A Sign for The Times...

Long Ramble time, hurrah!

And what's the topic this month? We'll get to that in a sec. First off, check out this headline... 

Could this comic novel be Gen Z's answer to Adrian Mole? 

If you click the link AND subscribe to The Times, you can read the whole thing. Sadly, I ditched my access to The Times after far too many front pages slagged off Angela Rayner for something that seemed innocuous at the time and has since proven to be, but I digress.

The literary love child of 
Judy Blume and Adrian Mole 

That headline describes a book by Lissa Evans called My Name is MacKenzie Bly. I don't know much more than that, but it sounds great. 'An entertaining novel for older children and adults' is what the thumbnail says. Right up my street, I reckon. 

The reason is simple. It's exactly the kind of thing I write, isn't it. I often describe my books as the literary love child of Judy Blume and Adrian Mole. It's a pithy way to make clear what a load of waffle doesn't. Waffle like 'I write about the ups and downs of pre-teen and early teen life, through the character of Leeza and her diaries, including family dynamics, puberty, friendships, school dramas, community events, and exploding hormones.' Not so pithy when I say it like that, is it?

As I close the promotional period of Leeza McAuliffe is Branching Out and turn my thoughts to planning the next book, I thought I'd share some of the feedback this particular book received. Call it closure, call it the end of a chapter, or call it me blowing my own trumpet and being chuffed to bits at how the latest Leeza adventure was read. Check out some of the lovely reviews below.

'While I'm technically much closer to Leeza's mum's age these days, there was something so lovely about reconnecting with my younger self through her. Leeza is the kind if character who reminds you what it felt like to be young, hopeful, slightly awkward and excited about the world.

This is such a lighthearted, charming YA read, especially when the worked is in never ending chaos. I can absolutely see myself recommending Leeza to my own daughter when she's older. I hope she finds the same joy in there story - and in Leeza - that I did.'      

Jessie Farley on Amazon

'My daughter and I love read about Leeza. We read the first books and adored them, especially with the details we get about her life and the things she has to work through both at home and at school. It is a fun series and I e that helps young people look at life and how they are going to navigate issues.'  

Pause_theframe on Instagram

“I was just trying to make my outsides match how my insides feel.” 🥹 This line hit me so hard! The author captures the mindset and voice of a 13-year-old so accurately that I kept forgetting this was written by an adult. It reads almost like literary fiction with how deeply it explores the coming-of-age thinking process, adolescent identity, and changing family dynamics. Leeza is such a relatable, real protagonist, and watching her take control of her life while figuring out who she is was so satisfying! A wonderfully fun, thoughtful, and engaging read!                                      

ekaurbook on Instagram

Ok, Ok, I'll stop there. It's really quite unseemly, isn't it, all this praise sharing. Such anathema to my self-deprecating, piss-takey self. I can only apologise and normal service will resume next week. The trouble is, if I don't signpost people to these marvellous reviews, how on earth will The Times ever find out that there's another Gen Z answer to Adrian Mole?

Actually, screw Gen Z, they're old news now. It's Gen Alpha that I'm writing about. Get with the times, The Times. Leeza McAuliffe is where it's at. You should defo give her a read. 

Have a lovely week, folks.

Comfortably Helping the Economy...

For one day last week, the world made sense.

It rained. More that that, it was chilly. Can you believe? I needed a cardy. Sadly this cold snap only lasted a morning. By the time the afternoon came around, the cardy was gone, the doors were open, and the clammy heat was back. Sigh. For one morning only, I remembered what it was like to feel comfy within myself. What a thing I take for granted during the colder months. 

The importance of feeling comfy within ourselves shouldn't need explaining. If our minds and bodies are troubled by - for example - the sweaty heat, persistent pain, or - and I'm spitballing here - being born in the wrong body, then it's detrimental to us all. Not only for the people feeling the discomfort, but for the world in which they're unable to live their best lives and thus not be able to contribute as effectively to society. Check out this quote...

