A Pre-Christmas Cruise

Feeling the need for some sunshine before Christmas I took a cruise to the Canaries. My first one with Cunard and I loved it. The Queen Victoria is a classy lady and was well decorated ready for Christmas.

Dinner was most enjoyable thanks - not only to the good food - but also to my table mates. Rosa, Evelyn, Carol-Anne, Sue and Mike.

And, of course, to our waiter, Roger and his assistant Kay - who turned blonde during the cruise!

I am definitely looking forward to my next Cunard cruise.

Sale of South Downs Mysteries

This trilogy of books is now available for 99c/99p each!

ANTIQUES IN THE ATTIC - https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00C2Q655O
Follow the drama that befalls Sarah when her ex-husband's body and some antiques are discovered.

MODEL MURDER - https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00JALI8MM
Why was the body of a beautiful model discovered in the road near her home? Did her husband kill her or someone else?

WHO ARE THE JCs? - https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01MY6H35S
A body is identified as that of James Chester, then rumours about other gentlemen with the initials JC circulate. Are they all connected?


Set in West Sussex, most of the action takes place in a small fictitious town on the South Downs and in a seaside resort at the foot of the Downs.

Take advantage of the current sale - it won't last forever. And thank you to those of you who have already purchased the books. 

Meet Cleo Marjoribanks.

If you haven't yet met Cleo and DCI David 'Steaming' Kettle now is the chance to get it on the cheap! Starting today (Saturday 22nd) HOMICIDE IN HAMPSHIRE is on Countdown starting at 99p.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B005LO72BA

Parrots I have Known

Ironically both of the parrots I have known were African Greys - grey with scarlet tails. And two very different temperaments.

The first - when I was a child - belonged to a Great-aunt who ran a pub. The story goes that she took the parrot (and cage) from a sailor in lieu of payment. Due to its language it ended up on a table by the window in the humungous pub kitchen. The delivery men always got well and truly sworn at! My Mum kept reminding me that its favourite saying was 'You old rat'.

The second I met in the 1990s and belonged to an American friend who smoked like a chimney - the parrot had a good line in coughs. Word of warning - birds (and presumably all pets) can develop cancer. Molly (I suspect it was probably called Mali after its country of origin) was a chatterbox but my friend was always puzzled by the amount of muttering she did. Until I pointed out that it is one thing to leave the television on to keep her company while he was at work, but quite another to keep the volume down low!

I don't have photos of any African Greys but these are ones taken in Singapore.

The Medieval Bothwell Castle

It was a wet Saturday morning and I was on a mission.

I had known - since a child - that Bothwell Castle existed and had vowed that one day I would visit it. The time had come.

As I ambled through Bothwell Woods from Blantyre Station I wondered what I would find. Something grim and grey? Then it appeared between the trees - rose red. Breathtaking. Not surprising that it is regarded as one of the outstanding monuments of medieval Scotland.

The Lordship of Bothwell was created in the 12^th century by King Malcolm IV and was granted to David Oliford.  It is thought that Oliford’s castle, which was probably made of earth and timber, was near St. Bride’s Church in the nearby town of Bothwell.

When Oliford’s grandson, William, died in 1243 the lordship passed to his son-in-law, Walter of Moray who is thought to have begun work on the now ruined castle.

During Edward I’s invasion of Scotland in 1296, William Moray of Bothwell and the castle were taken by the English.  Williams’ nephew Andrew took up the Scottish cause but was mortally wounded at the Battle of Stirling Bridge in 1297.

In the 14^th century Edward III made the castle his headquarters for a short while. There were many battles back and forth between England and Scotland involving the castle and it sustained a tremendous amount of damage. Archibald Douglas (the third Earl of Douglas) made Bothwell his base and set about restoring it. By 1424 Bothwell Castle was one of the most impressive fortress-residences of its day.

In 1455 the barony and castle reverted to the Crown and in 1489, it was bestowed by King James IV on Patrick Hepburn of Dunsyre.  He was also created Earl of Bothwell.  In 1492, at the King’s request, Hepburn exchanged Bothwell - for the barony of Hermitage - with Archibald Douglas, fifth Earl of Angus. 

In the 17^th century Bothwell was acquired by the first Earl of Forfar who, towards the end of the century decided he wanted somewhere more comfortable to live and proceeded to build a mansion.  Bothwell House - a Palladian mansion - was to the east of the castle and was demolished in 1926, a victim of subsidence (in Victorian times the town turned from agriculture to coal mining - hence the subsidence!).

