
per hour: it’s actually quite hard to speed on drover’s routes, but really
really easy on a nice sweeping bend with barriers either side…

People have been concerned, as well as incredulous, about the effect of the road on
the safety in the village, and we were promised a “gateway” feature that would
warn vehicles that they were entering a built up area that children would love
to play in. This, we were told, would ensure that cars would enter at 30mph, and
would potter through smiling and waving us across the road. Imagine our disappointment
when a “totem pole” was erected – a piece of 12” by 12” wood that looked
suspiciously like it had been swapped from the sawmills that sits next to the
contractor’s compound in return for a bit of tarmac for their potholes.

Yesterday we went to the nearby town. We drove down along the drovers’ route and by the
time we came back the road had been opened! Fantastic! The view from the top of
the high bund meant we could see for miles. There were some great dogging
laybys and we were able to exceed the speed limit for nearly the whole route. Sadly,
I didn’t even notice the 12 x 12 totem pole as I flashed by, so I can’t comment
on how effective it was.

I can’t wait for Carwyn Jones to come up and see it next week…

Anti-capitalists and other people wasting their precious time

2011-11-09T05:12:00.000-08:00

Anti-capitalists…

I have been trying to blog about the anti-capitalist protestors since they first took up camp, but have held back until I had really understood what they were about. It would have been too easy to mock them for moaning about capitalism whilst sleeping in shop-bought tents and chatting on
mobile phones: wearing an itchy jumper does not remove you from being a cog in a capitalist society.
At first I was scathing – if you inherently don’t like capitalism, then you should probably move to a country that has a different way of organising itself, as 200 people nibbling on stew and sipping at Starbucks lattes cannot change the way our country has established itself over a thousand
years. But then I listened a bit more and realised that “anti-capitalist” was possibly a mis-nomer, and “bank re-organisation lobby” might be more accurate. Then I had a bit more sympathy – but only a bit.

Yes, bankers earn far more than me – but they possibly generate their company more money than I do to mine. Anti-capitalists tend to forget that in the private sector people have to earn their company more than they cost, and that is what determines their level of pay.

Of course, no-one has the right to bring down a bank – especially one that I want to pay my cheque for £37.50 into, but I think bankers would be even stupider than people think they are if there were all these wonderful ways of making lots of money, but they turned them down as it might be a little unfair to earn more than the bloke who potters around in the
wholefood café round the corner.

The real villains are obviously the people who set the rules that allowed our banks to exchange their foundations of gold to foundations of traws (hedging detritus), but 200 people pissing
behind St Paul’s Cathedral isn’t going to get to the inner circle of them.

I think the thing that sealed my opinion of the Anti-capitalists was the fact that within hours of setting up camp, they had established a kitchen tent (maybe fair enough), a prayer room, a library and a university! To me, if you’ve time to set up a university, your work has been
done. If I wanted to protest about something, I would spend my time banging on doors, debating convincingly with people who can make decisions, and thinking of clever things to say to TV cameras. I wouldn’t spend it arguing about where the tent poles for the prayer room should go
put when there is a bloody great cathedral next to it.

Powdered tomato soup with clumps in

2011-11-06T12:59:00.001-08:00

Bonfire night: as a child, the best night in the calendar.

Us village kids used to start building the bonfire at the end of the summer holidays - we used to head down the river with an axe and depending on how many of us there were would determine how big the tree we would chop down for our centre pole. One year there weren't many, so we decided to take a short cut and started building the bonfire around the telegraph pole in the playing field - the pile was a fair size before some miserable bugger made us move it.

Every bit of foliage or rubbish in the village would be plundered and dragged to site - I remember being so grateful to this lady who cut down her hedge on November the fourth and my siblings and I were allowed to drag tons of scratchy bushes five hundred yards to the bonfire and we did so until every scrap was done and were allowed by my parents to do so until late into the night. As an adult, I now understand the lady's smug expression as she leant on her door with a cup of tea and watched as we saved her a bloody fortune on gardener's fees.

As I am now a parent, I feel it is my responsibility to give our kids the same excitement that I used to have - that feeling of drinking tomato soup with clumps of powder in as we watched some bloke trying to nail a Catherine wheel to our rotten goal-post. The excitement of watching as the "tyre layer" takes, or the thrill of being knocked to the ground in the dark during a village-scale game of Piley On.

Trouble is, bonfire nights now have conatations of where to park, cost, health and safety and general blandness as kids aren't allowed to prod the fire with big sticks or throw each others coats onto it for a laugh. You can imagine my pleasure therefore when I spotted a few fireworks out of the window coming from a distant hill farm.

I hoofed the kids into their coats, threw them outside and chucked their tea out on a plate after them. Everytime they looked as if they might want to come in (i.e their little faces were pressed blue against the door), I cheered as another rocket flew through the sky, and the fun continued.

It may not go down as their best ever, but I think it was a start.

Gov funding of computer games

2011-10-13T13:29:00.001-07:00

We all sort of know that too many computer games are bad for kids - they HAVE to be. Sitting on their arses looking at a screen for hours at a time is:

A) bad for their little bodies which should be running wild in the fields or being hurled off sofas,

B) such a waste of time

C) addling their minds when they should be asking, "Mum, why is your head a funny shape?"

The government is trying to tackle childhood obesity - spending lots of our money on telling us why we should stop our kids being mini-fatties, but then they spend lots more dosh on producing computer games and lots more on advertising the fact to our kids.

There are PILES of computer games on the market - just because the BBC ones are about yoga, fluff or flowers, it does not mean that they are better for kids than ones that disembowl aliens. Kids still sit in front of them when they should be chucking water at each other or teaching each other swear words. However, because these games are funded by the BBC, they have the stamp of approval and therefore are technically acceptable for many families.

I think the real reason the government fund computer games is so that staff can play them when they have the filters on the computers at work...

Itchy hats and broaches that nobody wants to buy...

2011-10-10T02:08:00.000-07:00

We can all agree that the economic situation in this country is not at its best. We need to pull together to increase our productivity and our exports in order to be a positive influence on the state, rather than a negative drain. What industry needs is engineers, technical wizards, entrepreneurs! This is why it is strange that when a person I know who had been made redundant went on a back-to-work scheme, she ended up doing felting…
“Good idea!” I said, “any skill in the building industry is worth doing – and we all need our roofs maintained.”
“No – felting as in felting wool.”
“Really?”
Now, I would have thought that there are only ten people in the whole of the country who make a living out of felting wool – well, eleven if you include the person round here who is teaching it to unemployed people. This poor lady has been made redundant, has been thrown on the economic scrap-heap, has spent months looking for work and getting knocked back, week after week and then she gets offered felting?
I have nothing against felting per se: my mum used to do it and we all had great pairs of slippers that would send us skidding on any polished floor, feet in the air, cracking the back of our heads on tiles / lino / floor boards. However, I would imagine that selling lethal slippers is not the way that pays for many mortgages.
I feel a stiff letter coming on – Britain does not need more itchy hats or bloody awful broaches that don’t sell at craft fairs. Not everyone can make a living selling home-made things – even the people who are good at making home-made things struggle to make a living from it – which is why they have to wear their own itchy creations rather than normal clothes.
The reason why I know such things? I once made a woollen rug at school. It was awful – itchy, tasteless, pointless. Christmas was coming and times were hard, so I folded it in half, put a zip onto to it and tied a piece of string to each corner, thus making a fashionable bag for my mother.
Did my mother, one of the two people in the world who should be blind to my failings, love it and take it everywhere? Did she bollocks: she carried it with her on a walk through the fields ONCE and then it was never seen again…
People – don’t do craft courses and try to make a living from them – even your mother will think your things are shit.

Fireworks and Community Gatherings

2011-08-29T00:10:00.000-07:00

Morning.

Last night I took the girls to the Llandrindod Wells Fireworks display. It's held at the end of Victorian Week (occasioanal person in a long dress carrying a Tesco's carrier bag) for tourists and locals alike.

Now, I'm not too sure why I went - apart from the fact that the girls had got wind of it and decided they fancied it. Then when I was telling people that we might go, I was saying that it seemed to be THE event of the year in Llandrindod, in that when I went before, all I could hear was, "Well, hello!" as people who hadn't spoken to each other since last Fireworks stopped for a chat. I had decided in my mind that although a fireworks display might not be the most ethical and essential thing in cash-strapped Britain, it was good for the community to all get together sometimes.

So we went, parking miles away, running around the lake in the dark, skidding on duck-shit as we went, trying to make it round to the big friendly crowd all saying, "well, hello!" Ashamed to say, I did buy them some plastic stuff that flashed, mainly to stop the girls getting stepped on.

The fireworks eventually started and a few people said, "Ooh," and "Aah," but then I remembered that when you've seen one firework, you've actually seen most of them. Although it was an impressive display, far better were the ones where the bloke and his biscuit tin got chased down a bank by a wayward rocket.

But there was something about it that was different than before. There were of course loads of people standing and filming the thing on their mobiles (Fourteen year old boys: you are not going to choose Firework Display to watch when you have the world on your phone - watch it in real time, then move on!) But I realised that no-one was talking, let alone saying, "Well, hello..."

Then I remembered that the Council have turned off most of the street lights, and so people couldn't see anyone... Unless someone stood on your toe /child, no-one was really saying much. I also remembered there were no lights when I dragged the girls on a short cut through the woods / brambles to get back to the car.

Maybe this year the toads / ducks / shopping trolleys in the lake got scared witless for no reason...

The People's Book Prize 2011

2011-08-01T06:02:00.003-07:00

For months I have been pestering and pleading with people to PLEASE vote for me! My book, Cold Enough to Freeze Cows was longlisted for The People's Book Prize and through grovelling and cajolling, I made it through to the final round. I had posters printed, cards made, press releases released and t-shirts printed. I even got thrown out of The Hay Festival for unauthorised canvassing...

Last Wednesday, Huw and I made it to London with bags full of finery. We had a hotel with a view of St Paul's Cathedral (which does look a little different in the flesh) and we found The Millenium Bridge. We even managed to look appreciative for some time in Tate Modern.

Then it was on to the People's Book Prize award ceremony. We had been told to prepare a speech in case we won, but it felt that to do so would jinx the outcome, so I cobbled a few notes together and decided that if it came to it, I could wing it.

I was very nervous, but there is nothing like bumping a wheelchair up a flight of stone steps in the rain to bring one back to earth.

The night was fabulous! Great company, good food, free wine (yippee!) and by half way through, I had decided that there was no chance that I would win and so I might as well get stuck in. By the time the winners were to be announced, I'd almost forgotten what I was there for.

As finalist I had to stand and be clapped: that was nice. As a "final three", I was allowed to remain standing and then it began to get a bit scary. We three remaining had to stand on the podium and look happy for each other. Frederick Forsythe came along too and did a nice little speech about "Don't worry, I didn't used to sell many either at one point!"

Then it was time for one of those envelopes to be opened. If I had leaned over his shoulder, I could have read the result and known what face to put on - but I felt it might be a little unprofessional.
The upshot was, I didn't win, but I was a top three finalist. Huw says that technically I can say I came third. Personally, I prefer to say that I was probably second.

It is said that you don't get anything for coming second, but I felt like I did. I met great people, got alot of advice and some good empathy, I got to wear a nice new dress and sleep for a whole night without being woken up by a child. Fantastic.

Bursaries and Shopping Trips!

2011-04-06T03:49:00.000-07:00

Hello! Back again and this time I am very pleased to announce that I have been awarded a bursary from the nice people at Literature Wales to help with my writing expenses (now that I can't steal pens and paper from work...) I know it's very disrespectful to say things like this, but I can't help myself, so here goes... Thank you Literature Wales! I promise I won't spend it all on creme eggs and shoes.

W I's

2011-04-01T13:51:00.000-07:00

Evening! Thought I'd better do a blog as I have been sniggering all day at something I heard last night... I occasionally do "talks" for Women's Institutes - thinking that I can't be any worse than the "My Operation" ones that my mum used to drag us too if we'd been naughty. Last night I went to a lively group in a nearby town and got there early enough to listen to the end of their meeting agenda. They were discussing an opportunity to have a table at a fair and sell some crafts. They were trying to remember what the fair had been like when they had done it last year and whether it was worth doing and one of them said, "Yes, that was the one that we all ended up buying each other's stuff just to clear the table." Someone else chirped up, "Perhaps we could do the stall again and buy it all back..." And I had some lovely cake. And I had two cups of tea. And someone thought that I was in my twenties! A good night all round I think...

James Blunt at the school Eistedfod...

2011-02-14T13:48:00.000-08:00

I was very proud when both daughters said that they were going to sing at the school Eistedfod, but they were cagey about their entries, saying it was a secret. I managed to manipulate the littlest one to tell me that she was singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and eventually the older one let slip that she was singing a James Blunt song.
Now, I love James Blunt (or Jam Blunt as he comes up listed on our car stereo) and I drive along with everyone singing it - all in different octaves. To a mother's ear, any singing is lovely, but I did wonder how an audience at the Eistedfod would appreciate a five year old standing on stage and singing about how someone "would go down on me..."

For a few moments, I debated whether I should just keep quiet...

Wet Logs

2011-01-18T13:21:00.000-08:00

Logs have rather taken over life. We had a good "emergency" pile delivered on Christmas Eve with the understanding that some of them were a bit wet. We were so pleased with the delivery that we got the Woodman and his family absolutely leathered and a good Christmas Eve was had by all. We have since used all the nice dry ones, knowing that underneath them, underneath two inches of snow, were wet logs.

Finally it was time to move into the wet logs. For a week, we spent our days on our hands and knees blowing into the fire, smugly calling, "I've done it!" to each other and then the other would even more smugly say five minutes later, "Fire's gone out - you stop the baby eating Lego and I'll do it." Basically for a week we heated the house by burning screwed up newspaper and Huw's sweet wrappers. I had to empty a bin liner of ash each morning.
My lung capacity now enormous, I finally got the fire to light and then piled up wet logs around the fireplace to dry out before being put on. It became my life and woe betide anyone who mixed up the order of my log system. Although it worked to a point, it was still fragile.

We asked our trusty woodman for more dry logs, but he'd not got any as everyone else's log piles had gotten covered in two foot of snow as well. We discussed the idea of turning up the heating and putting logs on top of the radiator's, but decided against it.

Finally Woodman felt sorry for us and dug around in his own shed and found some dry stuff and brought it over. We told him what we had been doing and it was good to hear that he didn't have any skin on his knees either and that he'd been heating his house with firelighters for the past week... Roll on the summer.

