I am in total agreement with the famous Mr King, but how can I – a woman – do just that. To those who have not noticed, I have not posted anything on my blog for over a week. Why? it’s been half-term here in England, and even though my children are all now in their forties, I have been baby-sitting, children-sitting and dog-sitting, along with my own tasks of washing, ironing, cleaning, shopping, cooking, and generally pointing Hubby in the right direction, which is usually out from under my feet, as I sometimes have to whiz around like a whirling dervish.

Yesterday, I thought my family had all either, gone back to work, or to school, but no such luck – I had a visitation from one of my sons who informed me their tumble dryer had gone kaput, and would I dry their clothing, which was two very large baskets full of wet gear. Well, when I saw the pile I hit the roof. I actually went bananas and gave my son an enormous flea in his ear, along with a barrage of irate prattle.

Give him his due, my son sat in an armchair in the living room while I stood ejaculating my venom in his direction. Now, my son is a Gulf War veteran, and has seen a lot of active service, and as I looked at him I suddenly wondered why he was taking what I was dishing out with a look on his face as if he was being bawled at by a Sergeant Major: everything going over his head: even my deluge of expletive explosion was being totally ignored.

When I had got everything off my chest, I asked him if he wanted a cup of coffee. He simply said, ‘Go on then, and have you anything to eat, I haven’t had any breakfast.’ Why is it my grandchildren know when not to mess with Granny, but my son doesn’t yet know not to mess with his mother, especially on a Monday morning when she has her own washing to do.

So folks, how the hell do I – a woman – get the chance to read, let alone write? At times I just want  to sail away to catch the Orinoco flow, just to see where I end up. I’ll tell you one thing, though, I will be coming back as a man next time: that’s for sure.


Forbidden Liaison

I am having a debate with myself about the above novel: should I have brought it to a more emotionally satisfying, and optimistic ending? I am thinking not, but feel I have to explain why.

Forbidden Liaison is a fictional story, and is not, intrinsically, a Historical Romance, but a small snapshot of a few months in the life of a disillusioned German soldier, and his female lover. There were few happy endings to those affairs as a large proportion of those women never saw, or heard from their lovers again. Like all the other countries invaded by the German Army during WWII, it was inevitable liaisons would occur between the German soldiers and local women. It was no different on the Channel Islands where some liaisons were based on love, but most proved to be just casual affairs. And all liaisons ended abruptly when the soldiers were either posted, or the war ended. How many children they left in their wake we may never know, but that’s life, as Frankie sang about.

So, should all stories have happy endings? I know we read for pleasure and to escape from the drudgery of real-life, but then if I constantly looked at life through rose-tinted glasses, I think I would probably be brain-dead by now. Life is life, no matter what it throws at us. We may sometimes think we could have planned our route differently, but we didn’t, so we have to deal with it.

As I have said before, I write fiction: full stop. I do not have one specific genre in my head when I begin writing, but know when I submit a book for publishing it has to be pigeon-holed. Being shoved into a box is something I rail most vehemently against. If I was younger, and just starting out, I might succumb to being a genre writer, but I’m approaching the winter of my life, and I want to write about what interests me, what I have learned throughout life, and I hope, cast some reality into the stories I produce whilst maintaining a good standard of writing.  I will not push myself in a direction I would find difficult to sustain, and if I could publish all my books under the heading of GENERAL FICTION, I would be a very happy bunny indeed. But publishing any book these days means they have to be put into a certain box.

Sorry, but the only box I want to be put in is the one they usually bury or burn: But, I’ve managed to escape that particular box. Both my husband and I have decided to leave our bodies to medical research. That’s our decision, and our children are aware of that, after all that was our life.


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I am taking this opportunity to say a big thank you to all those in Canada who visited my blog on Sunday 31st January, 2016.

The reason it calls for a mention, and a celebration – I had a glass of wine – is that I had 69: yes, 69 visitors, and they were all from Canada. I can only say it didn’t half cheer up a very dreary Sunday, because it’s the most hits I have ever had in one day.


After downloading the picture above, I am now very curious as to where, in that vast country of yours, those hits came from. A simple, Hi, I’m Tom, Dick or Harriett, and I come from… would suffice, and I sincerely hope I will get someone to respond by clicking on the bubble. It would be really interesting for me to know what the weather is like, or whether or not you live in a mountainous region, or live further north where there is lots of snow. I must confess I have had a love affair with cold climates for some time now, and I miss the winters in Sweden since my son came back to England.

So, goodbye Canada, hope I hear from you, and thanks, once again, for making my day.