From the remaining parts of the castle it is easy to see the layout.  In one corner near the almost intact South-East Tower was the chapel. To the side of this Tower was the Great Hall.  As there were cellars beneath it, the Banqueting Hall was reached by a flight of steps up from the courtyard. 

Unfortunately only a part of the magnificent main tower (the Lord’s residence) survives.  Even so, it is pretty impressive as it still stands 27.4m high.  From inside I looked up at the somewhat daunting walls and arched gothic windows. The embrasures show the thickness of the walls – all 4.6m of them.

Then the rain really began to pour down so it was time to leave. By the time I reached the town of Bothwell I was wet, cold and looking like a drowned rat. I decided against taking a walk around the town and caught a bus back to the centre of Glasgow and my hotel.

At least that was one more item to tick off my bucket list!

The River Clyde which flows past the castle 

PS. Mary, Queen of Scots, third husband was James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell. No relation!

'A Favourite Aunt' - Colin's concept of affection.

So a new phase in their life began. Evenings sitting watching television. All two channels in black and white. Did they, like any normal young couple cosy up on the sofa? Of course not. The sofa was against a wall and they sat in armchairs like a long married old couple. She really would like to have some signs of affection from him. Especially when seeing some of their neighbours. Like the time the couple from across the road stood chatting to them, their arms about each other. You could have driven a motorbike between her and Colin.

'Disgusting,' was Colin's comment once they were indoors.

'What?'

'Disgusting. Their arms about each other out in public.'

Blimey, you'd have thought they'd been standing there making love! Sylvia did not say out loud. She was envious. All she ever got as he left for work in the morning was a peck on the cheek.

2015

By the time Robert and Mary finished laughing Christina was smiling. 'Yes, I know it is funny in retrospect but, honestly! If you were to put all of that into a fictional story you'd be accused of making it up. It really was all so ridiculous.'

'But not if you realise that he is probably gay,' Robert pointed out.

'I know. So-called Victorian upbringing.'

Robert hooted with laughter. 'They were worse than the Edwardians with all their shenanigans. It was amazing the amount and types of sexual activity that went on in those days.'

'We know that now, darling,' his wife said quietly, 'but not back in the nineteen sixties.'

'Colin's problems really began with his family. His Dad was a shouter and hitter. He died while Colin was still at school which meant his meek mother and big sister brought him up.'

'Spoiled?'

'Was he ever. The best example I can give you is the one that always makes me laugh. Every evening for supper he insisted on a cup of coffee and a slice of buttered toast. The bread had to be doorstop thick, toasted exactly right - no burnt bits - and the butter should reach the sides and corners.'

'Do what?'

'I haven't finished yet. He maintained that he wasn't spoiled as a child because they couldn't afford butter but....' She gave a dramatic pause and Robert gave her the beat, ' "at least my mother made sure the margarine went to all of the edges and corners".'

Following a stunned silence Mary eventually said, 'It beggars belief, doesn't it?'

Robert sighed. 'I still reckon he's gay. It seems he was always trying to assert his manliness.'


A FAVOURITE AUNT, by Christina is available on Kobo, Kindle and in paperback. 

'Dirty Deeds in Downdene'.

This is the start of 'Dirty Deeds in Downdene', the 2nd Cleo Marjoribanks Murders Mystery. The cockney millionairess gets into trouble when trying to outdo the police in solving the murders.

Chapter 1.

There I was doing my vastly improved dog-paddle up and down the pool when the phone rang.  Yeah, I know that like all modern marvels it can answer itself but, I dunno, it sounded urgent.  I made it to the steps and clambered out, grabbed a towel and picked up the receiver as it was about to self respond.

“Hello.”

“Queen of the Nile, how’re you doing?”

“Hi, Primrose.  I’m fine.  You?”

“Fine!  Fine!”  This was said airily and I grew suspicious of my crime journalist friend.

“Really?  So to what do I owe the honour of this call?”  A peal of laughter came down the wire and I held the receiver away from my ear so that she didn’t split me ear-drum.  Prim is a sweet girl, born on Primrose Day and as her surname’s Day, her parents got a bit carried away.  (Primrose Day?  19^th April, the anniversary of the day Disraeli died and, as primroses were his favourite flowers Queen Victoria had the day so named in his memory).  When I first knew Prim her hair was braided and trimmed with hundreds of beads.  Noisy.  Now she’s got it short and curly.  Natural like.  She’s black, beautiful and works on one of the national dailies.