'In more equal countries, human beings are generally happier and healthier, there is less crime, more creativity, and higher educational attainment.'  

(If you click that link to the LSE player, showing the chat between Danny Dorling and Neil Lee, you'll read that 'the most economically unequal counties in the rich world are now the USA, Israel, and the UK.' So that's fun for us, isn't it.)

All I know is that if my heat-loathing self felt sharper, more productive, and happier after a morning of rain, the very least I can do - the ABSOLUTE least - is recognise that women feel comfortable in all sorts of ways. And we should all be enabled to feel comfort as we crack on with our days. For example, trans women, or cis women with short hair, those who've had double mastectomies, or people who prefer a more masculine look in their clothing choices (like me!) should be able to nip to the ladies when the urge arises with no one questioning it. There's room for us all, despite the garbled guidance that the EHRC published last week. 

Writing News

The book tour is underway! I've been overwhelmed with comments, posts, and even a whole blog article, reviewing Leeza McAuliffe is Branching Out. Because the publication of this book was fraught (putting it mildly) I'd accepted that it wasn't going to make much of a splash. That it was even out in the world seemed impossible six months ago. Now? I'm feeling the glow. For decades, I wrote stuff for myself that I'd keep in a drawer. Now I write to be read. I'm so happy that some people have done that. Thanks to Love Books Tours and all the crew that have taken the time so far. Onwards to the second week!

Culture

I'm rewatching The Diplomat. Oooh, it's good. Political intrigue in London's US embassy. I've also started a non-fiction book. Moonlight Express by Monisha Rajesh is fabulous. It's essentially a travelogue as she hops on and off European night trains. I started it on Wednesday as I got the 2103 train from Liverpool. I was home half an hour later, so it wasn't the same experience in any way, but it's a great read regardless.

Food and Drink

There's an Ella Risbridger recipe of leek latkes from the Kitchen Book that I made on Saturday night. The latkes themselves are fairly simple. Grated potato, thinly sliced leek, flour, and egg, shaped into thin patties to bake. The boujie bit comes when you dollop sour cream, crab, and cavier on top of each one. I ate them up and drank ice cold vodka and chilled champagne; because it was Saturday night, I had champagne from when my book came out, and because WHY NOT? 

Give me that exact same meal at a swanky party where I have to wear a dress and stand in heels, and I'd tell you where to go. Give me that exact same meal when I'm slobbing on the couch, licking my fingers, and wiping my hands on my PJ trousers, and I'm all in. We must all do what makes us comfy.

Out and About

I had a dentist appointment at the other side of town last week, so took the opportunity to visit the new Everton stadium. It's pretty stunning. What's lovely is that there are loads of bricks that have been engraved with dedications to people. The whole of one side of the space is taken up with them. I knew someone whose brick was somewhere in the mix, so I spent a relaxing hour strolling row by row until I found it. Other families were doing the same. A very chilled out way to spend time by the river.

Let's all metaphorically chill by the river. Let's be comfy and make sure everyone else is comfy too, in the toilet queue or anywhere. Live and let live! It's a decent philosophy when everyone sticks to it.

Have a lovely week, folks.

No Escape Needed But Still...

Well who knew Anglesey was so nice? Everyone except me, right?

I'm just back from a few days away and it blew my mind. Aren't the beaches lovely? It's a stone's throw from my Merseyside home but I'd never visited. Madness. 

The reason I was there was because of a significant birthday in my partner's family; that was why I lost my Anglesey virginity. But now? I've got the route, I know the best beach carpark, and I can visit whenever I have a free day. Win!

Writing News

The Leeza McAuliffe is Branching Out digital book tour starts today! Wooohoooo! For the next ten days, I'm going to be permanently online, scrolling and refreshing, to see what people think of my baby. Obviously it's not that high stakes. If my book were an actual baby, I'd ignore what anyone else thought and be proud and contented at the marvel I'd willed into being. That's parenting, right? Yeah, I thought so.