Buses, dirty fruit pastilles and condensation

2011-01-07T13:10:00.000-08:00

Every now and then I think that going on the bus would be fun. I think that it must have been fun on one occasion and that is the one that sticks in my mind. So when the mechanic said, "Do you want a lift home?" I said, "No - we'll go on the bus." In fact, I thought, we'll make an adventure and go to the next town, have lunch and then get the bus back home. What fun it'll be!

So, we went to the bus stop: the little one wanted the toilet, so we missed the first bus and as we now had time to kill, we headed off to a cafe where she decided she didn't need it any more. We went for the next bus; she needed the toilet again. We missed that bus and then found the toilets shut. We headed across town for the other toilets, they were shut too. “Frozen,” said the women in the empty Tourist Information with her back smugly pressed against her own private suite that she said we sadly couldn’t use because of Health and Safety. I made the little one promise to wait and we went for the next bus.

I wedged the pushchair into the Pushchair and Wheelchair space and sat, poised, as it rattled about with the whole bus calling, “Whoa!” every time it threatened to head off down the aisle with the baby sleeping soundly in it.

We had lunch and sauntered to the “Bus Station” that used to be called the “Bus Stop”. The bus was late and I should have smelled trouble when the bus timetable didn’t concur with the one in my pocket, but being made of sterner stuff I instead ran the hundred yards between the two bus stops (still not technically a Station) to make sure we wouldn’t miss it wherever it stopped.

Eventually the world’s dirtiest bus smoked around the corner. The driver told me, “No, that timetable changed in November. If you’re cold, you can get on this one if you want to and go round town first?” It wasn’t the best offer I’d ever had, but not the worst either, so we hopped on. The girls were delighted because they found two fruit pastilles on the floor in their favourite flavours. We set off round parts of town that I had never seen before - we passed the same friend three times. We ground our way up and down steep hills to places that if people had been standing at the bus stops, they would have perished with hyperthermia by the time we’d arrived.

An hour later, we returned to the Station where the driver had a break – probably to give him the strength to drive a knackered empty bus for the next stage. Finally we set off to our village, the girls picking at chewing gum as we wound around empty caravan parks and deserted hamlets. The baby fell asleep on my lap half a mile from home, about the same time as it started to sleet.

We were finally slung out into the snow with a crying baby, a collapsed pushchair and one glove less than we had that morning. When we reached home, just above the sound of my grumbling, the phone was ringing: it was the mechanic. “NO – we can’t collect! Delivery please!” I shouted. In fact, thinking back, I’m not even sure I said Please…

Cabin Fever

2010-12-22T14:58:00.000-08:00

Our house is becoming like The Shining. School was cancelled again, although perhaps more to do with, “ah, let them go sledge,” than the worry of three-foot icicles landing on / in their heads. It is lovely in theory to have the little ones at home for a few extra days, but of course the practice can be a little different at times.
In the days before we swapped our television for a sofa, child care was easy – “Hey, kids, CBEEBIES is on this channel: I’ll call you when lunch is ready.” Now it requires a little more effort.
When the baby sleeps, it is time for me to take the two girls out. We spend the first hour finding gloves and getting into waterproofs and then it’s time to find the sledge which has been buried under the snow again. By the time we’ve found it, we’ve lost another glove and Maude has a welly full of snow. We head off round the village calling in at the shop for essential supplies. It’s a quick whip round the rest of the loop and, again, it’s just that little too far as both have cold hands and I have done my back in.
So, Home Time.
They do colouring. We wrap presents. We play Jenga. We do fuzzy felt. They make the baby a den. Every time it goes a bit wrong, I get drafted back into the game. When they are playing along nicely, I sneak off and do a few interesting adult things like washing-up and pairing socks. Must be nearly bed time, I think: it’s 11.30 a.m.
By the time baby goes for another sleep, tension has risen and things have nearly popped and so I do my, “RIGHT, OUTSIDE!” cry. Luckily we find some good icicles and I remember to not tell them that an icicle is a perfect murder weapon in case one wants revenge on the other for nicking their best fuzzy felt piece.
Every now and then I take heart when I think that for thousands of years parents have been getting nothing done in the quest to occupy their kids and all over the world, parents are shouting, “RIGHT, OUTSIDE!” when people have been found to be cheating at Jenga.
It’s at times like this that I look at the sofa and think, is it really as useful as a tv? But then I see that they are playing their “Leap off the sofa and land on each other” game, I think that, yes, perhaps it is…

Panic Buying

2010-12-21T12:54:00.000-08:00

I always think that I am quite an organised person, but actually I'm not. I still think back to that one golden Christmas when I had bought or made everyone I cared about beautiful, thoughtful gifts and had wrapped them by the end of October. If it ever did happen, I must have been single with an awful lot of time on my hands. This year, I'm a shambles. Not only had I not bought much, I hadn't thought about what to buy either.

So this morning, that moment of panic kicked in. I had bad thoughts about my children tumbling down the stairs on Christmas morning to flacid stockings with a tangerine and a bag of crisps at the bottom. Huw was packing his bags as I hadn't bought him his annual Chocolate Orange and Toblerone and I was feeling that I should have tried a little harder.

We set off to town to do some food shopping a bit later than planned, as I had spent an hour clearing the snow from around the car but in doing so, had compacted it into a sheet of ice. The High Street was lethal with great banks of snow at the side of the road where the snow plough had been through and piled it up against feeble little cars that now haven't a hope of getting out before the new year.

I sent Huw and the girls into a cafe and told them to eat toast whilst I ran around as it was lethal. On the way into the door a big blob of snow fell from a hanging basket and shot straight down the Maude's back, which made Charlotte's day. I said I'd be ten minutes as there'd bound to be a queue in the butchers and I set off at a pace. "QUICK!" I'd shout as I burst into a shop, "I'm panic buying!" They all understood and I had shop assistants running everywhere grabbing things and slinging them onto the counter.
“NO,” I would shout, “too expensive.” “NO! 32 inch waist? Have you seen him lately?” “NO! They have to both be the same colour, otherwise it’ll be carnage.”

Within fifteen minutes, I had done the lot and was running up the high street with bags clanking round my knees – and even better, hardly any of the presents were from the butchers this year. I have hidden them all in that special place that only mums go (inside the wardrobe, rather than piled on the chair beside it) and my hope is that when I go to wrap them all on Christmas eve, that I a) remember who I bought what for and b) am still relatively pleased that I chose it / was sold it.

Next year, it of course will all be different…

The Village Children's Christmas Party - Santa was Rumbled...

2010-12-20T12:48:00.000-08:00

Hello !
Yesterday was the village children's Christmas party. We arrived with full waterproofs and wellies after having hacked there through the snow. It took us a full ten minutes to get all our kit off, by which time there was a massive puddle of melted snow on the floor and a jumble sale of coats. All around the hall there were similar piles with meltwater oozing from them.

As is the way at such events, the kids disappeared, ignoring the tables where you could decorate a biscuit or make a Christmas card and instead went skidding on the shiny floor instead. The side of the hall with tables of activities had a lone adult sitting at each table, one making a Christmas card, another stringing beads, but the empty half of the hall had children skidding all over it, grabbing each other as they went and piling onto the floor.

Someone's gazebo had been put in the corner and one by one the children sneaked a peep into it - the older ones eyeing up the bags of presents and the younger ones so excited they couldn't help grabbing a friend and crashing them to the floor in their wonder.

There was the sound of a car skidding into another one outside and the door opened for Father Christmas! The children all suddenly started being good.

The youngest children were to see him first and I stood in the queue with our middle child, Maude, 3. She was a bit nervous, but went and stood in front of him and stared. He started making small talk about being good and such, but Maude pulled me to one side and hissed, "Mum, it's not Santa..."
"Of course it is, darling!" I cried, "come on, do you want to sit on his lap and have a photo?"
"Mum - it's NOT Santa - it's Joe the builder, I can tell by his voice..."

And she was right - it was Joe the builder. The photo is a classic - Joe the builder with his weather-beaten cheeks and crushed fingernails smiling behind this little girl who is frowning and trying to work out what was going on. Mind, she took the present...

People's Book Prize!

2010-12-05T14:42:00.000-08:00

Hello!
Now it's getting a bit serious folks - unless someone with good technical skills is playing a terrible joke, I am through to the shortlist of the People's Book Prize! I had an email from Honno to tell me that I had got through and I thought, "Yippee! Got through to what?". Then I looked on the website and there is my book, nestling alongside Andrea Levy and 13 times New York Times bestseller list, Tami Hoag. Then I went a bit pale...
What now happens is that because it is the "People's" Book Prize, the people have to decide it - basically through voting! This allows me to become the John Seargeant / Anne Widdicombe of the written word...

I would like to ask that everyone who reads this blog votes for me and my latest novel, Cold Enough to Freeze Cows. Not only do I ask that you folks please vote, but also your partner(s), your family, your colleagues, the plumber who mended your burst pipes, the bloke who's dog craps on your front lawn - everyone.

The link is http://www.peoplesbookprize.com/section.php?id=6 - you are allowed to vote for three books, but I would rather you voted for just mine as it would be a terrible shame if you all voted for another one too, and that one turned out to be the winner instead...

I thank you in advance, and in the meantime, I shall open myself a few thousand email accounts and get busy with those...

Silence...

2010-11-22T04:17:00.000-08:00

Silence is apparently the new thing that people are just discovering.

John Cage has a single which consists of 4 minutes, 33 seconds of silence and there is a big buzz / hush about it. There is also apparently a programme on BBC 2 about people who go to a silent retreat and spend - goodness me - 23 hours a day in silence (with one hour in which they can chat to a spiritualist helper).
Let's spare a little moment here for the poor sods who live alone and have just one visitor a week in the form of a home help, or those who have no friends and instead play X-boxes for 23 hours a day - if they turned the sound off, they'd be in the equivalent of the retreat, but without the carrot juice and the hard beds.
I once had an eleven day period in which I spoke to no-one save for three sentences, four times - "one cup of coffee, please" (although as it was in my poor Spanish, it could well have been "One cup of coffee sausage"). The eleven days of silence were no big deal - they were certainly not worth starting a Facebook page about.
Which brings me to the Facebook page that apparently signs people up to buying said silent record and making it the Xmas number 1. The obvious reply is to buy something you actually like and then turn the radio off for 4 minutes 37 seconds and then you get double the pleasure for your money - plus an additional three seconds of silence (did you spot that one?)
It is times like this when I wonder whether everyone else is just a little unbalanced, or whether I just live in a very quiet place and I am sure that with living in a house with three wild children and someone who talks shit for a living, that cannot be the case.

Come on folks - sort it out...

Come on folks,

On the Rock n Roll...

2010-11-07T11:43:00.000-08:00

I was listening to the news earlier about people who collect benefits being told to volunteer and it reminded me of a few months I spent on the jam roll when I'd just finished college and felt like I needed a break after a busy few weeks shovelling chips and skidding on fat.
I was soon bored and feeling a weight on society (which I was) so I asked at the job centre if there were any courses I could do. They looked at me stupid but I was soon enrolled on a "conservation" course - basically dredging the shite out of ponds. I turned up bright and early on the following Monday and had to sit and wait for a couple of hours until the rest of the doleys had dragged themselves in - they too looked at me stupid as they'd been told to be there or have their benefits stopped and I think I was the only person in the course's history to actually not be forced in.

Then someone took me to one side and said that the conservation work wasn't really conservation work that I had in mind - lots of cheery hard work that was good for the soul - but instead, lots of naughty boys sat in a shed farting and nagging for bacon sandwiches, so would I like to something in the office instead? I was soon designing a ridiculously complicated sensory garden to be planted in their site of north-facing contaminated land outside the portacabin.

I soon realised that not only were courses in portacabins pretty naff, they also didn't leave any time for finding jobs, which was a bit of a problem for me.
Luckily I had a severe bout of chicken pox, followed by the flu, followed by Xmas, by which time I'd managed to wangle myself a proper job and therefore qualified for the course's "Shit, someone actually found work whilst enrolled with us!" award and got a nice few hundred quid to buy myself a crappy Lada.

I presume that my sensory garden plan is still in a cupboard somewhere and I hope that the boys have moved on from farting and bacon sandwiches (although if they have, it won't be due to ambitions founded in the course), but bare this in mind, David Cameron - bacon and ticking target boxes does not a workforce make...

Halloween and School Photographs

2010-11-03T12:55:00.000-07:00

It seemed an easy enough thing to remember - school photos on first morning back after half term. However, I hadn't realised that it was also first time back after Hallow'een...
There I was, in the queue, doing what I vowed I would never do - spitting on my children's faces and then rubbing frantically with a sleeve. I got most of the grey off from around eyes from the daughter who'd been a pumpkin, most of the whiskers off the baby's cheeks, but obviously not enough of the eyeliner pencil zig-zagged round the older one's neck.

I was heartened when all the parents were standing around the school gates receiving their children's photo proofs and most of them either had clumps of flour in their hair, or stubborn green sludge at the hair-roots from apple bobbing in slime.

PS - the photos also reminded me of the set in the back of my parents' photo album with us all sat in a row with "PROOF" stamped across our faces: times were obviously hard...

Come on folks, get with it...

2010-10-27T11:27:00.000-07:00

I try not to rant about other parents, knowing that we are all a bit shit at times, but it does amaze me when people take their kids to a big old outdoors park - obviously with ideas of fun and enjoyment like we used to have as kids, running around kicking leaves and chatting, hand in hand, about nature and tree-related things - and then moan when they head straight for the mud.
Today we went to Westonburt Arboretum and alongside the thousands of people that were standing around looking at trees, the area was filled with the sound of "Joshua, get out of the mud - you'll have to drive home in your pants", "Lola, get out of the puddle, you'll get your wellingtons and your waterproof trousers muddy".

I of course have the moral highground, as my kids were covered in mud and filth before they even got there...

Doing Logs

2010-10-20T11:39:00.000-07:00

Having a fire is great and playing with logs is great - but only on a crisp Sunday afternoon. I am usually fine with barrowing a few loads around from the barn to the porch where we stack them nicely for use during the week, and occasionally I love splitting them - smacking at them with a blunt axe and wondering where it went when one half of the log pings off across the garden.

But last weekend I forgot and the porch is now empty, and it was getting cold and dark and the barn was slowly filling up with mice, spiders and the occasional monster. Then I have to procrastinate and fart about as the fire slowly turns to embers and the house gets colder as the bloody kids have left the doors open and I KNOW that no-one else is ever going to fetch them.

So finally, out I go in my skirt and wellies, stepping on toy trucks, tripping over skipping ropes and cursing that I still haven't put a bulb in that damned outside light. The barn is, of course, full of mice that have come in for the winter and I sing loudly before i get there to give them a fighting chance to just hide so that they don't have to dart out and make me squeal and run on the spot.