“Not much gets past you does it, Cleo?”

“At my size, ducks, no.  So, why are you calling?”

“Well, I hear lover boy’s got himself another murder to investigate.”

I frowned.  “Really?  How did you hear about this before me?”  Not fair.  David hadn't mentioned it.  That's DCI 'Steaming' Kettle and my lover.

“Contacts,” Prim responded succinctly.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, alright.  So what are you calling me about?”

“Thought you might have some idea about it, but as I’ve been the bearer of the news I guess you don’t know anything.”

“You guess right and I’m not going to get involved this time.”

“No, I’m sure you're not,” she said disbelievingly.

“I’m not,” I told her indignantly.

“Okay.  Don’t you want to know anything about it?”

Can’t keep my curiosity to myself can I?  My friends know me too well.  “Not really.”  I tried to match her earlier airy tone.

“Come off it, girl, course you do.”  Yeah, she’s also a cockney but it don’t come out as often as mine.

“You’re going ter tell me anyway, aren't you?”

She chuckled.  “Of course.”

“Go on then,” I urged as she kept me waiting.

“Seems like an estate agent dropped dead in his soup at some do in Lymington last night.”

“Oh?”  Definitely interesting.  So who had done for him?  A disgruntled client?  Someone who had been gazumped?

“Well, not exactly in the soup.  It was a bit later than that.  At the moment the cops aren’t calling it murder, just a sudden death which they have to investigate.  Seems strange to me that Steaming is in on it, though.  Doesn’t it?”

“Definitely.  Wonder what he was given?"  The victim I mean.  "In Lymington you said?”

“Yeah.”

“So I gather you’re on your way down here?”

She laughed again.  “Well, I've been told to come down there and thought it might be a good idea to visit you?”  Why was she querying it?  She knew I’d want her to stay here. “I thought I could stay in the house instead of the flat over the garage.  You know, keep you company while lover-boy is working.”

“What d’you mean, keep me company?”

“As they say in my job, if you ain’t got contacts, you ain’t got a job.  No point in not using them, is there?”  I could almost hear the smile.

“You win.  What time shall I expect you?”  We fixed an approximate time in the afternoon, then she asked, “What you doing?  Sounds as if you’re in the pool room.”

“I was just practicing.”

“Good girl.  I’ll give you some more lessons, if you like.”

“So that I can start powering up and down the pool the same way you do?”

That made her laugh.  “Sorry, Cleo, I don’t think you’d quite manage that.”

“I don’t think so either.  Anyway, see you later.”

I put the phone down and picked up me robe and put it on.  That was the end of my swimming practice for the day.  Time to go and shower and get dressed.  I should explain that the pool room was once a conservatory.  When I bought this place it was missing most of its glass and the plants had run wild. 

.......................

The golf carts on the cover? Cleo has friends at the golf club as well as being insulted by the Club Secretary!

This book is available on KOBO

Also on KINDLE and paperback. 

'Excitement Builds for Bognor Regis park plan'

Just quoting this week's headline to a two-page advertisement in the Bognor Regis Observer.

Most of the residents in this area are tenants rather than homeowners, but we still pay Council Tax and haven't been consulted. Arun Council at its very best. Barge ahead with their grand scheme with no thought for others. 

1. The preliminary drawings appear to have forgotten Fitzleet House (the tower block where I live!). Is the Council going to re-house the tenants? Or compensate them for having to move?

2. Noise and dirt pollution. Whilst the work is being carried out is the Council going to provide residents with ear defenders? Not everyone goes out to work - there are retired and disabled people living in the area. The alternative would be for the Council to have triple (at least) glazing fitted to the existing properties. We would also like compensation for the fact that we would have to keep out windows closed to keep out the dirt. (Hope the Council members are going to clean up after the workmen. Ha-Ha-Ha.)

3. As a tenant overlooking the car park I would love to see gardens there instead. That would cut down the noise and carcinogenic fumes. But where is the Council planning to have cars parked? Along either side of the new park - closer to the residences. Obviously they aren't concerned about people's health. That is what the NHS is for, isn't it?

4. So far as the entertainments area is concerned, where is it exactly planned for? Even if it is in Waterloo Square (near the pier), the sound of head-banging music can be heard a long way off. And not all of us enjoy the same kind of music. Triple glazing?