Maybe I should take that view with my book. It's fine if no one likes it. As long as I'm happy, that's all that matters, yeah? Sigh. I'm not sure it's that simple. I write books to be read and I care what people think. That means I'll be scrolling and refreshing for the next ten days, crossing my fingers that Leeza McAuliffe finds new readers. Oh, the anxiety of it all? Parents, you have it so much easier. (Lolz. Sarcasm. Natch.) 

Culture

Five days in Anglesey meant five days with no television, very little Internet, and not much music (apart from my phone blaring The Wasia Project whilst I did my hair each morning.) The good news in this cultural dearth was that I had a book. The Fathers by John Niven was perfect. A page turner from the start, full of humour and implicit social commentary. Two very different men become fathers on the same day, and a connection is made that twists and turns. All the swears, lots of Glaswegian dialect, and an emotional gut punch that truly winds. I filled a happy beach day lost in its pages.

Food and Drink

The gastro-pub I ate in, was properly nice; the menu filled with the classics done well. Take a look at my cheese pie. I did worry it'd look like I'd ordered from the children's menu when I substituted the peas for beans, but what could I do? Peas are gross. The whole thing was utterly fit. Cheese pie, beans, chips, and gravy. Like I was carbing up for a marathon. Mmmmmmm.

Out and About

Because I was with my partner's family, I didn't have much control over the places we visited. I didn't want to pitch and putt, nor play beach games en masse with Very Competitive People but I was part of the visit regardless. Luckily I had my book. As well as reading on the beach, I spent a happy couple of hours in the coffee shop near the golf place, whilst I earwigged on the patrons nearby. Leeza McAuliffe Book 4 will have some great dialogue stolen from there.

So now I'm home. It was nice to have a break from the routine for a short burst but I'm desperate to be back amongst it. One of the things I've learnt is how much I don't need holidays from my life anymore. I still want to visit new places, of course. I like nothing more than planning a break and researching where to go. The difference is, I have nothing to escape from. When I was teaching, knee-deep in assessments, marking and stress, it was all I could think about. How lucky am I? Yes, very. Very is the correct answer. Well done to everyone that shouted it at me just then. I hear you.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Call Me Lionel Messi...

My hall, landing, and stairs is now newly decorated. (I like to give you closure.) What was a biscuity-beige is now a pebbly-grey. Adjectives aside, it's not massively different. Just neater, cleaner, and tidier. Win.

Taken when the
radiator was still the
old colour, while
the wall were 
the new. Virtually 
identical.

The problem is I'm under pressure to keep my own belongings neater, cleaner, and tidier too. Boooo. I live with a neat-freak, you see, which mostly works well. I have a high tolerance for mess while he cracks easily so he does the bulk of the chores. But now? As I put my desk area back after painting, I was forced to declutter and, I don't know... organise it. What fresh hell is this?

My desk before
last week.

I thrive in mess. Casting no aspersions on my upbringing (lolz) it's what I'm comfortable with. Not even Kim, Aggie, and a team of Navy Seals, could've kept things tidy in my childhood home of two adults and seven kids. I grew up amidst a comforting level of clutter. It's shaped who I am. I love a bit of chaos. I love my stuff around me. My brain calms in the midst of it all. And yet, I spent the best part of last Thursday, going through my personal belongings and having to decide KEEP, BIN, or GIVE AWAY.

My desk now. Sterile!

My niece is the real winner. She was visiting the next day so I boxed up a load of pens, notepads, and stickers for her. I was also able to bin a bunch of biros and gel pens that had long since dried. But everything else? I've just rearranged it, made new piles, and shoved a bunch of it in a crate under the desk. I'm not a hoarder, not yet. I just like my stuff. Still, it's tidy for now, and it looks great. Like a show home. (Sterile and empty of life?) Of course in a few weeks, I'll be sitting back there to plan the next Leeza McAuliffe book. Let's hope the mess builds back by them, so my creative juices can freely flow.