But now it is done - the fire is being resurected and I am nice and smug that it wasn't that bad after all... So, no need now to barrow logs around at the weekend when it's light, no need to bother with sorting the outside light and no need to phone a hypnotherepist to sort out my slight mouse issues - until tomorrow of course...

Ah, and at last more... The Foundation Phase

2010-10-18T14:21:00.000-07:00

Hello - back again with fresh wind in my sails and a spare five minutes per evening and to save me getting up to date on the ironing, I thought I'd try another blog...

Our children's school is finally embracing the legislation on teaching practise that other schools have been doing for years, and to get us parents to understand it, we were offered to come along and watch a lesson and then have an explanation.
We all trudged in trying not to look uncomfortable and sat our fat arses on the tiny chairs and watched as the children did random things in their learning pods. There were lots of whispered comments (I started with, "ooh, it's a bit cold isn't it?") mainly comparing the happy children interacting with each other, various forms of media and their teachers with the miserable sods that we used to be, ducking blackboard rubbers and setting fire to the back of our teachers' jackets... Teaching really isn't what it used to be.

Another Return...

2010-07-12T14:27:00.000-07:00

Hello if there is still any poor soul there who is waiting for me to blog again! I've now had our baby and am in slightly better shape than I was when I last posted. I still don't have buckets of energy to write witty things (again, probably not a new thing), so I thought I might start by showing you the "Haiku" I entered in a competition earlie. (A Haiku being a poem of three lines with 5 syllables in the first and third lines and 7 syllables in the second). I entered the competition because the poem required was so short!

Mother of Six

My mum made pizza
But she had run out of cheese
She grated carrot...

Back at last...

2010-01-10T09:14:00.000-08:00

Hello to anyone who might pop by to the site after such a long absence...

The reason I stopped blogging for so long is ... that I'm pregnant. And at the time of stopping I was in the So Tired I Just Lie on Fluff on the Carpet, hurling at any mention of coffee or bogies or anything to do with fish stage. I decided that for the time being, I didn't have enough energy to spare as I could hardly put my shoes on, let alone think of anything witty or interesting to blog about (some may say that that has been a perenial problem...).

So, now I am about 7 months pregnant - still thinking, "where are we going to put it?" but have got a little energy back and am now only sick when scraping cold baked beans into the bin or having to reach into the back of the fridge. So, having had the County Times saying to look at my great blog, I decided that if anyone were to look at it, the least I could do would be to give people something up to date to look at! So, hopefully I will now try and put a post up each week again.

Starting with, of course, the snow - how exciting, -16 degrees, frozen pipes, wet gloves, kids sliding off down the hill and me being unable to run after them despite the pleading look in their eyes. Not a great deal has happened aside from bringing in logs, so I will leave this week's blog at this and spend the next week trying to get back into the swing of things..

Cheers me 'ansomes,
Lorraine.

PS - we went to Co-op yesterday for a little stockpiling and amongst all the cars lined up in the car park as their owners were frantically buying tins of pineapple chunks, there was a tractor - how cool was that!

I can't live without...

2009-08-19T11:36:00.000-07:00

Hi folks !
A few weeks ago, I got to hear about the "I can't live without..." list in the Western Mail - five things that you can't manage without. I thought about them, applied to them and they accepted, saying that they would send a photographer around. I assumed that someone would point a quality camera-phone at my pile of muddy things and take a photo and then head off back to the Western Mail, saying "hers weren't very exciting were they..."

The guy had rung to say he would be at the house at half nine to ten, probably more like ten. Instead, I was looking out of the window at nine a.m in my baggyist pyjamas, debating as to whether I should bother having shower or not, when his car pulled up... Oh dear. I scrambled into a few clothes that were nearest to the top of the pile and ran downstairs.

I now know why my photos always look rubbish and professional ones don't as he took care in making my paltry essentials (nappies, spare wipes, socks etc for the children, a paper and pen, a ring that Huw gave me, a photo of when I looked fit and tanned and my wellies for when it all gets too much) look nice, propping one against another etc.

I watched on with interest and then realised that he was going to do the same with me. Wishing that I had actually washed my hair after all, I was taken into the garden and told to look funky. I have been called many things, but funky has never been one of them and I could hear the giggling from inside the double-glazed windows as I stood as coolly as one can look with a pole up their backside.

After many days of checking the Western Mail, I finally spotted it and all my things looked really good, so it obviously wasn't the photographer that was at fault. I now have Attend Funky Classes on my todo list next to the point saying Shower More Often...

Not swine, but boring flu

2009-08-03T05:06:00.001-07:00

Hello there, here is a small blog that I just about have the strength to type, having spent most of the weekend on the phone to NHS Direct to ascertain that I have normal flu, not swine flu, but common everyday flu. The good news is that the wonderful Huw has done everything with the girls, whisked them off for fun days out and then come home to cook mah tea! I just wish I felt well enough to enjoy the peace - I could surely have dug the garden over in the time I've had to myself!

However, having the flu usually means that very little else has happened and that is the case with me - the only excitement on the horizon is that I've managed to wangle myself a spot on Walesonline's "I can't live without..." Having looked over a few past ones, they tend to be Jimmy choos, complicated cocktails and weekly facials - mine are going to be a little more agricultural...

The exciting side is that I'm going to be featured - the worrying part is that some poor soul is coming to our house on Thursday to photograph me and my favourite things! Therefore, amongst my five favourites, unless I feel better enough soon to muck out the house, there is also going to be fluff, lego, odd shoes and carpet stains. My legacy - great ...

A Busy Week...

2009-07-27T04:28:00.001-07:00

Hello! It's been a busy old week, starting with my efforts to get to the Royal Welsh Show. It was chucking it with rain, so I abandoned all plans of walking, cycling or going in a hot air balloon and instead took the car to the Park and Ride. Now, usually Park and Rides are nice tarmacced areas that have a bus arriving near by: this was a forty-five degree field knee-deep in mud. I managed to get there early and slipped and slid my way down the field and came to a halt near the bottom track - perfect. Only a hack across two muddy fields to the bus and all was fine.

Firstly, I am sure that I sat next to Harry Enfield in one of his characters on the bus...

I arrived at the Show with plenty of time to spare and wondered around in the rain for a while, checking where the Radio Wales tent was, going to the toilet fifteen times with nerves and generally trying to keep my socks dry so that I could last the day...

Jamie Owen and Louise Elliot were already live on Radio Wales and I was sat down and told to chew my nails for a while whilst they interviewed their earlier guest. I could see lots of wires to trip over, a microphone to drop in a puddle and a large security guy to throw me out if I said Arse by mistake. Finally it was my turn and actually - it was OK. I managed to mention my book, my other book, and I managed not to mention that I had actually come to look at the bulls' parts, as had been in my dream the night before.

I was able to give them a free copy each and one for Derek the Weatherman on Huw's behalf, as he still thinks that Derek says, "Hello, S'mae" to him alone...

Finally it was over and I felt really pleased that it had gone well. I then got lots of texts from people saying, "so, when are you coming on then?" but never mind eh.

After that it was on for my Book Launch at the Welsh Books Council tent - with some poor bloke shouting out into the rain "come and see Lorraine Jenkin and her new book!" to people scurrying and sliding by in the mud. I did have some wine and some nibbles to give away, but in hindsight, I would have had a better reaction if I'd given away bin liners for people to put over themselves or wrap their kids in after they'd fallen headlong into the mud.

EventuallyI was free to go and after the world's largest pasty, I headed back to my car and then slid sideways down the field onto the track. All had been well.

PS - the experience gave me confidence to take the girls to the show on the thursday. The little one got "barked at" by a massive bull who stuck his head through the railings into her pushchair and so after that, every single animal was terrifying - not good at an agricultural show. Our return to the car also wasn't as easy as by that time, it had rained for another whole day and we, of course, got stuck. Seeing that everyone else was also stuck I thought "Oh my God, we're going to die here" but a couple of nice young men pushed me out of my rut and I was able to skid and slide my way down the hill eventually crashing down onto another track. I still haven't had the energy to take the pushchair out of the boot of the car, as the wheels had doubled in size due to the mud stuck round them and I don't think squirting a little WD40 over the bearings will work this time...

This evening, I shall mostly be reading Eating Blackbirds...

2009-07-18T14:52:00.000-07:00

Hello all - just a small and rather triumphant blog to say that Eating Blackbirds has officially hit the shelves...
It is a tale that starts with a man who has spent his whole adult life waiting for retirement. He has scrimped and saved, pinched tea-bags and missed out. And then he retires and all his plans have to be put into action...
In addition to this fantastic central thread, we have council workers, men in tights, gerbils, teenage mothers and weeing under beds.
I did try and put in baby rabbits in cat sick, but my editor removed it. I put it in again. She removed it again. I hope that the final result is a successful compromise to all.

Please feel free to buy a copy and thoroughly enjoy it. Please also feel free to buy more and leave them on trains for others to enjoy, or give them as gifts to all your relatives and friends. Please note: to all my relatives and friends, knowing that you will probably get one for Christmas does not let you off the hook for buying your own now.

I am sure that, in the spirit of collaboration, we can all pull together and maybe I can recover the cost of the biros that wrote it.

In addition - here is your quest. Amazon have no reviewers yet (they will have in five minutes, I am almost 100% certain...) so you can be the first person to review it. However, on top of that you can now do a VIDEO review! How cool would that be. So, sit in your biggest pants and tell the world how good it was.

Many thanks,

Lorraine.

Eating Blackbirds Lift Off!!

2009-07-17T00:03:00.000-07:00

At last! We have the lift off of Eating Blackbirds!

It's all hotting up and this afternoon I'm speeding (well, driving in second gear) up to my publishers to fetch a big box of books, so I'm very excited to be able to see the book in the flesh! I want to Up the marketing, so am doing a "book signing" at the Royal Welsh Show next week - aisle D, The Welsh Book Council, 12 - 1 p.m. If you are in the Show, I'll be the one sunk up to my knees in mud, mumbling from a wet book and shivering - I might even be in lycra, you never know...

Last year, the travelling and parking for the Show was a nightmare and people were sitting in a traffic jam until midday, so I was nervous about how I might actually get there by 11.30ish to sort myself out. So, I decided to walk - it's only 5 miles after-all, and after having spent years happily being able to manage thirty miles a day over the Brecon Beacons, I was sure that a few miles along a smooth road would be a doddle. However, as time was ticking I was getting a bit nervous.
Therefore I was highly relieved when I somehow managed to wrangle myself onto no other than Jamie and Louise's morning programme on Radio Wales for Tuesday morning! Apart from the excitement about getting on the programme (http://www.bbc.co.uk/wales/radiowales/sites/jamieandlouise/ tuesday at some point between 9.30 and 10.00 ish!) it also meant that the walking wouldn't be possible (there was much rejoicing!). However, the down side is that I might have to dig my old bike out of the barn, scrape the bird sh*t off the handlebars and see if I can lift my leg high enough to swing it over the saddle. So I am hoping that there isn't a webcam for the show, as I'll probably be perched on the edge of my chair, red, sweaty and dressed in a tigger outfit, as I mistakenly pushed it into my saddle-bag thinking it was my most dynamic animal print top.

I'll let you know how it went...

Lorraine.

A Day in the Life...

2009-07-06T13:51:00.000-07:00

Sometimes things happen that epitomise our lives - this week it struck me that I had a few of those moments...

We had to buy something for our daughter for her school uniform and found that the nearest stockists were about an hour and a quarter away (take note those looking to open a new shop), so after a great deal of faffing, we set off and arrived, starving, at about half past two. We decided to go for some lunch and found a nice little place that did a good bargain meal for the children. It turned out to be a three-course bargain meal for the children and another bargain offer was to buy two beers and be allowed to take home the lovely beer glasses - big old carved things that the brewery were obviously throwing out. Realising that we weren't going to be able to go anywhere before all three courses were scoffed, we said, Why Not, to the beers and settled down to enjoy them.
By the time the girls had finally finished wiping their ice cream over their t-shirts, we realised that the beers were about a fiver each, which more than covered the naff glasses - which turned out to be one glass. Although I was very tempted to shove the second one in my bag, I didn't and I was soon pleased, as the thing that we were given is too tall to fit in any of our cupboards. Well done, Cafe Ask, top marketing strategy.
Oh, and the thing we went to buy was sold out, and on the way home a friend said we could borrow hers.

The second thing was in relation to my bad back which we didn't think was being helped by our cheap matress, which is so knackered that one lies in a little pit. Huw bought a lovely one that comes in a box and unfolds in situ. Great - apart from the fact that I did my back in dragging the damn thing up the stairs...

And the third one was a blinder - but, I've forgotten it, and it's nearly 11pm. However, I am sure that you get the drift...

A Pleasant Experience in the Post Office...

2009-07-02T14:05:00.000-07:00

Evening,

I usually end up in our village shop most days and tend to forget what I went in for and come out with a pile of chocolate for Huw and a jar of Marmite. Yesterday I went in and smiled vaguely at the woman in front of me in the queue. I was a bit of a state, having been up most of the night before with one of the girls, was wearing a bad vest and had "it'll surely do another day" hair.

She went to the counter and asked, "Do you have the new book by Lorraine Jenkin in please, as I'd heard her new one is out?"

Ali at the counter said, "ooh, I don't know, but ask - her" and pointed to me, frantically rubbing a cornflake off my vest. The woman looked at me and obviously thought, "Why? Does that state deal with the shelf stacking and ordering?"
"Yes, I wrote it! Why, have you read the other one?"
It turned out that she had and she had enjoyed it and she had sent it off to a few mates! Great!

I walked out of the shop with a smile on my face - and a tin of Golden Syrup for tea.

There is little else to report as I've spent the rest of the week nursing a child with suspected chicken pox and chasing a blue bottle fly.

Rev-ving up on the grid...

2009-06-23T12:48:00.000-07:00

No, not that Grand Prax or whatever it's called, it's the countdown to the release of Eating Blackbirds!

It has come as a bit of a shock to the system to realise that it is just a few weeks away, as I tend to work at least six months behind where I should be at any particular point in time. I have booked myself a mini book signing at the Royal Welsh Show in the corner of the Welsh Books Council tent (aisle D, tues 12 p.m, be there or be square) so now have to just work out how to get there, what to do, how to do it etc.

One of my biggest dilemmas is actually getting to the Show. We live about 5 miles away, and last year at about half nine in the morning, there was a queue of stationary traffic sat on the main road, with people asking me things like, "is there a short cut?" "Yes," I said for a laugh, as I directed them on an extra loop, made them lose their place in the queue and caused them another two hours on top of what they had already done.