5. Hopefully the Council with have all this work carried out whilst the birds are NOT nesting. Otherwise it will have a huge impact on the local bird population - to say nothing of other wild life. 

Lastly, I object strongly to Council Tax being used to fund advertising. 

'How do you create your characters?'

Among questions that novelists are asked, one of the most popular is 'How do you create your characters?' Followed, of course, by 'Are they based on people you know?' The answer the latter question is a definite and very loud NO. If you think you recognise characters in a book you read, it is sheer coincidence.

What we do when creating the characters is think of the type of person we need and build around that.

Cleo Marjoribanks almost created herself. I wanted to write books set mainly in one of my favourite English locations - the New Forest in Hampshire. My heroine wanted to be a lovable character and not too young. Someone with experience of life, a sense of humour and a quick tongue. I decided that she was down-to-earth and generous. I am an Essex girl whose parents were East Enders. What better place to look for Cleo? So far as her name and style of dress is concerned, blame her.

How did she end up living in the New Forest? Won the lottery, quit her boring job and found a house in the New Forest - in a fictional village.

To find out how she then became involved in village life and helps to solve crimes you will have to read the Cleo Marjoribanks Murder Mysteries. They are available on Kindle and the first two are also available in Paperback. Depending upon demand, the rest may become paperbacks.

The books are also available on Kobo.

 

How do you pronounce Marjoribanks? I'm sure some of you know, but it is Marchbanks. One of those silly English spellings

The Creation of 'A Young Man's Dreams'

Many years ago when living in Florida I became involved in Historic Preservation. I could tell you lots of tales about that..... but I won't.

Why would an Englishwoman interest herself in American Historic Preservation? I was already engrossed in the history of the town where I was living, having spent hours and hours in the reference library reading every book on the subject which they had. I then went on to learn the history of the Sunshine State. Very mixed, from people who cared about the ecology and welfare of it to the ones who were only in the development for profit. (Were? I can think of at least one person who lives there who still is.)

I decided that I wanted to write a book set in the early years of the 20th century about the development of a fictitious coastal town. And created Joseph Montgomery, a larger-than-life character who helped with the town's development. And, yes, he did line his pockets.

But he needed to be a sympathetic character. And he needed a background. Well, his back story just grew and grew and grew. And I found I had a saga beginning with his childhood in the circus. His family were Spanish acrobats but, ironically, young Jose was unco-ordinated. Fortunately an American school teacher found him and took him under her wing so that he learned to speak, read and write English.

A Young Man's Dream is the opening of this saga which takes us to the outbreak of World War 1 in 1914 which, although the US wasn't officially involved at that stage, it did affect many people living in the States.

If this book sells well I will continue on to Book 2 which takes the story through the WW1 and on into the Twenties. It is up to you, my dear readers.

A Young Man's Dreams is available on Amazon in both Kindle and Paperback. It is also available on KOBO.

A FAVOURITE AUNT by 'Christina'

The year is 1960 ......

As she sat on the edge of the seat in the back of the white Rolls Royce, Sylvia felt like a princess. And she even had on a coronet - admittedly made of white net leaves and imitation pearls. This was her wedding day and she was the heroine in lace with her Daddy sitting beside her. Andrew Watson was so proud of his older daughter and thought she looked beautiful in her white lace dress. But he did think it was a shame that it wasn't a long one. Never mind, the headdress set off her dark brown hair and sparkling grey eyes a treat. The neighbours had come out to see her off to the Church and she waved - regally of course - to them.

Yes, today she was the family star, not her sister Lucy. And after today as Mrs. Colin Evans she would be her own woman. No parents telling her what she could and couldn't do and no teenager calling her names (when the parents weren't around of course).

Head held high and smiling at the congregation the bride managed to stop her father from racing down the aisle. Poor Daddy, she thought, he just wants to get this bit over.

They reached their destination and Colin tried to take her right hand - before she had a chance to turn and give her bouquet of pink carnations to Lucy. As soon as she turned back to face the vicar Colin successfully grabbed her hand and pulled it through his arm, continuing to hold the hand tightly. As if he feared she might run away.

Sylvia fell off her cloud with a bump. What am I doing? I feel handcuffed. Help! I don't want this.

Too late, the service began.

Perhaps this is just pre-wedding nerves as they say in the magazines, she thought. And I can't let everyone down.

..........................