Writing News

Did you know that last Wednesday, it was fifteen years since Amy Winehouse died? I saw it pop up on Insta while I waiting outside Argos. Hasn't that flown? That was my first thought. It reminded me to dig out my Back to Black CD the next time I want to feel. The second thought I had was more self-involved. If it was fifteen years on Wednesday that Amy Winehouse died, that means it was fifteen years on Tuesday that I left my last proper job - indeed my career - and decided to focus on writing a book. What happened next was anyone's guess, but that was my plan.

What happened next was, I did write a book. Hurrah! But it was terrible, so it's consigned to a never-opened folder on my laptop. Booo! But I didn't give up. Nothing works first time round, right? I took what I'd learned and channelled it into writing Carry the Beautiful. Four more books have followed, I've started the Leeza McAuliffe Stories series and I'm looking ahead to five more books to round it off. If you'd have told me that fifteen years ago, I'd have laughed in your face. Then I'd have concluded that you'd lost your mind. Anyway, here's to Amy Winehouse, who will be forever linked in my mind with my mid-life crisis. Not so much a crisis, as it turned out.

Culture

The final part of Heartstopper dropped last week. It's a film - Heartstopper Forever - and takes the story to the end of the books, saying goodbye to Nick, Charlie, and the rest of the gang.

Relatable

I'm OK. Thanks for asking. A little bereft that one of my favourite shows is over, but what a legacy it leaves. If I were a young teen, or an old child, this would have been such useful viewing. Seeing young people navigate the world, work out who they are, talk through problems with trusted adults, and ultimately learn how to be happy, shouldn't be revolutionary, but it is. Fair play to Alice Oseman for creating this world. I read the last book before I saw the film, and it was simply beautiful.

Remnants of a galette!

Food and Drink

My sister, brother-in-law, and six-year-old niece stayed on Friday night. I got very excited about using this as an opportunity to bash out a galette. You know, a whipped feta, butternut squash and cavolo nero filled walnut pastry galette?* No? Fair enough. 

For the gram.

My niece didn't look too thrilled in the run up, when I checked with her via FaceTime. So, with her disgusted face in mind, I spent a happy Friday afternoon making not only a galette but a margherita pizza too. Oh, and obvs my easy but impressive chocolate splattered fruit plate, for the gram. Maybe it's the mess of cooking that calms my mind. Either way, it was fun!

An artists' impression 
of last Wednesday's lash lift.

Out and About

Over the past week, I've had a dentist appointment, a pedi, and a lash lift. All the personal grooming! The temporary filling that's grazing my tongue is nowhere near as marvellous as my shiny black toes or perky lashes, but still. We do what we must.

Hope your  work areas are as messy or tidy as you need them to be. Hope your inner-teens are healed through excellent telly. Hope your mid-life crises are the gateway to a better life. Or failing all that, just have a good week. Next Monday, yes?

Have a lovely week, folks.

*The link in the paragraph is the recipe I used, but I ditched the sage, added pan-fried cavolo nero, and made the squash pieces smaller. Either way, it's fab.

Arise, Sir Guinness Zero...

Last week, in one of his final acts as Prime Minister, Sir Keir Starmer gave out a bunch of peerages. Congratulations to all. 

My reservations about unelected nobles aside, this news provided a lovely thought experiment for this week's blog. If I accept the premise that the House of Lords is both important and necessary to my life, who would I want to be in it? Who has elevated my existence so much, they deserve a life-long title and recognition for their service? Who are the unsung heroes of my world this week? Well, wonder no more because I'm about to tell you.

Guinness 0.0

At some point, someone at Guinness had the thought that making a world renown, instantly recognisable, dark stout beer, was not enough. Guinness was for non-drinkers too. As a non-non-drinker, this might have passed me by. Even when I'm up for a pint, Guinness isn't my first choice. However, every other non-alcoholic beer I've tried, tastes slightly different from their boozy counterpart. That's fine. If I have to drive or take antibiotics, they'll do well enough. That's before Guinness 0.0 came along. It was a revelation. When I drink a couple of pints of that, I feel SO guilty when I get into my car. It can't be! It's exactly the same as drinking alcohol! How can I drive in this state? Guinness are geniuses. I thank them for their work and want to ennoble the person that made this happen.