A lady at my publishers suggested I walk and although I think it was a joke, it might just be the best thing to do to make sure that I actually get there and back in the time that I have. I am therefore looking for a sandwich board type thing that I can advertise my signing on, and a pile of balloons to tie to my head to make me look a bit "stop me and buy one".

My only worry is that I meet the people who I sent off via a dead-end loop and they are prepared this time and so throw their flasks and bacon sandwiches at me...

So, in my quest for marketing my product, if anyone has any good ideas, please let me know! I am available for talks, writing articles, wearing balloons on my head and I may even give a copy to Prince Charles if he happens to walk by my stall, as that's the only thing I have thought of yet...

One of those "Oy, Jenkin - NO!" moments...

2009-06-09T14:31:00.000-07:00

Evening folks and hope all is well?

I had a little incident the other day that made me squirm that I thought you might be interested in hearing about?
I was at the Hay Festival doing a little talk (well, more of a soliloquy considering the amount of people that were listening) and my editor from Honno had arrived to support me and try and look like an intrigued crowd.
I had recently done a great deal of changes to Eating Blakbirds in response to her comments and I was keen to know whether she had liked them or not. One of the problems that I had to look at was that one of my lesser characters was a little less-rounded than she needed to be. She needed more background and more of an explanation of her personality. I had spent a lot of time thinking about how I might make this happen: I wanted her to be a bit quirky, but likeable and someone that people could understand. I thought back to my old mate Tuckface and knew that that was the way forward...
So, I gave Lucy-Ann hamsters, gerbils, guinea-pigs and mice. She had chinchillas, rats and fur stuck to her skirt. It allowed her new boyfriend to step back on them, try and like them, not quite appreciate them and want them off his lap. Basically, all over this lady's house were these little critters in cages.
My "Oy, Jenkin" moment was when my editor said, "Was that some kind of joke? Did the others tell you or what?" I was confused, then the hideous reality hit when she said that she had been tempted to take a photograph of her front room and email it to me - showing me all of the hamster, gerbil and mouse cages on the shelves...

Proof-reading and broken toes

2009-06-01T02:40:00.001-07:00

Hello!
Apologies for the delay in posting -we've been off for a week's sunshine in sunny Lyme Regis! My brother was away, so we were allowed to fill his house with sand and melted ice cream on condition we looked after the chickens and didn't lose the rabbit in the woods behind.
We've had a great time -as soon as the girls realised that the chickens did dances of excitement when slugs were dropped into their pen, that was the week's entertainment sorted and my brother's lettuces have never looked so good.
But, back down to earth with (literally) a bump when we came back and my penance for not immediately sorting all the suitcases and piles of sandy clothes out - choosing instead to have a day in the paddling pool in the garden - was to stub my toe on the hardest one that was left in the middle of the floor. My toe has gone funny shape and purple and I am left hobbling around and swearing. Karma is a terrible thing as it was only last weekend that I took the mick out of another mate for breaking his toe...

However, today I have received the proofs for Eating Blackbirds! I have now to read it all through again, knowing that what stays is actually what is printed. Quite scary really as although I have read Eats, Shoots and Leaves, I do have a tendancy to wing it when it comes to apostrophes... So, I will spend the day sat reading on the sofa, looking like my dad does when he sits amongst washing piled up either side of him, knowing that if he notices it, he has to do something about it.
The teapot is warmed, my red pen is poised and my toe is balanced on a large cushion, waiting for someone to notice it and provide a little sympathy - Huw has already informed me that I might be waiting some time...

A car park full of Porches and Me.

2009-05-14T11:53:00.000-07:00

I had a great experience today, after I'd spent an hour trying to find some smart clothes that hadn't been yanked off their hangers and compacted into the girls' "den" inside what used to be a wardrobe. I was to be the speaker at a ladies' luncheon at the four star Llangoed Hall.

The first piece of luck had me arriving to find the car park full of porches etc, and therefore I had to park in the staff carpark which was just as well as when I opened my dirty car door, three crisp packets and a princess wand fell out - it would not have been a good look chasing them past my awaiting audience, so I am glad that only the workmen could roll their eyes at my attempts to retrieve them and chuck them back in the car.

I had been relatively calm and confident, but on arriving saw a large group of smart ladies all chatting with a glass of wine, and I turned into a bit of a gibbering wreck. I was taken to the luncheon room which about finished me off, with its shiny glasses and too much cutlery. "Who are they?" I asked the waitress. "Chiropodists or Chiropractors," she said, "not sure which." Strange I thought, though useful for that twinge I've been getting recently.

Eventually, the ladies - who turned out to be a lovely bunch of Soroptimists - sat down and began the finest lunch, of which I finished each course in about a tenth of the time that they did, slugging down two jugfuls of iced water in my panic. As it finally became my cue to speak, they all disappeared to the toilet, and my nerves got to the bitting thumb stage.

My plan had been to tell amusing tales for twenty minutes and then sell all the books in my bag that I had been told it was OK to bring. Instead, because of the toilet queue, I told my amusing (ish) tales, answered a few questions, looked at the clock, ruined it all by cursing "F88*** Me, I've got to go" and sprinted out the door with seconds to spare to collect the children.

I took with me a few things from today - apart from the napkin and the bit of cheesecake on my top:
1) Always, ALWAYS get your clothes ready the night before.
2) Park your car on a hill in a breeze before going anywhere nice, and open the doors.
3) Know your audience, so you don't try and interest them in your corns, when really they are a retired geologist.

Best wishes,
Lorraine.

Post Script...

2009-05-06T14:21:00.000-07:00

Just a small post script to the previous blog. My dad was sent out to buy My Weekly and shuffled around in the newsagents waiting until the coast was clear etc. He then met everyone he knew on the way home and had to explain exactly why he was carrying a ladies' magazine so furtively under his arm. "Of course your daughter's in it, Keith" they chuckled, knowing it was really a ruse to sneak a look to see if his letter to Embarrassing Medical Problems had been answered.
However, when he got home, it was realised that he'd bought the one-off Well-Being Issue and so had to trawl back down and repeat the exercise!

Hey Dad - Ha Ha!

At last - The Bikini Shot!

2009-04-30T12:30:00.000-07:00

Hello!
And this time, hello from the (middle) pages of a natonal magazine! Yes, I've made it to My Weekly! See this week's edition, I'm there nestled between Fern Britton and an article on Fat Busting, Flat Tummy Tips! (is someone trying to tell me something?) And yes, it's the bikini shot that you always wanted to see.

The funny things about it are that:
a) my daughter said "is it Dad?" when I asked her who it was in the magazine.
b) as I took the photo myself on a camera timer, I have that look on my face that says, "has it clicked yet?" Because I have never seen that particular photo that large, I had never noticed that before.
c) it reminded me that the night before that photo was taken, I had slept in a deserted "camp site" (a dustbowl surrounded by stones) plagued with mice. The little swines nibbled everything in sight - my shoelaces, my dinner, my teabags and then when I went to bed - my tent, my sleeping bag and then the disrespectful little swines finished off by pooing in my cup.

So if you get chance, pop into a Newsagents this week and have a chuckle at my expense. And all for just 80p. Oh, and there's a good recipe for a cheese and ham sandwich on page 32.

Best wishes,
Lorraine

Finished!

2009-04-16T12:04:00.000-07:00

I have now finally finished the editing of my book, Eating Blackbirds, and have sent it back to the Editor with my fingers and my eyes firmly crossed. It has been four weeks of working every spare moment to bring a fuller and more polished novel ready to hit the best seller lists. I have taken out references to cat vomit with baby rabbits in, rides in ice cream vans, major amputations and general lewdness and rude words; in fact it has been quite a shaming experience to have it in black and white as to just how foul my mouth can be.

The sad part was that the lessons that I thought I had learnt from editing Chocolate Mousse, had not actually been as well incorporated into Eating Blackbirds as I would have liked. I had been picturing a scenario whereby I got a small list of easily-made grammatical errors and a few typos that I could correct over a cuppa - instead I had the 108 different points, some quite major. It has made me realise that Novel Number Three needs far more work than I had thought, even at this stage of writing it. I am determined that should novel number 3 get accepted, it will have just a few of those neither / either, wonder / wander dilemmas - not full-scale re-writes about places on the body where moles can be found.

I would also liked to have thought that when the editing was done, I would sit back in a clean chair and relax, perhaps watch a bit of telly, maybe even read a paper. No. Instead, I have been at it with a wheelbarrow and a shovel in the lounge, a power-washer on the kitchen floor and a blow-torch in the bedrooms. It is really quite disgusting as to what can build up over just a small amount of time. My only hope is that the cat-sick scene wasn't prophetic and that I just haven't found it yet...

Still editing...

2009-04-06T13:44:00.000-07:00

Well, evening again folks. I am still frantically editing Eating Blackbirds and there is little else to report, apart from my bottom has now gone square from all the sitting and my new glasses have worn a hole in my nose.

It is said that every cloud has a silver lining and a recent cloud is that my mum has had an operation that now requires a lot of sitting down and recouperating. The silver lining is that she is not able to do anything else except sit and read - and therefore, I might as well take full advantage of the situation knowing that if I plonk a manuscript into her hands, she can not run away.

So, I have emailed my wonderful mum the first third of the edited draft and have asked for her opinions. It is quite a horrifying thing to have to do, in that I don't think a mother should ever need to know that her daughter swears, knows about shagging and has written anything frivalous about being sick on cars. So, it is with a great deal of intrepidation that I await for her comments; God only knows what she'll think about my grammar...

More tea vicar?

Editing Eating Blackbirds

2009-03-23T12:26:00.000-07:00

Hello! Firstly apologies for the delays in posting recently - but I do have a genuine excuse...

I have finally had the Editor's notes for Eating Blackbirds which is out in July. Before Christmas I spoke to the Editor and she gave me her initial thoughts about the story. One of the characters had to be younger, another a bit more adventurous and I really couldn't get away with chopping that one's arm off: he really didn't deserve that...

So I have been thinking about it since then, trying to work out how I could do those things, but knowing that there was no point in starting until I got the full notes, as I would probably have to change lots of other things too. She needed to read it again and then think it over, so I was to wait until I got the full list.

And last weekend I got them... 108 points!

Some are things like, "didn't she have long hair in the first chapter and now she has short curls," and these are easy to sort. Others make me a little sadder - ie "that's not funny" when I really thought it was, and some are more far-reaching - making him a little younger makes her need to be that age, so her daughter can't be doing that and then she needs to think back to her youth and have done THAT. And so it goes on - one little change means it has to be followed through the rest of the book.

So far, I have added about 20,000 words, have gone blind and had to get my first pair of glasses, have worn out my laptop (until I realised that there were at least 400 photos on it that was grinding it to a standstill) and given myself tea-poisoning.

I have another three weeks before it needs to be finished, so until then, it is every evening and every spare moment. Luckily I can let the housework go, as I am quite used to that and so is everyone else. I now just need to work out how I can to my adventure's climax without chopping that poor bloke's arm off...

Community Plays and Toad Avoidance

2009-03-10T03:12:00.001-07:00

Morning!
After a brief period of non-blogging, I am back and bursting with enthusiasm about the Builth Wells Community Play, to which I went on Saturday evening.

The drive down on a wet Saturday night was fraught with toad avoidance as our slimy little friends are hacking across the roads as slowly as they possibly can - mainly because they are horrified at the amount of their dead pals that already haven't made it. A road by a lake has been closed in Powys as so many of the squelchy things are crossing it and boy-racers think it's great to go Toad Skidding in their XR3s (I may be a little behind the times with regard to the make of boy-racer cars, but you get the picture?) However, I think I made it without splatting too many of them, but only because I went at five miles per hour. Although I hate toads and frogs with a passion, I still don't like the idea of squashing them, mainly because the thought of them going pop sends me into even more shudders of horror.

I met my friend at her house and we walked to the show only to find that on the way back the little blighters had made it to her road and they were everywhere. My friend's partner is all countryside and he was looking at them and I was trying so hard to not show my fear as I was sure he would have flipped them at me - and he probably would have, had he not just been playing guitar at a Commmunity Play as was feeling all benevolent towards his neighbours.

I made it into the car with only a few squelches beneath my feet and thought I was safe, but then sat on a burger that Huw had left there a few days before... (damn those slimy gherkins)

Oh, and the show was great - I didn't understand all the jokes, unlike the clever bloke in front of me, but it was great.

Lastly, a Well Done to my little sister Abby who has apparently just clinched a first class degree in Engineering. Well done you swot. (I could have got a first class degree if I had wanted one, if I had done a bit more work and had a slightly different genetic make up...)

Do as I say...

2009-02-22T13:50:00.000-08:00

Hello!

After doing a little marketing work for a local business, I decided to review what marketing I have been doing for my own - of course, the answer is none of that which I have been advising as essential.

I had a quick peek at Amazon to see how Chocolate Mousse and Two Spoons is doing in the ratings and saw that it has rocketed to 351,000th best selling position. This is good news as at one point there were over a million other books stashed in Amazon's damp warehouses that were selling better than mine. So that was good to see. What was not so good to see is that the related items that are on the "People who bought this book also bought..." section included Sleeping Beauty (I bet I know who that was) and Only Men Aloud. Come on people, if you buy the next one, please can you buy it at the same time as you are buying a Dickens?

It does remind me of the time that Huw bought my mum a couple of Lace Making books for Christmas and kept getting emails from Amazon about whether he fancied going for a special offer on Knitting Rabbits for Easter Hats or Making Vests Even Scratchier With Unwashed Yarn books.

My favourite thing of the week was finding our girls bouncing on the bed playing the Grandpa Game - which is basically jumping up and down with their trousers pulled up to their chests. I dread to think what the Mother Game consists of...

Life and Garage Laundry

2009-02-15T12:57:00.001-08:00

Nights out - but at what cost?

2009-02-08T12:02:00.000-08:00

Last night, I went out for about the second time in six months. The occasion - the local Motorclub's 40th anniversery. Huw used to do rally driving and spent his weekends putting knackered old Fords back together. Personally, I hate anything to do with motor sports, avoiding cars whenever I can and using them simply for A to B journeys and storing apple cores and lollipop wrappers. Therefore, the evening wasn't one I was presuming to enjoy.

The first problem came in the form of a little text from the babysitter that had been booked for four weeks, saying that something (i.e something better) had come up and that she couldn't make it - perhaps she'd come round again when the weather was better. A mate was hurriedly roped in.