Young women of this era were pretty naive and getting out of a bad marriage was not easy. This story tells how difficult it was for women in a man's world - with Christina telling the story to her friends. It then goes on to show how she survived to become a successful travel writer. 

The book is available on Amazon - paperback and Kindle  
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B072LK5GNV

It is also available on Kobo. 

          

'I've just met Larry Grayson'

Whilst watching a programme about one of the UK's best ever comedians, I was reminded of an incident in Bognor Regis in 1984 - when there was still a theatre on the Pier.

During the 1970s I was living in Spain but made many trips home to stay with my parents. They were avid fans of Larry Grayson so I was fortunate enough to see him on the telly. What a joy and so good for a belly laugh. No foul language (as these days) and no shouting (again as these days). Yes, innuendo but mostly by his cheeky looks into the camera.

It was interesting to learn of his history, the decades in which he toured the clubs and variety theatres before being 'discovered' for television. I reckon that wannabe comedians could learn a lot by studying Larry.

I returned to the UK in 1984 and was staying with my parents at their home in Hastings. One day I took them on a day trip with Southdown Coaches. On the return journey we made a stop at Bognor Regis. Mum didn't want to go far from the coach park so Dad wandered off on his own. About ten minutes later he returned, smiling literally from ear-to-ear.

'I've just met Larry Grayson!'

Apparently Dad was in front of the pier when a taxi pulled up and a man in a hurry got out and bumped into him. Larry Grayson was late getting to the theatre. He was full of apologies and absolutely thrilled my father. Thank you, Larry.

'MURDER IN MITCHAM PARVA'

This is the fourth book in the Cleo Marjoribanks series - and it takes place in the New Forest.

Chapter 1

I don't believe it!  Only back from Spain for a few weeks and there's another body. No, I haven't found another one as I did when David and I were on holiday.  Apparently there's been a murder in another village in the Forest - that's the New Forest in Hampshire.

This morning before Mrs. Walsh - who 'does' for me - had unpacked her overall and put on the kettle (sorry - switched on the kettle) she was in full spate with the news.

'Had a terrible shock,' she told me in her New Forest burr. 'Linda's dead.'

'Who?'

'My friend, Linda'

'Sorry to hear that.  Was she ill?'

'No-o-o.  Murdered.'  She wrung her hands.  Yeah, honest she did.  She only needed a puzzled look from me to continue, 'Her husband found 'er in the garding this morning.  She went out to bingo in their church 'all last night and didn't come 'ome.'

'Wasn't he worried?'

She shook her head which is now a strange chocolate brown with blue tips and whispered. 'Separate bedrooms.'

'He wouldn't know she'd stopped out.'

'Right, but I don't know why 'e didn't notice at breakfast.'

'Letting her have a lie in?'

'Nah.  She works at Mitcham Manor.  Cleaning, like me, so she'd 'ave ter be up early.'

'You said she was murdered?' I reminded her.

'Head bashed in.'

Yup, that'd kill someone. 'Oh dear.  How did you find out?'

'One of their neighbours phoned ter tell me and ask if I've got 'n hour or two ter spare today if they need someone ter fill in at the Manor.'

Her phone played 'My Way' - she's a Frank Sinatra fan - and she rummaged in her bag for it. That's when I noticed that her nails match the blue in her hair.

When she'd finished the call and was jotting something in her Filofax I asked, 'Why do you still have a Filofax? You can put all that info onto the phone.'

'Don't know how to. This is a new one my 'usband give me.' She snorted. 'A phone's a phone. That's all I need. It's easier ter plan my weeks with the Filofax.'

Rather like me and my calendar. Incidentally, she's a bit older than me.  I think somewhere in her fifties and, so my friend Paula tells me, is always formal. Calls all her clients Mrs. or Miss - whatever. We've decided it must be a family trait as it seems all her family worked in service. You know, maids and things in the big houses.

Mug of tea and two biscuits later Mrs. Walsh finally got started on the work and I went to my office - or study or whatever you want to call it - and phoned Paula.

So you don't get confused I'd better tell you a bit more about me. My name's Cleo Marjoribanks and I'm from the East End of London (cockney-land). When I won the lottery I chucked me job in and bought an old house in Trewith Green, a village in the New Forest.  The house isn't that big, room to spread myself with room to spare for visitors.  And Mrs. Walsh comes a couple of times a week to 'do' for me.

Paula Linley is sort of the lady of the manor and yes, I know what you're thinking, a most unlikely friend for me but she's been my friend from almost when I first moved to the village earlier this year.