Curtis Sittenfeld

I read my first Curtis Sittenfeld book - Rodham - after hearing it recommended on a podcast. It's the 'what could have been' story if Hillary had dumped Bill and gone on to have a political career unencumbered by a problematic husband. Since then, I keep returning to Sittenfeld's catalogue. It's banger after banger. You want a modern day Pride and Prejudice? Try Eligible. In the mood for high school, adolescence, and privilege? Here's Prep. Romantic Comedy is a romantic comedy, but smart, engrossing, and manages to incorporate Covid in a way that truly aids the plot. My most recent read was American Wife, which gave me a whole heap of appreciation for Laura Bush, which wasn't on my 2026 bingo card. I've still got a bunch of Sittenfeld's stuff to read, but I know it's all good. If I want to be reliably entertained and made to think, Curtis Sittenfeld is the one. That needs recognition.

Antihistamines

The dispenser at my local pharmacy is an ex-pupil of mine. This automatically means he's a delight to know, having had a spectacular educational grounding in Y1. (Or he's just a really lovely lad. It's probably that, tbh.) A couple of months ago, as the hay fever season kicked in, I went in to buy my generic antihistamines. 'I've got stronger ones if you want?' he said. Naturally I bit his hand off. The stronger the better! Since then (after a few ups and downs when I ran out of tablets whilst spending a day in a field - huge sneezefest for a week) I've been on an even keel. These stronger antihistamines never used to be available over the counter, but now they are. As we don't know who made the decision to change the rules, I think my ex-pupil should be knighted. I'd have never known about them if it wasn't for him.

Alex

I have a mate who works in a shop. Not just any shop, but a shop that sells pop culture merch. Without fail, whenever anything is released from the world of Heartstopper, she messages to see if I want it put aside. I've had dairies, posters, figurines, display materials, and last week the final book in the Heartstopper series. My desk area has become quite the shrine and I love it. The books by Alice Oseman, and the subsequent TV series, has given me so much joy. It's also been a huge inspo for my own writing. I may have stumbled across it without Alex, but her contribution to my continued happiness deserves recognition.

Ella Risbridger

Not only does Ella Risbridger's food writing provide excellent meal inspiration, she encourages me to create mindful moments, and relish the simplicity that - for example - an excellent radish can bring. I'm not even joking. In The Kitchen Book she writes six paragraphs about the joys of eating ice-cold radishes swiped over butter. And the thing is, after reading those six paragraphs, all I want to do is buy radishes and butter, and sit at my kitchen island being chic and classy. The power of writing! Risbridger has revolutionised my cooking and eating over the past couple of years, in exactly the same way that Nigella did when I discovered her - and we all know she's my personal Queen. What a gift to share with the world!

Redbubble 

In an ideal world, the temperature would be down to single figures and I'd be wearing a variety of layers topped off with something woolly. Yet here we are. As I've sweated my way through the past few weeks, I've struggled because I'm not a vest-top kind of gal. Luckily Redbubble have come to the rescue. The independent artists' T-shirt site has a 'relaxed' section. Specifically, that means a baggy top, with a wider than normal neck, and flappy sleeve holes ensuring a decent breeze can reach my armpits. It's been a revelation. I've got two Heated Rivalry tops, and my excellent Write On T shirt, so the sweaty world is my oyster. To the Lords, for the person who brought relaxed fit to Redbubble. 