We were anticipating leaving at seven p.m, so at fourish, I thought I'd sneak off for a half an hour's snooze to set me up for the night. I woke at half six. The children had not been fed or watered and no copius notes written about what they might want / do.

Our mate arrived amongst a frantic hunt for my shrug, in the same monster truck that was featured in the blog of 5th Oct. I found a pair of trousers that would allow me to sit down and we sprinted for the car.

A friend was also dragged along by her husband who used to shout "litter!" as he drove round corners. The friend and I decided that we couldn't allow it to be a completely wasted evening and so ordered cranberry juice all night so that at least we could flush out our urinery tracts.

Despite all that, it was actually good fun, although the three hours of amusing speeches could perhaps have been squeezed into two, the mash could have had a little less glue in it and it would have been nice if they'd turned the heating on. I won a box of chocolates in the raffle and am sat here now with them being thrown across the room into my open mouth, each with a request for another cup of tea.

By midnight I was getting a little figety, as the nominated driver I was getting tired and a little worn by conversations about the gear box on a series 47. By 1.30, I was yawning as loud as I could whilst lying on the carpet next to the dance floor. Luckily another little text saved the day:

"Some tw*t has driven into the back of my truck" it read.

With relief in my heart, we went home to find the monster truck surrounded by broken glass with a dent in the back big enough to hide a sheep. The friend, who sometimes phones just to tell Huw how much he loves his truck, was sad, but pragmatic, having rolled it himself in the snow earier in the week.

To put the tin hat on his night, we have now leant him our car so he has to drive around in something that has so much litter in, it makes people feel sick.

A good night all round I think.

Snow, snow and yet more snow!

2009-02-02T06:47:00.000-08:00

Fantastic! Snow! We had a few little flurries yesterday and in between flurries, I moved the whole of the log pile into the house, mice and all. I then shook a load more mice out of an old blanket that is kept in the barn and wrapped it around our pipes. We borrowed a DVD, then sat on the sofa and waited to be snowed in.

In the attempt to distract the girls from noticing that they were going to bed, I told them that if it snowed, they would go to nursery on a sledge in the morning. They immediately lay down and went to sleep - I will have to use that one again. This morning, it was straight to the window to see and, yep, snow. So I put my back out again, dragging the little ones along, scraping the bottom of the sledge on the frozen dog turds stuck to the pavement. It was great. By the time we got there, the little one clutching her carrot that I'd kindly donated for the nursery snowman, they both had wet coats and trouser legs full of snow.

Huw and I then started the process of stockpiling tins that is so essential for a snowstorm in this country. We now have enough tins of beans to keep our colons fresh until mid summer.

We then had a good five minutes watching the Council Man scraping snow from the pavements, turning it from a pile of snow that is quite easy to walk through to a lethal layer of compacted ice. We didn't feel that we could face staying any longer to see who broke their wrist on it first - if I don't manage to write another blog this week, you will know that karma has stepped in and it is me that is having to wear elasticated skirts and slippers as I can't do up buttons and laces for six weeks...

A Fresh Start! A Fresh Photo!

2009-01-23T14:43:00.000-08:00

Today is a fresh start to a new and exciting blog!

The week has been a relay of cock-ups. From lost correspondence to unknowingly unpaid bills and general administrative muck-ups that I would rather not think about – but that is what has got me in to this mess in the first place, so perhaps it would be better that I did…
The fresh start, therefore, starts with a new photo to the blog – an hilarious one of me in my youth when I played rugby for Neath. Here I am, hacking along the wing of the Gnoll, in my dad’s rugby shorts and an old gum shield that I found at the side of the pitch after the blokes had gone home. Note the look of determination. Marvel at the lack of muscle definition in my thighs.
In accordance with the fresh start, I am asking that you play your bit too please. I am looking to whack up the numbers of lucky folks who get to read this occasional nonsense – so why not make a commitment to stick the url at the bottom of your email signature? Send it to friends as something to help stall the start of tucking into work. Pop it on your office intranet and show yourself to be a cut above the other cattle. By sticking it in random places on the Internet, I am told that it increases the likelihood of people stumbling across it – just think of whose day you can cheer up!

I have now written off the week as a lesson to be learnt. My new, improved week will have me reading my correspondence, rather than putting it in a safe place for when I have a little time. I will set time aside for filing. I will clean up as I go along. I will also tidy my bedroom, phone all my old friends and eat raw alfalfa for breakfast.

I did a talk for the Llanddewi Ystradenny WI on Monday night, as part of my strategy for gaining a world bestseller. I spoke about my travels abroad and my experiences of being published and showed them a few photos of Peruvian potatoes and some pet guinea-pigs being fattened for restaurants. They were lovely ladies and I hope that they enjoyed it, but I have a horrible feeling that I mis-judged the best spoon competition – I lay in bed that night feeling sure that I should have put the silver one with the flowers on in second place and the brass one with leaves on in third. Never mind – I suppose it was simply another indication that this week was just not going to be perfect, but it is a shame that other people have had to suffer…

The Difficult Second Novel - it's on its way!

2009-01-18T12:45:00.001-08:00

Evenin'

An exciting time as last night I checked the phone messages and found two from members of my family saying "Well done, but why didn't you tell us?" It turned out that my newest and second book, Eating Blackbirds, is now on Amazon, to be published in July! I hadn't actually told them, as I didn't know myself, knowing only that it would be coming out sometime this year - so it was brilliant news and made it all quite real at last.

Eating Blackbirds draws on my time in the Council - and the main character is the cliche bloke who is doing as little as possible whilst he waits to retire (no-one in Powys was actually like that, well - apart from me). His runaway neice arrives on his doorstep with a new baby and turns his ordered dull little life into chaos. He looks for somewhere to retreat and ends up stepping into the life of the husband of a woman he has met when he visited her second home through Council business. When he actually does retire he has to carry out all the plans that he has been putting off for the last forty years..

The title Eating Blackbirds is because the hero is very frugal and mean (I wonder how I managed to write such a convincing character?) and "not does" things in order to save the money that he would otherwise spend. (Again, where DOES that imagination come from?).

I started writing the book about three years ago, so this is fruition of a lot of work over a long period of time.

Check it out on Amazon - and save yourself £1.60 on a pre-order!

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Eating-Blackbirds-Lorraine-Jenkin/dp/190678406X/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1232278040&sr=1-2

Now for that celebratory cup of tea...

Bad Backs and muddy jeans...

2009-01-12T00:08:00.000-08:00

Morning.

I've had a bad back for a number of days now, brought about by being gung-ho and thinking that I am still strong and fit - why would you ever carry one child on your shoulders and a massive bag of shopping in your hand, whilst running after another child so that you can shout at them a bit more, unless you were prepared to get a bad back?

Anyone who has suffered in this way will know that even bending down to pick up a stray sock is something that has to be thought about - not only whether it is worth it, but how you are going to do it and, more importantly, how are you going to get up again afterwards...

Imagine, therefore, my misery when I looked out the window yesterday to see a pair of my jeans blowing off the washing line and landing in the muddy sheep field behind. I hobbled out in inadequate shoes (as the thought of pulling on my wellies was inconceivable) only to see them stuck in a puddle along with the lid of the compost bin and a few socks. I should have just grimmaced, climbed over the fence and fetched the damn things, but I didn't. I hoped that the helpful farmer would pick them up, take them home, launder and iron them and return them to my doorstep the next morning - but of course the lazy shyster didn't, and I had to go to bed knowing that sheep were probably eating them / lying on them / laughing at the size stated in the label.

During the night it stormed, and now they are probably sunk in three inches of mud with a sheep lying on them for warmth.

This will bring smug pleasure to my dad as he predicted the rise in temperatures and the storm, reminding me of one of his grandfather's sayings about it ne'r blowing easterly over a full moon. Huw was less impressed, saying that he could have told me that as he saw it on Ceefax earlier that day.

Happy New Year!

2009-01-06T13:11:00.000-08:00

Hello folks, and happy new year to you!

It's been an exciting Christmas, starting with scooping tomato skins from every crease of the car seats, going via giving my dad the bug for his Christmas gift, then to doctors, hospitals and pharmacists. Christmas was then spent mainly scraping things off blankets and washing towels, with scrambled egg for Christmas dinner. Great.

I was going to write my New Year's Resolutions, but then realised that they would be pretty much the same that they were when I was ten - and I didn't tidy my bedroom after them then either...

Our village has frozen. Our pipes froze and we had a few exciting hours of wandering round to neighbours with empty kettles with some very kind offers from people saying that we could come and powder our noses in their bathrooms if things got desperate. Luckily, we spoke to the bloke across the field who used to have family living in our house and within the hour he had phoned a dozen people and found out that we have two incoming supplies, so a kettle of water on an outside tap did the job and we are back to normal.
Not all good as I was getting used to weeing in the garden.

Have a happy 2009!
Lorraine.

Santa Shnanta

2008-12-20T09:28:00.001-08:00

In the spirit of Christmas, we tried to make the Playgroup as fun as possible for our little ones - songs, a tea party and a visit by the man himself. It all seemed so easy when the ideas were decided upon - but you try finding a bloke that actually wants to be Santa on a particular day and who has his own costume. Busy, Mad Friday and IBS were given as excuses, and eventually I followed up a phone number of someone's father-in-law who apparently was a good bloke.

Yes, that would be fine - and he even had his own costume. All I had to do was find a pair of size 11 wellies, but ringing around asking what size people's husband's feet are is not always well-recieved...

The day came, he was to be there just before half ten, parents were to arrive at 9.20, bring a present with their child's name on, I had a sack, the wellies, a thank you bottle of wine: it was all going to plan.

Instead, he arrived at 9.15 and was in a rush to leave. Everyone was late. A little boy in his mother's arms will be traumatised for ever as he was accidentily carried into the kitchen to see Santa getting changed. I rang a few people screaming at them to hurry up. A grotto was hastily arranged. Someone had forgotten their present, so I found something naff and stuffed it in Santa's wine wrapper.

We found some sleigh bells and frantically rang them. Santa ran in, not bothering with the wellies as he was in a rush to split. All but two of the children screamed. The traumatised boy stayed in
the other room, one girl buried her head in her mother's lap and refused to move.

Two children enjoyed it. The others sprinted up, grabbed their present and ran for it. We managed to bribe five to sit near enough to him to be in a photo.

As he returned chuckling to the kitchen, my daughter ran to the window to see the reindeers and was rewarded by seeing a bloke with a beard stuck to his jumper diving into a Mondeo.

We have decided next year to stick to a few twiglets and the rude version of When Santa Got Stuck Up the Chimney...

Skidding...

2008-12-08T07:44:00.000-08:00

As a child, I used to think that if I ever went on Mastermind (as I presumed everyone did at some point) I would say that my chosen specialised subject was The Famous Five and my profession was a "skidder" *.
My sister, Sue, was pretty good at it but I thought I was amazing. Every winter, we would find fantastic skids - usually on the pavements outside the old folks bungalows I am ashamed to say - and we would spend hours trudging up then skidding down them. Obviously for the old folks there were broken bones aplenty, but for us, just occasional wearing through of our wellies.
But karma being what it is, it all comes back to haunt. It's very hard to do a managed skid with a pushchair and I am at that stage of life whereby I walk along doing a half skid / half ooo, me oesteoporosis walk.

I am hopeful that I can pass on all of my tips and skills on to my children and can stave off moaning about the Council not gritting the pavements for another decade...

* ice, not pants.

Congratulations Little Brother Steve!

2008-12-03T14:24:00.000-08:00

It's brilliant! I have just sat in my kitchen with a large glass of my dad's sloe gin (no, that's not the brilliant bit, although it was pretty good) and watched my lovely little brother, Steve, marry the beautiful Nicky in a chapel in Las Vegas!!

It was from a webcam and it was the most romantic thing I have ever seen. My little brother was smiling from ear to ear and Nicky was giggling and the guests were wiping their eyes and I was blubbing and slugging (and shivering). It was great.

I remember when I used to carry Steven around on my shoulders for days at a time - which is probably the reason for my bad posture now - and there he is, a married man with a fantastic wife and a wonderful life ahead.

When I first heard that they were going to get married in Vegas, I was rather hoping that they would at least have an Elvis wedding, but I am now glad that they didn't. Hopefully they will have a deep-fried mars bar at some point on their honeymoon, but maybe you don't need some old geezer with a quiff crooning Love Me Tender in the background in order to be happy...

Lots of love to you Mr and Mrs Jenkin,

Lorraine.

Christmas is coming, Lorraine is getting fat...

2008-12-01T01:37:00.001-08:00

It has finally hit me that Christmas really is on its way - not just because I'm a Celebrity is nearing it's conclusion and I have to add Advent Calenders to my list of things that I have forgotten to buy, but because everyone else is busy worrying and I'm not.

I'm usually quite blase (rubbish) about Christmas shopping, thinking that it will all sort itself out, but of course it doesn't and I am usually left buying extra things two days before Christmas, because the things that I bought earlier are really not going to cut it. It's all very well being in the "I'm a supporter of the true meaning of Christmas and that one should send good joy instead of piles of plastic" camp, but that means very little when you receive a beautiful hat and glove set and give back a hedgehog that you found nearly perfect on the side of the road.

Also, being a little bit older than I was means that I now don't come in the "oh, don't worry, she's young and busy and has so many more exciting things to think about" category. Now I'm in the "she's a tight old bu**er that one and is trying to wait for the sales and it's not fair as I actually bought her / her family something quite nice" one and it's not such a good place to be.

However, I also have to acknowledge that it is quite common for me to think this way at this time of December, but it still doesn't mean that I will do anything about it.

The upside of Christmas coming is that my Mum passed my Dad the first mince pie of the season the other day and as he was telling some longwinded Christmas story and wasn't concentrating, the dog sneaked a lick of it as it went past. Well, it may have lost its sugar, but at least it had a lovely glaze...

Lorraine.

Welsh Rugby and dark street lights

2008-11-22T12:07:00.000-08:00

Evening.

Spending most of the day waiting for something that doesn't start until 5 p.m is always a mistake. Especially when it is Wales versus the All Blacks. Huw has been so excited, sat in his red dragon pants, since 3.

The first interruption was a friend dropping by on his way home from the hospital with a suspected broken wrist - and he is so hard that he was driving himself to and from the hospital on his motorcycle, and had come via our place so that he missed the big hill and had to change gears less than if he went the main-road way.

By the time I had been dispatched from the game to make the mid-match hotdogs, it was all over and it was a very miserable house that smeared tomato sauce and sausage fat over the sofa.