'Morning, Paula.  Welcome home.'

'Good morning, Cleo.  Holidays are delightful but there is nothing like getting home, is there?'

'No, but you had a good time?'

'You know about Edinburgh.'

'Probably more than you, even though we have chatted about it,' I commented dryly.  She and Gerard (her husband) had begun in Edinburgh where, along with their teenage daughter, Maggie, they had visited James and Milly, their elder son and his wife and met the new addition - a boy - to the family. 'And you hired a car to go touring the Highlands.'

She chuckled. 'Thanks for taking care of Maggie and getting her off to school.'  Maggie is a weekly boarder.  Before trolling off on their own they had put Maggie on a plane to Southampton where I had met her, brought her home to my house and, two days later, driven her back to school for the new term. 

'We had fun and she and Eva went riding.'

'Now there is a surprise,' Maggie's mother said dryly.

Eva is a teenager David and I met in Spain and, like Maggie, is mad about horses. I'd invited her for a couple of days to keep Maggie company. I know Paula lets her daughter ride through the forest on her own but I was not about to let her do that.

Paula and I chatted for a few more minutes about the holiday, caught up on village gossip then I asked, 'Have you heard about the murder over in Mitcham Parva? Mrs. Walsh knows the woman. Apparently she was a cleaner at Mitcham Manor.'

'Who was it? This is the first I've heard. Our carrier pigeon hasn't been here yet.' In case you haven't spotted the connection, Carrier Pigeon equals Mrs. Walsh.

I told her as much as I know, adding, 'You'll get it all again later.'

'True. You say she was a cleaner at Mitcham Manor?'

'Yes.'

'It is owned by friends of ours. We're due there on Saturday evening for dinner.'

..............

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00V3CX074
ALSO AVAILABLE ON KOBO. 

'Death of a Copycat'

Chapter 1.

Trudi couldn’t believe it!  She’s done it again! she thought as she listened to Marcia reading the opening of her new book.  Looking at the rest of the group as they sat around the table she wondered if anyone else recognized the story.  It seemed not, for when Marcia finished, carefully avoiding looking at Trudi, the other members of the writing circle proceeded to make their comments.  Some praised, some suggested.  And all agreed that it was a great idea for a book.

Yes, fumed Trudi, my idea, which I read out to you last month.

While everyone else around the table had their attention fixed on Marcia, Trudi slipped her file from under the legal pad and put it on her lap.  She then ‘vented’ on the pad in her own form of shorthand.

“You’re very quiet, Trudi,” Brenda, their middle-aged leader who had begun the circle a couple of years earlier, commented.  “Any comments?  I saw you making some notes.”

Nothing you’d like to hear, “Same as everyone else.  Good idea.”  And she caught sight of Marcia’s sly grin as the woman bent down to pick up her document case and slip the pages inside.

Outside in the car park and under the hot sun Trudi really got up a head of steam as she and her close friend, Lucia, headed for their cars.  “She really has a nerve!  That’s the second time she’s done it to me!”

Lucia looked puzzled.  “What?  Who?”

“Marcia.  Didn’t you recognize that opening chapter?”

“Well, yes, but she gave us the outline last month.”

“Do what?”  Trudi stopped in her tracks.

Lucia stopped and turned to look back at her English friend.  Light dawned.  “No she didn’t.  You did.”

“Exactly.”

“But how could she have gotten the idea?  She wasn’t here last month.  She was on a  cruise.  Or something,” Lucia recalled.

“Katherine?” Trudi queried, thinking of the mouse of the group who thought Marcia was the bee’s knees.

“Probably.  Did you say that’s the second time she’s pinched your idea?”

“Yup.  I wonder how many other people she’s stolen from?”

“No one has ever said anything.  At least, not to me they haven’t.”

“Lucia, I am so damned mad that if I hadn’t had such a job finding a good writer’s circle when I first came here, I would leave.”

“But, of course, you won’t,” Lucia grinned.  She knew all of the stories about her friend’s abortive attempts.  “Listen, hon, I’ve got to go and pick up the kids.  I’ll call you later.”

“Sure.  I’ll be home.  Either plotting a new book or how to get even with Marcia.”  So saying, Trudi moved across the aisle to her car and opened the door to let out the oven-baked July heat.  Thank goodness for efficient air conditioning she grimaced as she got in and switched on the engine before closing the door.