England

I'm talking the England Men's Team specifically, but maybe I've discovered a bit of national pride in a wider context too. Despite several grumpy pundits (Danny Murphy seemed particularly cross on Saturday) pontificating about the semi-final match loss, it's important to have perspective. England have just played a blinder of a tournament. They've provided nail-biting end-to-end matches, beating huge teams with quality players. Sod the final last night, the place to be was Saturday for the third and fourth place play off. Did you see? Six goals, including a hat trick for Saka! What a fab bunch the England team are. They showed passion, talent, and skill on the pitch, and then shared their visible heartbreak and disappointment when it was over. No hissy fits, no punches, (I'm looking at you, Argentina) just excellent sporting highs and lows. Give them all knighthoods! They kicked the manosphere right in its balls.

These random people/things were what popped into my head when I first gave the topic some thought. They're very specific to 'now' but that's OK. We seem to be in an era where Prime Ministers are strictly short-term. Perhaps I can repeat this exercise in a couple of years when Andy Burnham's peerage picks are published before he exits Downing Street. Either way, enjoy the above list and get thinking of your own. You never know when it'll be your turn to lead the country. We all get a go, right?

Have a lovely week, folks.

Nine Hours Nicky...

I've had a revelation that has blown my mind.

Just over a week ago, it was the England v Mexico match. Do you remember? It was supposed to kick off at 1am on Monday morning but that got pushed to 2am because of thunder. The match lasted the full ninety minutes, plus half time, hydration breaks, injury and stoppage time, so what with the studio analysis afterwards, I crawled into bed at 5am.

Rock and roll, baby! I powered through a twenty-two hour day before falling asleep when it was light. Now, where's that revelation I promised? Well, hear me out, it's coming. When I got into bed, I decided not to set my alarm. Sensible, right? I'd already written off Monday morning and had nothing immediate to get up for. As I closed my eyes and sank into the pillow, I felt safe in the knowledge that I had a few hours of uninterrupted rest coming my way. Even so, it was quite the surprise when I finally woke up. It was 1pm! Nine hours later! 

Illness aside, I've never knowingly slept for nine hours in my life. Most nights I usually sleep between 1am and 7am. If I have a flexible day, I may lie in bed, scrolling for an extra hour or so, but my sleep is still the same. Six hours, night in, night out, standard. Nine hours blew my mind. Who knew that it was even possible? I was properly gobsmacked.

I know, I know, you're waiting for the revelation. Having a long kip doesn't merit such big talk. So stand by and brace yourselves, here's what blew my mind. After nine hours of sleep, when I'd had no interruptions, no alarm snoozes, and no worries about waking up for something important, I got out of bed with a SPRING in my step. It was the binary opposite of my usual waking self. I didn't yawn, I didn't ache, I didn't wish I could have ten more minutes... I felt AMAZING.

That feeling didn't stop once I got up. The whole day I was energised. I felt invincible. Nothing was an effort, nothing was too hard to think about, I was ready to tackle the world. I've always known on an intellectual level that getting enough sleep is important, I just thought my nightly six hours was enough. Readers, it wasn't.

Of course I've done my best to replicate that nine hours in the days since. It's harder than it sounds. I take ages to drop off. 1am is the time I sleep, whether I go to bed earlier or not. That means I need to lie in more. But that's a problem. I can't write off whole mornings like I did last Monday. I can be flexible now and then, but most days I have to get up for something. It's going to be a problem. Still, even if this revelation changes nothing, I've learnt something new about myself. Nine Hours Nicky, that's me. That's what I've learnt, even if it can only ever be a beautiful one-off.

Writing News

Oh boy. I've started rereading the first Leeza McAuliffe book. It's... hmmm... what is it, exactly? Cringe, for sure. Funny too. I've laughed at a bunch of lines I forgot were there. It's humbling - I think I'd do it better now. Or maybe just differently? It's not an unpleasant experience (aside from the cringe of reading my own stuff) but it's making me think about where my writing was seven years ago. Regardless of all these feelings, however, it is a necessity. I've written three books in the Leeza McAuliffe Stories series. That's too many facts to hold in my head. I need to reread the series, make copious notes about the facts of each character's life, and start thinking about Book Four. I'm enjoying it, but with healthy reservations.

Matthew Rhys in Widow's Bay.
Fun is the word.