In Powys, the council have been saving money by turning off two out of every three street lights. This has obviously split the county into those who think it's a great idea and those who set out each night in the attempt to fall over something public-funded. The newspapers are full of debate about it and pictures of poor souls who have tripped in the dark / had their car pinched / stepped in dog sh*t etc.
We, however, obviously have the "third street light" as ours has stayed on and because we rarely go anywhere after 4p.m (because of wolves) we have never really noticed any difference.
But tonight - with amazing local service, we have been rung by our local council member to ask if we would mind if "our" light was put on a timer and was turned off between 12.30a.m. and 5 a.m! We said no problem, but could they put it to come on at 7.15 a.m as we have rigged it up to a teasmade and it would be great for it to be delivered down the little wire at about that time.

I suppose if you are out after 12.30 a.m, you are probably going to fall over / step in dog sh*t anyway, so whether it is dark when it happens or not, is not really an issue...

From The Times to slugs in the shed

2008-11-18T23:34:00.000-08:00

Mornin.

As winter was approaching, we decided that Huw was getting a bit soft and it was time for him to go and work in the shed again. About a year and a half ago, I cleared out one of our little barns of all the stuff you stick in barns and painted it. He perished out there for some months, and turned it from what I imagined would be the perfect place to work - rugs, a coffee table, a few pictures and plants, to a littered hovel with toy cars and tobacco strands on every surface, and a dead spider plant hanging in the corner - a real Man Shed.

The tin hat was reached for him when he heard a rustling and after a bit of investigation found a frog amongst his To File pile.

It was closed for winter and got slowly filled with things that we had no room for anywhere else - broken coat hangers, bits of Ikea furniture that had broken before they were assembled, and the girls' tents. You an imagine my groan when I realised that I had to clear it out again.

So yesterday it was done. I swept up old post it notes with important messages on, dragged spiders' webs off the ceilings and picked snails off the walls. I did find an old slug stuck to a box who was so dry and rubbery that I managed to find a home for him in Huw's wine gums bag. He has now gone, so couldn't have tasted that bad.

Hopefully the weather will take a turn for the worst in time for him to get out there on friday...

Just another little interview published if you are interested in reading such things - in my quest for world domination I trawled the web for places abroad that might like my book and found a good site in Australia! I've done an interview for them - so if you were ever interested in book reveiws and things about me, check this out... http://www.chicklitclub.com/lorrainejenkin.html

Bye for now,
Lorraine

I got in the Ti-imes, I got in the Ti-imes!

2008-11-14T12:17:00.001-08:00

Tonight I really, really have to do an entry - as (cue irritating younger brother dancing voice) I got a piece in the Ti-imes!

It all started with a flash of increduality that I had as I was evesdropping on a conversation whilst watching the children swimiming yesterday.

This was compounded by another lucky break that happened when Huw had to get up at the crack of dawn to go to work, leaving me with a spare half hour before the children woke. I had a choice of either sweeping the stones out of the kitchen, or having a little play on the computer. Fortunately I decided that the rubble can wait.

I sneaked onto the Times website and fiddled around looking for somewhere that might house my rant. I left messages and managed an email before hearing the call for toast from upstairs.

On returning from playgroup, I found a message saying, "We like it!" Unfortunately the little one decided that she no longer wanted to sleep in the day (for the first time) and therefore being a good mother, I put a huge pile of bags of crisps on the sitting room carpet and got on with my typing. I knew from the silence that they were up to no good, but felt that the prize would be worth whatever destruction they wreaking (having removed the indelible markers from the area around the leather sofa).

I finally finished it and sent it off and all seemed well. I took a deep breath and went in and the little sods had found my tin of seeds and had sprinkled them all over the carpet. I just know that next time the little one spills her drink, we'll have cabbages growing by the end of the following week.

If your appetite has been whetted, see http://timesonline.typepad.com/alphamummy/2008/11/children-in-nee.html#comments

If you write a comment, please can it be kind; it may have to fund a new carpet.

Blog lies and damn statistics

2008-11-12T12:15:00.000-08:00

Hello!

I have just read an email that was sent by a friend who is (polite notice) "technically minded". It was all about Bloggers and the world of blogs and how big they are and what they are being used for in the economy.

Basically, you are (one of the few people to be) reading a blog that bucks all trends!

I have no advertising, although I might have a little product placement here and mars bar there. Some people update theirs several times a day, although surely they must get to the point where they can only be writing about writing blogs as there is no time for anything else to be experienced.

Most pay to promote their blogs - and actually quite a lot of money. As anyone who has received a Christmas present from me can imagine, I spend zilch. I am not promoted anywhere, mentioned anywhere and probably not really cared for anywhere - but despite all that, I am here Heinz tomato ketchup.

Most Bloggers interact with the net and comment on everything that they read. We know, we read their tedious little arguments until we decide we need to go and do something less boring instead. I do not interact, usually because I don't know how.

The worrying thing is that 43% of people get their news and information from Blogs. I am telling you now, do not take away anything from this Blog. It is likely to be horse-shi*te.

However, all this does make me realise that because I don't do any of the above, my blog is read by my mum and by me, and occasionally by someone who made a typo Branston Pickle.

Never mind, 75% of bloggers say that the main reason they do it is for personal satisfaction. Again I buck the trend: I do it so that I can hide in the kitchen once a week and sneak a second cup of tea on my own... Birds Angel Delight

Bad backs and burnt out clutches

2008-11-08T11:48:00.000-08:00

November 5th has happily arrived and gone - happily because perhaps Huw can stop his hilarious jokes about me preparing for bonfire night by burning out my clutch.

I now have two favourite bonfire stories - the best being my Dad's one about Axminster having a firework display for the Millenium and getting the timing thing a bit wrong - apparently for thirty seconds there was a display that rivalled the Bejing Olympic opening ceremony, with people fleeing from the scene with their empty biscuit tins and their long spills - and then nothing. Dad's mate was apparently a bit late and was faffing on the gate looking for change - and by the time he got his money sorted, they had all finished. Two thousand people left feeling rather deflated just in time for the new millenium.

My second favourite was about nearby Llanafan bonfire this year - the place where they have it is in a bit of a hollow and the thing was so damp that it would barely light. My friend went with her son and was a bit disappointed by the smouldering heap, but thought "never mind" as there were a few fireworks. However, as she drove past the next morning on her way to work, there was this beautiful orange glow coming across the valley... (bet they'll have a few tyres handy next year).

As for me, I've had a lucky few days - the first thing being that I had a spare ten minutes and thought I would phone my old school friend who I speak to about twice a year - her husband passed me over and I heard him say "Oh, that's nice, Lorraine has remembered your birthday!" The second piece of luck was that I did my back in (no, I haven't got to the lucky bit yet) and just as I was groaning in absolute agony, the door knocked and it was my friend, the nurse, who managed to rummage in our 19th centuary first aid kit and find a rather attractive truss and a couple of paracetamol.

The third piece of luck was a phone call later that night when I was lying groaning on the sofa, having just wiped Ralgex into my eye, my parents rang suggesting that they came up to stay the following day to help with the garden.

Wonderful! They came armed with spades and loppers and so I worked them like dogs whilst I limped around drinking tea and saying "ooh, my back" occasionally. If anyone would like to rent them out, they come highly recommended.

Anyway, must go, Huw is parched and I cannot bare the pressure.

Launching Pumpkins and Fondling Rabbits

2008-10-30T13:32:00.000-07:00

We probably picked the coldest day of the year when we decided to go to Cantref Farm - a farm perched on the side of the Brecon Beacons that is too bleak to grow anything and therefore has had to become open to the public ...

My friend and I thought we would get there early to avoid the half term rush, only to find that we were the first cars in the car park. What a great place with a full day's itinerary. Eleven a.m - pet fondling. Eleven thirty, pumpkin launching - this involved fighting to stand on the side of the hill in the bitter cold and launching small pumpkins, via a massive catapult, at a Ford Fiesta that some poor soul left their keys in after parking it in a Brecon back street. The children were managing to launch them a pitiful two feet, my friend and I didn't get much further (although I really REALLY tried). However, the blokes there were rummaging for their protractors and trying to employ engineering tactics. I think that the Fiesta will be parked back in Brecon tonight with little damage apart from a few goat hoof prints.

We then managed to slide across the field for lunch and I foolishly forgot that the little one now eats two portions and sharing a sandwich is no longer an option. I managed a few soggy crusts whilst she ate her fill. We got another round in, which was then binned by an over-zealous cleaning assistant as we disappeared for two minutes to rescue the baby off the top of the drop- slide.

When I'd been before, the "tractor trailer ride" was great - hacking off around the fields, looking at sheep. But this time, the Health and Safety people must have been around, as we just went up the drive and back and then round the back of the sheds where they kept the Santa's Grotto and the chained up mangey dogs.

The highlight for me was definately the Mr Ev musical in which a horse dances to some very quiet music. All the kids had to line up to meet Mr Ev and the first one in the queue gave him a big hug and got a hug back and this set the standard and there were lots of ten year old boys rather awkwardly cuddling this pantomime horse. They all shuffled off to kick a guinea-pig afterwards and so their reputations were restored ...

So long, Uncle Ronald

2008-10-21T13:27:00.000-07:00

A sad few days really as I went to my wonderful Uncle Ronald's funeral today. He was everything that an Uncle should be - he was a Cornish fisherman on a massive trawler. He had adventures galore and tales that got bigger everytime we saw him - did he really ever fall through someone's roof onto an old lady sat in bed, wish her Good Morning and then walk out the door, after the Roof Running game went wrong? Probably. He apparently did used to tie my two-year-old dad to the OAP's bench in the mid-winter if he had to babysit for him, that is true. But I am not sure whether I got the tractor tyre running down the hill and through someone's front door story correct. However, I do know that anyone who moans about the Youff of Today should listen to my dad after a few pints of Cornish Ale...

Funerals are never fun and aren't supposed to be, but if I ever have to have one (and I don't intend to) then his is what I want it to be like - there was a lot of love in that chapel coming from hundreds of people. Lots of smiles and lots of tears from old and young alike.

I learnt many things today, perhaps the two most important:
1) live a life you want to be in and you will enjoy it and people will enjoy you
2) don't give your baby the house keys to play with in the car when she gets fretty, if you are intending to get home to a dark yard in the rain several hours later.

On a different note, when we got home to a pile of post, there was a letter to me from my publisher, Honno. Huw waved it at me and my heart sank - I assumed it was a pleasant note about my recently-submitted manuscript, wishing me luck (elsewhere) in my future writing career, and asking could they keep it as what a great doorstop it was making. Instead - it was my first fan mail! A letter from someone who sounds like a lovely lady in Dorchester and I don't even think we are related!

Post Script:
My Uncle had apparently just read my book, and that showed what a good bloke he was as I am sure that he wouldn't usually be in the demographic for that kind of thing. I only hope that he enjoyed it and didn't notice that I got my bream and my dogfish mixed up...

RIP Ronald Jenkin, xx

Early morning wakenings...

2008-10-16T13:29:00.000-07:00

There is something about getting up at 6.30 a.m. just because your spouse has to, that makes you feel magnanimous. Even though he is the one going out to earn the crust and I am sat at home all day in front of daytime television eating Crunchies, I still feel that I am doing him an immense favour.

I nip down to make the tea and bring up a large plate of toast while he shaves loud enough to make sure that the children are woken. We all sit in the bathroom drinking our morning drinks and scoffing toast and then he is off with a cheery wave and I am left with two grumpy children. Because we have all been woken before our time, we are miserable and bad tempered all day. The bathroom is left full of cups, and toast crumbs get in the most unimaginable places. I then have three hours to entertain them before school / playgroup even begins, and we've already done breakfast. Luckily we have a jigsaw that is interesting enough to be done over and over and over again to fill three hours.

The tin hat was put on it when we finally reached school to find that everyone else was coming home again. "The water is off! The water is off!" they shouted as they skipped past me and back to their gameboys. Everyone else that is, apart from Year Three who were off on a trip to see a museum and were obviously gutted. So I was left with having to drag the children all the way home again to a house that had no water for the kettle.

"It's OK," I said to a friend, who was taking six other children as well as her own home, "we'll come for a sh*t in your house."
"Sorry," she replied, "someone has beaten you to it and the cistern is empty."

Oh well, what else are libraries for?

Post Script

2008-10-14T04:03:00.000-07:00

Just as a small post script to the Blog of 5th October about chainsaws and monster trucks pulling our trees over:

The local farmer kindly offered to put his trailer in the field for me to load all the leylandi brash into it, so that he would burn it for us, rather than having it stacked in his field for the next twenty years. (This followed one of our trees falling the wrong way into the field rather than our garden, due to an Incompetant driving the Monster Truck) I have just been trying to do a bit more loading and was finally getting to the bottom of it all, when I saw a couple of woolly little legs sticking out from under the trunk...

Little Woman

2008-10-12T12:08:00.000-07:00

Hello!
And it's back to credit crunch battening down the hatches. I have decided that if the worst comes to the worst, then I need to get the storecupboard full. So, like a little squirrel, I have been chutneying everything that is in sight. We have tomato and apple chutney, runner bean and apple chutney, grass and gravel chutney and, my favourite, toast crust and brocoli bake chutney.

I have also been picking up the windfall apples and am boiling, drying and bottling them too. The trouble is, we are already so sick of apples in whatever form they take, that I don't think anyone will be cracking open a jar this winter. The nice bit is that the house smells of drying apples, which is slightly better than what it smelt of before. It also has an apple slick over every surface which is beginning to bring the fruit flies back out of hibernation.

So, basically, don't do me a favour of any sort for the next couple of months, as the thank you is usually a little jar of something- so far most of which I have been finding slung in the hedge a couple of hundred yards down the road.

The appearance of stigmata that I have given myself with the apple-corer have only been slightly out done by the welts that are across my palms from starting to saw up the logs from our recent chainsaw adventure and that fact that I very nearly cut off my foot with an axe this morning.

Hey ho, must go and flip those apple rings,

Lorraine.

A gentle calm..

2008-10-05T14:05:00.000-07:00

Hello folks!

I have now sent in my tricky second novel to the publisher and feel a gentle calm over me. It is as if there is nothing else I can do and therefore there is no need to panic.

Of course, there is plenty to panic about, the credit crunch is munching at my toes...

Despite that, we spent surely the most fun day ever last weekend with a friend and his chain saw lopping our leylandii which grew in a big circle round the outside of our garden and protected us from the weather and voyeurs. Therefore, we decided to take the bu**ers down.

Best of all, our friend had a Monster Truck that I had to drive (well, inch forward) to pull the trees in the right direction. Someone else tried it and were too busy playing with the (their) gearstick and didn't listen, and the tree went the wrong way over the fence and into the field. Oh, so much fun - and now we have a house-size pile of brash to burn. Roll on bonfire night when we can smoke out the whole village with live-leylandii white smoke.