Driving towards her home in the west of the town, she was thinking about Marcia.  Something she hadn’t yet told Lucia was a conclusion she had reached the previous weekend.  Marcia had not only stolen two of her book ideas, but she had also been getting free information from Trudi and using it.

Available on: Kindle/Kobo/Smashwords (for other e-readers).

12 Hours in the life of a Children's Playground.

My flat overlooks a children's playground which during term time - and on fine days - seems to be divided into the four 'ages' of children.

In the morning it is for the babies and toddlers. Lovely to hear the chuckles as they are pushed on the swings or toddle around some of the other play items.

Early afternoon come the children who spend a couple of morning hours at play/nursery school - whatever the current name is. They are a little noisier but mostly laughing.

Then come the schoolchildren. Oh my! Especially the girls who shriek and scream fit to split one's eardrums. Amazingly many of the mothers with them don't seem to care. Are they deaf? Or just being un-neighbourly?

Need I mention the night-time teenagers who, in my humble opinion, ought to be at home and - during term time - in bed. Screaming, shouting, swearing, possibly drinking alcohol, smoking and taking drugs. And doing their best to wreck the swings.

Call Community Police? Tried that. 'If it is still going on in fifteen minutes time, give us another call.'

No comment

£172 a week to live on.

Just read that the UK Government has worked it out that single people aged 65+ need about £172 a week on which to live.

Really?

I just worked out my weekly expenses:

Rent: £155.76
Council Tax: £25.64
Electricity: £18.46 (approx).
Water: £8.21

Total: £209.07.

No food?

I suspect that the Government's calculations are based upon people who have paid off their mortgage. Unfortunately for many of us (particularly women) of 75+ we never had the chance to buy our own properties and so are still paying extortionate rents. 

University Debts

It never ceases to amaze me when I hear of the humungous debts of University education and the students/graduates taking a 'Gap' year.

Excuse me? Instead of trolling off travelling the world, how about earning money to pay off your debts?

Yes, I admit that I am of the generation which believes in 'if you can't afford it, go without', but I cannot help but feel that beginning one's adult life deep in debt isn't a good start.

Especially when I frequently meet people who have 'qualifications' (and debts) but cannot get a job. And when I meet graduates who are now working as wait staff or in a shop. Spending these years at university would probably have been better spent starting on the bottom rung of a ladder and working up to a more profitable job. Speaking of which, I have heard from prospective employers that some graduates don't seem to realise that, despite their qualifications, they still have to begin work near the bottom rung!

Apprenticeships are a good way to learn a trade.

I think these days too much emphasis is put on higher education. After all, you can only have a limited number of chiefs and you need a huge number of worker bees.

Still Waters by Judith Cutler - Review

Still Waters by Judith Cutler
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

One of the Fran Harmon books, it is filled with problems. Detective Chief Superintendent Harmer has to contend with a new DCC whom she once trained. Her partner ACC Mark Turner has a problem daughter. On top of which there mysterious deaths and disappearances. Beautifully written - a not-put-downable book.


View all my reviews

Smashwords for e-readers

Several of my books are now available on a web site called Smashwords (the rest will eventually follow!).

From this website you can get copies of my books for Sony, Nook, Kindle, umpteen other e-readers.

I will do another post once I have all of the books on there.

www.smashwords.com

Last Ditch by Ngaio Marsh

Wow - what a wonderful surprise on Kindle. I found a book by that terrific crime writer Ngaio Marsh that I hadn't read.

'Last Ditch' was published in 1977 - as I wasn't living in the UK at the time hardly a surprise that I didn't know the book. It stars Roderick (Ricky) Alleyn the younger - son of Chief Superintendent Roderick (Rory) Alleyn and Agatha Troy Alleyn (the artist). I have read books when Ricky was a child but in this one he is grown up, trying to write his first book and is set on a small British island off the coast of Normandy.

This is one writer whose books I would happily sit and read through at one sitting. They are very well written and edited - no typos or apostrophes in wrong places. Neither do they have blood, gore and bad language. Sorry to sound old-fashioned!

If you haven't read any books by Ngaio Marsh I urge you to do so. They may be a bit dated but they are so well written that I think we - especially writers - can learn a lot about good writing. 

Trouble in Trewith Green

This is the Fifth book in the Cleo Marjoribanks Murder Mysteries series. And, like the previous books is full of surprises and Cleo's tart comments.......

