This time next week - Devon, alcohol and the 'why do hats make me look like the Human Cannonball' conversation

This time next week I shall be down in Devon!

It's fine to tell you this, by the way. No point in going round to try to rummage through my valuables because a) I don't have any and b) I'm leaving the house in the capable hands of my six-foot plus son who is armed with two loaded terriers and a big dog who will not hesitate to bumble over the feet of any would-be housebreakers, and cause them grievous injury with his tail.

These are the terriers in question. They are just finishing the burying of their last victim...

I am in Devon as a result of the Choc Lit competition held by Mel Hudson, where entrants could win a weekend in her lovely Devon cottage, with the added incentives of some writing workshops/talks held by Mel.  To prevent an inundation of applicants, there was the caveat that I would also be present, waving my arms about and generally being obstructive. 

Anyway. Two lucky but misguided people won, and will therefore be spending next weekend sampling Mel's hospitality, doing some writing, and trying to avoid me.  I'm going to be talking about 'character', unless I've had a few glasses of Prosecco, in which case I shall mostly be slurring about how modern-day pants are too thin and  I can't get hats that don't make me look like the Human Cannonball.

We shall also, hopefully - because they might all have locked themselves in the toilet, climbed out through the window and hitched a lift to Barnstaple to get away from me - be launching 'I Don't Want to Talk About It' with copious amounts of Prosecco and elderflower cordial.

Whereupon I shall start talking about pants and bad hats again.

I'm really looking forward to it. Not sure about everyone else, though...

Two 'squee's, a Game of Thrones reference, and why I hope my books are hiding under your bed with a can of whipped cream.

I am never quite sure about squeeing. You know squeeing - those moments that make you let out an  inadvertent little noise, and I am not talking about bending down suddenly here. When something really good has happened and you can't help yourself but go 'squeeeee'. It's a noise I associate with broken dog toys and twelve year old girls seeing an unexpected One Direction clip on TV, and one person's squee is another person's shrug and continuation with cataloguing their telephone bills.

So, I have two things to squee about this week, but your milage may vary on the squee front. I am certainly not expecting you to squee along, unless you have problems restraining your squees in general, in which case I recommend you sit down and watch your way through an entire Game of Thrones box-set, which will pretty much sort out your squee-incontinence. Game of Thrones is Tena Lady for the upper larynx.

SQUEE NUMBER ONE:  It is less than two weeks until 'I Don't Want to Talk About It' is released. Please allow me to quote from just one early review...Sally Coles says...

'Winter and her twin sister Daisy definitely have the twin connection when Winter moves to a remote Yorkshire village to escape her ex boyfriend Dan Daisy is her confidant. Winter soon becomes part of the village and meets the gorgeous Alex, but Dan is on her tail and determined to drive the sisters apart....what is it he knows about Daisy A great read - definitely a cut above your normal chick lit and one not to be missed'

The reviews made me squee. Plus I always get a bit squee-ey when a new book is coming out.This particular book-baby is set further north than most of my Yorkshire series, on the bit where Yorkshire struggles with becoming Teesside, and the moors give one last hoorah before they give up and sulk their way down to the coast. The cover is beautiful and there is a link on the sidebar of this blog. That's a sort of hint, you see.

It's set in a place which looks, in part, a bit like this. Only with less ducks. It now strikes me that I haven't written a book with ducks in and immediately want to dash off and rectify this...

SQUEE NUMBER TWO:  Once Upon a Time. This, for those of you who haven't been subjected to my unaimed enthusiasm, is a TV series which I was persuaded to watch by a friend, and am now physically incapable of leaving alone. Look here. Just be careful. I only went in for a couple of episodes, and now look at me! Part of the allure is the truly fabulous Robert Carlyle, playing Rumpelstiltskin in a way that makes Machievelli look like Barbara Cartland.

And it's funny and dark and surprising and can make me shout 'I did NOT see that coming!' which is actually quite hard to do, unless you are hiding under my bed with an aerosol can of whipped cream and a bag of marbles.

I'd like my books to make that happen to other people. The 'not seeing that coming' bit, obviously, not hiding under your bed with whipped cream and marbles bit.

In fact, I think I can just fit in another couple of episodes before I have to...I dunno, wash, dress, eat, all that kind of thing...