The downside is that our house is wracked by storms - we have lost slates, water has blown under the door and the early morning dog walkers are frightened by the sight of me in my pants, with morning face, making the tea.

Despite all this, my Christmas list still includes a Chainsaw and Huw's is full of Monster Trucks...

MONster truck, MONster truck - repeat to fade...

Tidy workmen and movements on the book...

2008-09-24T14:40:00.000-07:00

Hello!
Apologies to anyone who gives a monkeys that I haven't posted a blog this week, but have had an email from my publishers, Honno, saying, "If you have anything for us, get it in NOW!" So instead of sitting on a mountain top debating whether to use neithor and nor or either and or, I have been frantically trying to finish my tricky second novel. Reading it, re-writing it, losing it on my computer, losing my notes and nigh on starting it again. I reckon with a few more sleepless nights (no, I don't work all night, it's just those damn children going through a phase) I can get it all done by the weekend.

The trouble is, nothing else kicks in to allow me to do it. The floors still have enough stuff on them to make a fair meal, the blue bottles are still taking over (although I did find a rancid courgette in the veg rack today and am hoping that that might be the beginning of the end to their rein) and toast doesn't butter itself. Saying this, the builders have finished their work and the little beauties tidied up after themselves so well, that the house has never looked so good. I am hoping that there is a leak in their plumbing so that I can legitimately ask them to come back, perhaps after the weekend…

But the good thing is that I had an email from a magazine that I sent something to saying that it has been published. If anyone wants to see a photo of me in a floppy hat with a sack of potatoes on my back, go to:
http://www.transitionsabroad.com/listings/work/volunteer/articles/volunteer-wwoofing-in-argentina.shtml

Top tip – probably time to put your paddling pools away if your family are anything like mine. We perished in it at the weekend. Costumes on, sat in the damp grass. The baby went blue and my stubble stood so erect, it ripped the side of the pool.

Best wishes…

Eight hours in a car...

2008-09-16T07:05:00.001-07:00

Hello!
Having returned from a weekend away with the family to see my cute little nephew's christening, I realise again how lucky I am. In having Huw as a partner, there is always something new to learn. This weekend it was driving. Despite having passed my test for competancy twenty years ago, I now realise that I have been doing it all wrong all this time. Luckily I had eight hours in a car to be taught the correct way.

All is steaming ahead with book number two. My brother is reading it for continuity, mistakes and glaring No No No's and is ever so gently telling me where it doesn't sound right. Sometimes I forget that this is the same brother who used to balance piles of books on the top of doors and then call me into the room...

We've got the plumbers in to finally mend our leaking radiators. So, there is lots of singing, doors slamming and general destruction. I am freezing, sat at the kitchen table with my files stuck in the room that they are destroying. Never mind - a bit of catching up on Facebook will always be a good use of my time - a better use of it than yesterday mind when I spent most of the day trying to squash a particularly annoying blue-bottle...

PS anyone walking through WHSmith - go to October's "Writing Magazine" and see if you can recognise who is featured as this month's top new author!!

The Credit Crunch Crunches

2008-09-09T08:28:00.000-07:00

We have had a reveiw of household finances and realised that we don't actually have any. Finances that is. So it's back to where I feel most comfortable - being a right skinflint. I have got a second kettle to put on top of the fire and spend most of my days carrying boiling kettles over the top of the children, back and fore between the fire in the sitting room and the kettle or sink in the kitchen, so that I don't have to use the hot water tank or heat the kettle from cold.

However, this is of course taking its toll on the carpets, so I have to factor in their wear and tear. So, I have done a calculation and found out that it is better for me to climb over the chairs instead as their wear is longer term, and therefore I am hopeful that by the time I have worn them out, the credit crunch will be over.

I have also moved back into my 1980s chinos for days when I am not being seen in public, instead of wearing out my only pair of jeans. Yes, the crunch is biting.

However, one good aspect of the credit crunch is hearing people talking about it. We had the plumber in today to look at a pipe that is on its way out (I swung on it, whilst trying to avoid standing on a rug). He had a cup of tea with Huw and they were joined by the plumber's boss, so they all had one. They all sat there saying how terrible it was and how difficult it was to make money in this climate. By the time I was about to pop my head round the door and remind them that making money whilst sat on one's a*rse would be difficult in any climate, Huw had beaten the plumber who worked for 25 hours a day, by having to try and make money from a cardboard box lined with broken glass in the middle of a motorway...

As for yesterday, I spent most of my productive hours trying to sort out a "replace all" command in my book text - I had decided that a bloke called Ron should actually be called Brian, but forgot that computers aren't THAT clever. I must have spent two hours trying to sort out all
the "wBriang"s and "StBriang"s and "fBriant"s that started out life as Wrongs, Strongs and Fronts...

Mainly getting wet

2008-09-04T13:31:00.000-07:00

Exciting times as the Tricky Second Novel nears its completion. I have written it and am now going through it for a fresh look and so that I can remember how it starts and what I called the characters at the beginning of the book before I changed their names to Barack and Hilary.
I have checked with the publishers that they might want to consider it and they have said that they are waiting in excitement.

I am terrified for the following reasons:
It might be rubbish.
The first one might have been OK, but this one might be rubbish.
It might appeal to no-one.
It might not make anyone laugh at all.
I've had a number of people saying that they couldn't put the first one down, one even reading it as she walked upstairs - people might read the first chapter and put it down for good.
It might have no hooks, no-one fancying the main character (quite possible), no page-turning incidents.
It might just be crude, lewd, naff and grammatically incorrect.

And if this is the case:

I will no longer be an author and will have to look for a job at County Hall and wear a blouse again.
I will have spent all the money I could possibly have earned from the first one on the launch party.
I will have had my fifteen minutes and still didn't appear in Take-a-Break.
I'll have to go on Jeremy Kyle in his "when good authors go bad" programme.

I have accepted an invite to do a live talk in front of Rhayader's WI in April 2009 (yes, a bit excessive in their forward planning, eh?), but by that time I will probably be living in my car, drinking Mr Muscle and telling everyone how I used to be in the Brecon and Radnor...

Secrets of a messy house...

2008-09-01T01:54:00.000-07:00

One of the great sadnesses in the constant battle to tidy a messy house with no cupboards is the struggle of sorting things out into piles on the bed to be put away. Nine times out of ten, I get dragged away before the piles are completely removed and hidden out of sight. Then as we all go to bed, the piles get scraped back onto the floor. In the excitement of greeting the next new day, they then get kicked around into one big pile again.
By the time I get ten minutes to sort them out again, they've been added to, taken from, stepped on and had a nappy stuffed within them. Et, voila, back to Stage One.

It's no wonder I have a face like a smacked ar*se at times.

The tin hat on the hottest day of the summer...

2008-08-31T13:51:00.000-07:00

We were so excited. Yesterday was supposed to be the hottest day of the summer and the last day of the summer. So we decided that we had to do something. I stuck a bit more water in the paddling pool and we bought some burgers. However, by the time we had woken up it was cloudy and gloomy and the six loads of washing that I had put through the night before were looking like they might spend the next two weeks sat on clothes horses in doorways.

Depressed wasn't the word for it and as another day of Huw trying to teach me how to do everything that I have been doing for 38 years, his way, loomed we thought sod it and found a few old Marks and Spencers vouchers and headed for the concrete slab that is Hereford.

We got a wheelchair from Shopmobility, stuck the Little One in the pushchair and set off. Bigger One wanted to ride on the wheelchair, then Little One did, then Bigger One wanted to push it, then she wanted Little One to get out of the pushchair for her to get in. By this time, the heatwave had kicked in and I regretted my choice of thick jeans and woollen socks.

We'd once had a good experience in Marks and Spencers, so we decided to chance it again for lunch. Big Mistake. Someone had obviously been fiddling with the displays, so that not all of them were wide enough for a wheelchair to get through and we would go down dead-end after dead end, getting wedged beween sensible t-shirts and elasticated slacks. Eventually we got to the cafe bit, where all the assistants couldn't believe that we really existed and therefore no one would help. By this time, Bigger One had got off Huw's lap and was eyeing up a circuit round the room. Little One needed a stretch and I needed another four hands. It was a scoff everything down before it all goes too wrong and get out out out...

The upside of M&S is that Little One loves "silkies" - anything that is silky to the touch. Therefore for her, being pushed through the ladies' underwear dept was heaven and she would grab at nighties and bras as they brushed past - and managed to grab and chew a few as we got stuck in the dead ends. Bigger One just put the larger bras on her head for hats. So, if you have since bought a sticky nightie from Hereford M&S, sorry, but it is because they didn't provide any serviettes and the queue for toilet was too long.

The tin hat was found as we returned to the car and saw our parking ticket... I had forgotten to put Huw's blue badge, or the "Cripper" as it is known, on the car. Seventy blimmin quid. Can't pay that with M&S vouchers...

oh, and when we got home and decided to have our barbie and a "swim" in the paddling pool, we found that all the larvae had hatched in it and no matter how hard I tried to tell Charlotte that they and the dead bumble bees floating about were bits of leaf, it didn't work. I think it is time that the paddling pool goes back in the barn to get eaten by mice over the winter.

Village Fetes and shaving foam.

2008-08-27T13:15:00.000-07:00

After having thought that there would be an easy blog following the village fete - lots of smug comments about people enjoying themselves whilst I looked down at them and sniggered - I actually had a great day and therefore feel both arrogant and humble.

No-one seemed to want to buy my home-made marmalade, no doubt having noticed that it was mainly in old gherkin jars that still smelt of vinegar, or Pataks curry jars, so that the marmalade had a cloudy turmeric tinge to it. But never mind as that means lots of Christmas presents taken care of. I was a little disappointed that I wasn't supported in my offer of organising a Sh*t the Penny game, as I am sure that that would have raised a fortune.

I managed to bribe Huw to come along to help on the helium balloon stand, for the promise of a bacon sandwich, but it all went a bit sour when he turned up just as the last bacon was being slapped in between some white sliced and handed to a fat bloke. But the balloon race was a success with about 80 kids standing in the middle of the field crying as their balloons flew up into the sky - apologies if anyone's cows are choking on the rubber at this time, but it will be in a good cause.

There will be prizes for the returns of the labels attached to the balloons - the winner being the one from furthest away. Huw is determined that his girls will win and is, as I type, driving up to John o'Groats to post Charlotte and Maude's labels. He will be gutted when he learns that the first prize is a copy of Chocolate Mousse and Two Spoons...

oh and the shaving foam bit is just a game I played with Charlotte that got out of hand - like most of our games seem to. I'm just hoping that it doesn't strip car paint...

The day of the frogs

2008-08-23T15:47:00.000-07:00

Today was the day I knew that the grass had to be slain. My lawn was at least knee high, whereas the bit that Huw does is Wimbledon with stripes. Mine was so high that it had fallen over and turned into a blanket that snuggles up frogs.
They knew that I hated them, but they waited until I started mowing before leaping out at me, despite me running around over the grass trying to tell them what was about to happen.
I've always been a bit embarrassed about being frog phobic as it is a bit pathetic. I'm quite up for them in theory, and no longer drain bogs to get rid of their habitats, but in practice their sitting and pretending to be a leaf then leaping out at me frightens me to a point of sprinting away screaming. So, I've tried to keep quiet, knowing that a stifled scream is better for the soul than having a brother rub one in my face.
Since having the girls, I am aware of the importance of not passing on one's fears - and also I feel that Charlotte will be the type to tell me to shut my eyes and open my mouth (she got that one from her father) as soon as she is fast enough to catch one.
However, today I started mowing as Huw and Charlotte were rally driving around our yard (10x10 yards) and the slimy little sods were leaping about everywhere. At each appearance I would have to abandon the lawn mower and run shouting "Jee-sus-Christ" around the garden, no doubt stepping on a few of his mates as I went. I saw four altogether before I gave up and phoned Stuart Coyle to come and tarmac the damn place.

This evening has been Little Women as I have made 14 jars of marmalade from of out of date Marmade for the local fete on Monday. Huw has spent three hours making a lasagne, then disappeared, exhausted, before the washing up managed to get done. I will have to get the girls to make the lables tomorrow and then brace myself for a bout of village sh*ts.

Karma is a funny thing. After having tried so hard not to cut frogs into strips, but being secretly pleased to see the occasional foot scattered around the place, I was driving back from the shop on a late night quest for more sugar for the marmalade, and nearly rolled the car trying to miss a toad. Basta*rds.

Lorraine.

OK, so which git left the Slimming World leaflet on my doorstep?

2008-08-21T13:02:00.000-07:00

Another day, another belly-full of blackberries soaked in dog urine.

Yes, some git left a Slimming World leaflet on my doorstep -although thinking about it, it is actually Fat Huw's doorstep too. They were obviously a little sheepish as they stuffed it in my Rigger Boot and sprinted (waddled) off without telling anyone. How rude is that? So, next time you see me, I'll be ringing a little bell as I'll have lost a couple of pounds or something (just like I did last time I had my bikini line waxed).

I held playgroup at our house yesterday, whilst the hall rennovations were on, so we had lots of little ones racing around in the wheelbarrow and slipping over in the mud. Just when I was thinking "Ah, I can do this! It works sometimes" I found a dead bird in a bucket of water. They all spotted it before it was disposed of, so I had seven fascinated children following me whilst I went and tipped it in the hedge. I gave them all a lesson about not playing near water as that is what happens and they nodded sagely and I thought I had got away with it. Then I tipped another bucket with a dead slug in it out, and then realised that the blob of mud I had poured it onto, was in fact another dead bird - but this poor thing now had a slug stuck to it as well. I expect our garden will now be the talk of lots of tea tables...

We went for a walk at about fiveish today as Charlotte was getting a little wild and needed wearing out, so we walked round the loop (again) and just when I was beginning to relax and Maude had spotted some good raspberries in the hedge, there was a giggle and I turned to see Charlotte sprinting along with her trousers and pants round her ankles and arms in the air, typically just as someone I sort of know was coming down her drive for a chat. Does anyone else really have to go through this, or is it just me?

The editing of Number Two (woof) book is coming along and I am realising what I have learnt from the professionals' opinions of Number One, as the beginning of the book is rubbish and I have now reached the bit that was written after Number One had had a professional's eye over it, and thankfully it is much better.

We are a bit skint, so I am offering to slip a person in as a character for the price of a tank of oil. Offers need to be received before Mid Sept. Perfect Christmas present for your loved one.

Lorraine.

Another day, another rejection letter.