As I pulled up in front of the elegant Georgian house I had to sigh. So beautiful. No, I'm not jealous of my friend's home. If I lived in one like this I'd have to quieten down and become more ladylike. My Edwardian mock-Tudor is better for a slightly overweight, red-headed Eastender driving a Land Rover around the New Forest.

'Come on through to the kitchen, Cleo,' Paula Linley invited me in.

Informal then, I mused as I followed her down the hall. Wonder what this urgent matter is all about? Hope it's nothing to do with Maggie. She's Paula's teenage daughter who hasn't, yet, discovered boys.

'Morning, Stella,' I greeted the young woman sitting at the table, a mug of coffee in front of her.

'Morning, Cleo. Thanks for coming over. I am afraid that it is my fault,' the clipped accent told me.

'Coffee?' Paula asked as I sat down.

'Please. Any gingerbread?'

'No, but I do have some bun loaf.'

'Great. And lashings of butter, please.'

Once we were settled I looked from one to the other of them. 'What's up?'

Paula waved a hand in Stella's direction. 'It's your story.'

The younger woman sighed. 'You know my Mother and Paula were at school together?' The milk chocolate brown eyes looked at me. I nodded.

'Well there was another lady who was at school with them. Caroline Warner.'

Paula took up the story. 'She married Jonathan and they have two daughters.'

Why the life story? 'And all this is interesting because.....?' I asked.

Stella ran a hand through her fluffy brown hair. Hey! She's got some highlights. Should have noticed that before. 'The thing is, Cleo, you will think I am making things up.'

'Such as an overactive imagination?'

'Maybe.'

'Spit it out.'

'What?'

I grinned. 'Sorry, one of my Gran's sayings.' I waved a hand at her. 'Go on.'

'Caroline died of cancer a couple of years ago.'

'And?' Unfortunately too many people still die of cancer.

'Her husband died a couple of weeks ago.'

Silence.

'What of?' I finally asked.

'Fell off a ladder.'

Yeah, that'll do it. 'I assume he was quite high up or something?'

Stella nodded. 'Cleaning the gutters.'

Another silence and Stella finished her coffee. Replacing the mug on the table she took a deep breath. 'The thing is, Cleo, I don't think that was an accident.'

'As in was he pushed?'

Paula put her oar in. 'We've been discussing it and agree that there isn't anything to take to the police.'

'But there would have been a post mortem on him as it was an accident.'

'All that would show was that he had fallen from a great height.'

'True. And there would probably be loads of fingerprints on the ladder which wouldn't help. The police can't just go around getting people exhumed because someone thinks there was foul play.'

'Cremated,' Stella stated.

'So no chance of proving anything anyway. Now tell me why you both think there might have been foul play.'

'Gerard and I were at the funeral.'

'And I was there with my Mum.' Stella's parents are divorced. Daddy traded in for a younger model.

I finished my coffee then looked from Stella's brown eyes to Paula's lighter brown ones. And back again.

'Care to clue me in?' I asked.

Paula responded. 'It sounds stupid. I didn't get close enough to the daughters to talk to them, but Stella did.'

'As in that they avoided you, Paula?'

'I hadn't thought of that. But, maybe. The post-Service reception.....'

'Wake.'

She smiled at me, 'If you like. Anyway, it was at a hotel and crowded. It would have been difficult for them to talk to everyone. The only thing I noticed was that the daughters didn't look very sad.'

'More like relieved,' Stella put in. 'Mum and I did manage to have a couple of words with them and I thought that they seemed excited. Especially Becca. That's the older one. And she was wearing some expensive jewellery.'

'So?' I queried.

'Stella, Cleo doesn't know them.'

'Sorry, Cleo. Becca, short for Rebecca, is a couple of years older than me and married. I cannot remember what her husband Luke does but I don't think it is anything very special. Anyway, they have a smallish detached house.'

'About the size of mine?'

'Bit smaller.'

'Okay.' The trouble with these well off people is that what we ordinary mortals call small is somewhat different to their version and my house isn't that small. 'Where does their money come from? She work?'

'No. She did work in London. Before they married. Not sure what she did.'

Paula added her two pence worth. 'The grandfather died some years ago and grandma about five years ago.'

And I finished up, 'And left everything to the grandchildren.'

Stella grinned. 'Divided between four, but still a lot.'

'So Becca got married,' they nodded, 'and you think Luke was after the dosh.'

This book is available on both Kindle and Kobo.