Culture

Football, football, football. That's what's on my TV on a nightly basis and sometimes I'm even watching. Aside from that, I've started rewatching Rivals from the beginning. I think it's become my happy place. I've also started Widow's Bay on Apple. I'd never have tuned in without a specific recommendation from my friend. Eerie towns and creepy goings on aren't my thing. But my friend's tastes are impeccable and she described it simply as fun. And fun it is! I'm all in and laughing just as much as I'm weirded out. Book wise, I spent a very happy half-hour in my local indie bookshop. I bought two paperbacks that I'm planning to take on a Welsh mini break that's coming up, and I'm currently immersed in the George Michael biopic/social commentary of the eighties by Sathnam Sanghera - Tonight the Music Seems So Loud. It's wonderful.

Food and Drink

With the return of the heat, comes the return of giving the oven a swerve. All my recent meals have consisted of picking at cold bits. Of course, it's important to make things nice. Making things nice, elevates everything. The odds and ends at the bottom of pickle jars with added cheese and crisps on a plate, does not an evening meal make. But if you arrange them on a board, add a glass of wine, and opt for napkins over kitchen towel, you've got yourself a feast.

Out and About

Talking of feasts, my mate had a garden party on Friday, with excellent food, drink, and company. We all know I hate the summer but if I must endure it year after year, events like that make it SO much nicer. 

So on we go. I'll continue to chase the elusive nine hours of sleep I truly need, whilst zhuzhing up bits of food to my heart's content. One last thing... if you're in need of more sleep yourself, I should recommend my podcast Lights, Camera, Aggro? You'll either be bored to tears and drop off immediately, OR completely engaged and care not a jot about being awake. I mention it now, because for the first time in its history, Lights, Camera, Aggro? is available on Apple and Spotify. The most recent series is, at least. Check it out as you attempt to drift off. The latest episode about Dirty Dancing has me oversharing way too much, whilst revelling in the subversive messaging at the heart of its plot. Larks.

Have a lovely week, folks.

It Was Burgundy All Along...

As I type these words, my hall, landing, and stairs are being painted. (NOT A EUPHEMISM.) 

My home

Morning! I've decamped to Costa - because paint fumes, strangers in my home, and the fact I don't trust myself not to get concussion by walking into the scaffolding, means it's better I'm here and not there. I'm sure it'll look marvellous when it's finished and the hassle and upheaval will be worth it. 

The colour my
comprising-self
has agreed to.

Actually, I'm not sure that's true. Of COURSE, it'll look fine. It'll be clean, neat, and judging by the work done so far, brilliantly professional. The trouble is, I've gone beige. YUCK. After many heated debates about bold wall colours (I live with someone who'd live in magnolia hell if I didn't intervene) I've given in this time. I didn't have the bandwidth to argue. Besides, the point of this current paint job is to freshen things up for a valuation. If I'm looking to move house one day, I can live with nondescript 'pale' for a bit.

Look what I could have won!
Nicked from the internet
but stunning. 

A friend of mine recently commented that she thought my hall could handle a deep burgundy. She told me this when I was already too far down the beige route to back out. But OH how I can't stop thinking about it. BURGUNDY. Can you even imagine? Think of Christmas, with fairy lights, flickering candles, and snow falling outside. Burgundy! I wish I'd chatted to her sooner. Back when I was choosing colours for me, not for imagined estate agents and buyers of the future. Burgundy! It would have been spectacular. 

Take this as a timely reminder. Live for the day! Don't put off doing excellent things! Paint your hallway burgundy (metaphorically or literally) and choose bold not beige, however that manifests in your life. Burgundy for the win! Burgundy forever! I WISH I'd chosen burgundy. 

Writing News

A lovely thing happened last week. The woman who owns the nail salon I visit, posted from her business account how she'd enjoyed my Leeza McAuliffe books. It was lovely - a genuine thrill to see someone I like buzzing off my stories. But then that post was seen by a woman who knows my sister-in-law. She sent a screenshot to the sister-in-law, who sent it to my partner, who showed it to me. How FAB to see the little journey that post made, amidst some people who know me. I wonder what other journeys it made that I don't know about.