2008-08-19T01:38:00.000-07:00

And, Another day, another five minutes wasted trying to work out how to create a new blog.

A fine weekend of fun and frolics. I think we went to Co-op AND Aldi, so excited were we about shopping in general. We were then able to put our virtual cupboard storage plan into action - because we have such a small kitchen and so few cupboards, we decided that we would not unpack the groceries from the boot of the car, but instead would just drive round with them in there and just pop out to fetch a can of beans when we needed one. Realised yesterday that the plan was a little flawed when I pierced a bottle of vegetable oil after slinging the pushchair on top of everything and also found that we'd lost a couple packs of bacon due to the heat.

Today, the girls' nursery is shut due to the fact that they are demolishing the school next to it, and so I have Claire the wonderful lady from the nursery come to the house to look after the girls while I do some work (well, surely typing this and reading about Jade Goodie is work?). So I was up until 3 a.m. shovelling debris out of the kitchen so that she wouldn't be sick if she looked under the table. I also had to write a list of things they can do to entertain themselves and am now wondering if I were taking the P*ss a bit by saying that Charlotte loves to clean the cooker, so if she could help her to do that, that would be great, gloves under the sink.

My rejection letter was from an online magazine that somehow didn't like my cheesy book plug that was thinly disguised as an article. Spooky eh?

Huw has gone to Bristol again today, so I have "number one" desk in the office, rather than being sat at the kitchen table. I thought that I would try and sort out the clutter that is stuck to it by fruit pastilles, but instead have thought sod it, rested my computer on an old pasty and got stuck in to my blog...

Pigeon kicking and crisp packet menaces

2008-08-15T12:45:00.000-07:00

Hello! And heartened by the comments about my blog being a necessity for getting through the day, here we are again. (Unlucky those who made a convincing argument for the "do something else" option).

Huw did his usual "if I have to be up, then everyone must be up (and ideally making me cups of tea)" thing at six a.m and the day went down hill from then really.

Our play group is full of muppets. We had a "sports day" theme, thanks to someone bringing in their Olympics kit, and started with egg and spoon races. We then had to move on to just spoon races as egg and spoon turned out to be too difficult - and even then, no-one actually won.

Another day, another trip on the bus - this time a five mile journey taking a fantastic 54 minutes, via the arse-end of Llanyre and every other village where no-one has ever got on a bus before. Luckily we had comedy-driver and he kept the old folks tittering with his shouting at people who had parked in bad places which prevented his bus getting by and meant that he had to speed off at 16 mph to make up time.

I always used to think that parents who let their children run through flocks of pigeons and birds, especially whilst some other poor soul was feeding them, were pretty irresponsible. Today, however, I got their point. I had thirty seconds mental rest when Charlotte and her friend sprinted across the park to kick pigeons - my friend and I shouting, "look - there's another one!" trying to drag it out to at least a minute.

I'm sat here now, too scared to go out and get the washing in as I heard a rustle in the hedge earlier. In my mind it is at least a monster that wants to eat me and then hide in our cupboards to scare me again later - but in my heart I know that it is a crisp packet tucked into waist high grass. If we weren't such scutters, this kind of thing would never need to happen.

Blogs, Shmogs

2008-08-12T12:26:00.000-07:00

I've had a troubling few days trying to sort out the soul of my blog - should it be every day regardless of whether I have anything to say, should it be a weekly thing or a now and then thing? No doubt some would suggest that it shouldn't be anything and the best thing I could do with my time is - something else.

Obviously the point of it is to reach across the world and if I can't do that, then perhaps it can be something to keep me up to speed with my typing.

Should I wax on about going to Bristol yesterday and at some points being sad that I don't live in such a cosmopolitan hub that has cappucinos and B&Qs on every corner, or should I mention that very soon I was so hacked off about being stuck in traffic for most of the time that I was there, that I couldn't wait to get back to Cosy Corner and be offered a choice of a mug or a cup for my coffee. (There are, of course upsides to everything - I took two wing mirrors off, so if you are in need of one, let me know. I also said "hello" to people as I walked past them on a quiet bit of pavement, until I realised that I was behaving a little like Crocodile Dundee and felt an arse.)

Anyway, the point is almost academic as I think even my mum has now moved on to Chris Evans' blog...

The highlight of the day was a phone call from Huw as he was taking friends to the airport for their flight. He had arrived at their house in plenty of time, only to find them running around screaming sh**t!! as one of them had misunderstood the 24 hour clock on the tickets and they had just realised that they had two hours less to get to the airport than they had thought...
I think that the situation was made worse as they went in our car and therefore the sausage roll crumbs and the furry husks that were once apple cores on the floor probably made them feel sick. But, I suppose it could have been worse - it could have been in Huw's car which has had the sun beating down on those KFC boxes for a few weeks now...

Airbeds at midnight

2008-08-10T12:29:00.000-07:00

Surely one of the best things about having friends to stay is watching them trying to sort out their sleeping arrangements at midnight when everyone is shattered and has seen the wrong side of a couple of bottles of wine / port / Aldi's Booleys and whatever the mini-bar had to offer.

Last night was no exception. Tony is a practical kind of guy, so watching him trying to make a valve out of an old inner tube so that it would fit a rusty foot pump was a pleasure. He spent a good twenty minutes making his valve and was very pleased with himself. Then we spent another ten minutes trying to find the butter so that he could un-rust his foot pump - to the tune of his wife saying, "well, I told you not to leave it outside". Then we spent another twenty minutes giggling helplessly as he had to push and pull it two inches at a time with his hands (if you used your feet it would only push). It would have taken three days to pump up their de-luxe king size airbed.
Then he got so hacked off with our giggling and smug comments, that he dissapeared in a huff and went on to blow it up by mouth. After another 15 minutes, he had hyper-ventilated and fallen asleep. They spent an uncomfortable night lying on a slab of rubber.

A fine lunch at Llanafan's Red Lion followed, the best place to go for a good feed and a smug comment. (We went on Father's Day and the landlord, from his book of Landlord's Witticisms, said to Huw, "Christ, she hasn't told you that you're the father, has she?"). Charlotte went to the toilet fifteen times and Maude got ice cream headache from eating her pud too fast. So did Huw.

Then on to an Open Garden at Llysdinam, which shows how old I am becoming as I went by choice. Luckily, I know the head gardner, so she gave us lots of grapes from the vines and necatarines from the trees - I didn't like to tell her that I had already pinched enough for the week. It made me determined to get on with book number two as we'll never be able to afford a head gardener otherwise. I was quite sad when I got home and surveyed the woodland where our lawn used to be.

Lesson of the day has to be: sort your sleeping arrangements out before you drink three bottles of wine and eat enough to floor a horse.

Back fat and Llandrindod Wells

2008-08-06T13:21:00.000-07:00

Hello! I didn't manage to get here last night as I had decided that I wouldn't be able to make it to Ron's Fitness Club in the village hall as I was unfit. I know that that is the whole point, but the thought of embarrassing myself in a pair of dusty Ron Hills and brilliant white trainers was more than I could take.

I felt ashamed as I have never not done anything before because I didn't feel fit enough, so I thought I would have a bath. It didn't really do the job as at the end, I thought that the water had gone out much quicker than usual until I went to stand up and gallons of the stuff that had got stuck in a resevoir behind my back fat poured out. In hindsight, I should have gone to Ron's.

Never mind, a day in Llandrindod reminded me that life was still good. We fed the ducks, Maude ate my luxury ice cream and indicated that I was allowed to eat her mini-milk instead, then went face first down the slide(that'll teach her).

We watched two trains come in, which killed another four hours, and then caught the bus home. Because Huw is away, we were allowed to eat mince for tea without having him retching in the background - although I still maintain that he'll have it cold in a sandwich one day...

Lorraine x

The Pain of being a techno-fool

2008-08-04T12:27:00.001-07:00

It is quite sad really that with my sixth blog, I am still having to find my way around the process each time I start. I can never remember how to create a new post (perhaps someone is trying to tell me something) and always end up jumping to the sad git on the "next blog" who has always just released new photos of their hairy fiance. It's tedious being such a techno-fool.

But, the day is good in that my Observer piece is on the web for all those (Proberts) who are a bit short this week and didn't want to buy the paper - go to http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2008/aug/03/7 - unless of course you're from my family, in which case, why not check out the latest Jamie Oliver recipe?

I have been pimping myself to the WI and reading groups today in the quest for fruit cake and book sales. I haven't had any takers yet - perhaps word has got round about the quality of my sponge...

Also - there is a call for chapter headings for the next book please - I am looking for phrases that are about saving money to a ridiculous degree. For example "Stitch newspaper to the inside of your coat", or "cooking pasta in a thermos" (I used to do this, it worked! Although I did used to end up with one large slug of pasta to go with my sweetcorn). My favourite one is "harnessing the steam from your pi*ss" (perhaps a suggestion for a project for Glasu or Severn Wye Energy Agency?)
Any thoughts appreciated.

Best wishes,
Lorraine.

PS - I think that I am being really clever by putting Glasu and Severn Wye Energy Agency in my "Key words". That'll learn people for looking them up on the web...

Secret Breakfasts and a piece in The Observer

2008-08-03T13:58:00.000-07:00

I've just spent an hour trying to compose my blog, but I am so tired my eyes can no longer see properly. I was trying to work in a witty and relevant way of saying that I have only had two lie-ins in three-and-a-bit years and one of those was last week.

I was supposed to be having another one this morning, but actually ended up doing an hour's sorting / making drinks / scraping a turd off the carpet (Huw will insist on sitting in the patch of sunshine at the top of the stairs) before I was allowed to sneak back into bed - and a lie-in after you have already been up, doesn't really count.

My point was that rather than the writing habits of the rich and successful, which always seem to revolve around muesli in the conservatory and walking the spaniels, I have to sneak mine in where it is possible. I am hopeful that this new Sunday morning lie-in pattern will continue, as I got a good old chaptersworth done of my new masterpiece. Sleeping through a lie-in seemed to be a bit of a waste really.

However, when I came downstairs and found everyone sat on the sofa in their pyjamas watching bloody Corra of all things with the carpet covered in cous cous as Charlotte had been making lasagne again, my writing bliss of earlier all disappeared into a haze.

But, the good thing about today was that I got into The Observer. I had written a piece for their My Crap Holiday slot, for which I will get a first aid kit! If anyone has today's Observer down the back of their sofa, see page ten of the Escape bit!

Anyone who has been on holiday with me, is probably suitably qualified to write about their crap holiday, so might be worth a shot. Apparently it's a good first aid kit...

More (and hopefully better) tomorrow good folks.

Huw's new business and Show Goers' poo

2008-08-01T13:02:00.000-07:00

Today it’s Huw’s today! (isn’t it always?) Today Flomp started. Huw’s business, For Letting of Managed Property opened its doors today in Bristol and apparently they had a happy day drinking lots of tea and quality biscuits and doing lots of work. It’s been a good day for Huw Chance. Well done Huw.
.
I, instead, spent a nice time on Builth’s swingy bridge with a friend and our girls throwing sticks into the water, until we were told by another passing friend that people from the nearby campsite had been using the same railings that we were leant on - and Maude was sucking - to sit on, hang their arses over the top of in order to discharge their Royal Welsh Show food into the river. As we wondered slowly away, we were then told that the handrail that we clung to as we walked down the steps, had been used to wipe backsides on and no doubt the sticks that we had thrown into the river had knocked off clinkers. The beautiful day lost its rainbow.

Anyway, it’s dawned on me today that I need to step up a gear in the book world. I’ve had too many weeks of writing nice articles that either do or don’t get published, and it’s too easy and comfy. I can sit in my pants with my vat of coffee and spiel out nonsense and nothing comes of it. I might as well go back to my obsessive cleaning routine, and at least the underside of the cooker will be sparkling again.

So, from here on, it’s hard core effective sales talk and stalking of the Guardian Review staff. It’s book clubs, WI talks and general prostitution. So if anyone knows of a little group of people anywhere who have exhausted their speakers on topics such as My Operation or Living with Clematis, and who might be able to offer a cup of tea and a piece of fruit cake to someone happy to talk for an hour about getting having their leg bitten off by a horsefly or saying Good Lettuce instead of Good Morning (it was really funny, honest), and maybe buy a few books on their way out – as otherwise, they won’t be GOING out – then please let me know.

In the meantime, I’ll just start by shifting rubble from the living room carpet.

bastard fuckin dogs

2008-07-31T12:59:00.000-07:00

Well, the best thing that happened today without doubt was watching video clips of the Davies / Richards family spending the hottest day of the year trying to dig a dog out of a pipe. The poor thing had been yowling all night from the woods and eventually they found it stuck in a drainage pipe several feet underground.
The owner, being a good Breconshire farmer, said to "leave the fuc*kin thing there", but having lived in town too long, they couldn't. After much swearing, Collin mended his old digger and managed to get it to the woods. He dug a hole that would lose a bus and eventually they found the pipe. They finished the digging off by hand, then got some bloke from ten miles away to come with his disc cutter to cut through the pipe.
They are all swearing and cheering as he finally manages to break through the pipe. Then the video swings round to see a muddy black dog running out of the bushes coming to see what all the fuss is about.
Collin swears like I have never heard swearing before and the dog gets a boot up its arse.

I only hope that that bump I felt as I drove out of the farm wasn't significant...

Crap Holidays and Two Legged Giraffes

2008-07-30T12:41:00.001-07:00

So, you learn something new every day. Today it was that you can't edit yesterday's blog.

The good news is that The Observer wants my piece, My Crap Holiday, for next week's edition. The bad news is that I have to break the news to my family that it was about a holiday that I spent with them... But it is good to know that I have now officially suffered for my art.

Someone else who has suffered for art is the plastic giraffe now with only two legs that I found in a clump of cut grass on the yard after the bloke came to collect the lawn mower. I'll just have to collect him leaves from now on so that he doesn't have to stretch...

The first blog of the rest of my life

2008-07-29T04:37:00.000-07:00

After having been badgered by Huw on a daily basis for the last three months to get a blog, I have finally done it; he can now move on to badgering me about something else. I look forward to hearing what that might be.

For those who don't know, I am doing this in the quest for publicity. My book is selling well, but I am in need of sorting my publicity out and a blog is the thing that apparently happening young dudes have, so here goes.

The best thing that has happened today in terms of book things is to have an article accepted - see http://www.synergise.com/nationalities/argentines.php . The worst thing is definately when my sausage fell out of my sausage bagette into the road. Bit gritty, but the road is probably cleaner than our kitchen.

My blog aim is to stick a new one up each day. My blog mission statement is create enough publicity to send my book rocketing to the best seller spot for the rest of the year.