Joanne Harris, author of Chocolat, posted on Bluesky recently. 'Unsolicited writing advice no 7410: This is a conclusion drawn from over 30 years' observations of publishing. Reviews don't sell books, What sells books is human-to-human communication, via reps, booksellers, author events, word of mouth from readers.' And ain't that the truth. I've chatted to strangers in the flesh, told them about my characters, and they've had the book ordered from Amazon before I've finished talking. It's definitely the way to sell. Likewise, to everyone else who has shared a conversation or post about my books, thank you so much. It helps sales and my ego, as well as deep down reassuring me that I'm not wasting my time. Thank you everyone!

The last few reads on my app

Culture

Remember this is my mad reading year? I decided in January to make a concerted effort to read more. I didn't want to chart my progress or stick to a self-imposed goal, I simply wanted to make the most of not being in the middle of my own book-writing for a bit. 

Well, goals, schmoals. That's gone out of the window. I can tell you, with alarming precision, that we're in the middle of the 27th week of the year and I've just finished my 30th book of 2026. Let's be clear, I don't like that I know this. I don't like that I felt a buzz when my reading tally overtook the weekly count. I add my completed books to my reading app and then move onto the next one. It's still enjoyable, I'm still in control, but I'm aware it's a slippery slope. 

Food and Drink

Consider this a gift for the word-of-mouthing you've been doing about my books. It's a proper recipe and the best thing I've eaten in ages. It's a pudding! I don't even like puddings, but this is FIT.

The pudding of dreams

Because of a recent incident involving BBQ over-catering, I had MANY brioche hotdog buns to use up. Instead of the route one solution - hotdogs forever! - I googled brioche recipes hoping to think outside the box. Ladies, Gentlemen, and those who don't adhere to the gender binary, let me present Bread and Butter Chocolate Orange Pudding.

(I merged a few recipes together to get this one. Feel free to adapt with flavours of your own.)

Ingredients  (serves 4 )

• Six brioche hotdog buns, split in half lengthways 
• Marmalade
• 3 eggs
• 1 tbs caster sugar
• 375mls milk
• 1 tbs vanilla extract
• roughly cut chunks of chocolate, I used about 40g - you do you
• 1 tsp Demerara sugar

OK, ready? It's easy peasy. 

Method

• Spread marmalade on the cut edge of each half of hotdog bun.
• Cut the buns into bite sized chunks and put in an ovenproof bowl.
• Mix the milk, eggs, sugar, and vanilla in a jug.
• Pour the milky mixture over the buns making sure they're all soaked.
• Push pieces of chocolate into the soggy mixture, between the gaps (or anywhere you like.)
• Sprinkle the Demerara sugar on the top.
• Put in the oven, 170℃ electric, 150℃  fan, or gas mark 3, for 45 mins.

EAT WARM. Or you know what? Eat cold! It's fit either way. And experiment. I want to try dark chocolate, slithers of marzipan, and cherries with apricot jam, but I fear I'll get carried away. As a non-sweet toothed woman, it's not ideal to get into this sort of thing at my age. You, however, can do as you like. Enjoy!

Out and About

Now that every day is accompanied by a stiff breeze, normal service has resumed. Last week saw the usual food shop in Warrington Asda, brunch in Childwall, Costa in Aintree, and writing group in Liverpool. As much as I'm setting my expectations low for the next Prime Minister - it's the best way to avoid disappointment - it's been quite a revelation to see Andy Burnham's social media be so local and relevant to my life. His current days, like mine, are heavily North-West based. It makes a nice change.

So what wisdom have I imparted today? Nothing? Yeah, fair enough. Just remember that quote from Dead Poets Society...  Carpe diem. Seize the day, boys. Paint your halls burgundy.

Have a lovely week, folks.