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.

Remember the Heat?..

I'm not sure anyone else has mentioned it so I'll just write it here for the record.

IT'S SO HOT.

By the time this blog is published, the UK temperatures will have cooled. That's what the Met Office says, anyway. As I write this a day or so beforehand, however, that is not the case. It is 10.20am, the house is filled with thick, hot air, and my face is slick with sweat. SEXY TIMES. 

My brain doesn't work well when the temperature nudges the mid twenties so the current state of affairs (34℃ right now) is taking the piss. After finishing this post, I'll spend the day dabbing myself with a wet towel, drinking multiple iced waters, and trying to find the energy to tell the internet that Leeza McAuliffe is Branching Out is available now. The struggle is real.

Writing News

Or, I can do that here - Leeza McAuliffe is Branching Out is available now. Woohoo.

Over the past week, I've signed a few copies for people - always the biggest thrill - and heard from others who are reading it. THANK YOU. I'm nearing the point where I can stop thinking about this book and empty my head. By mid-August I'll be totally done, but even now the promotion is dying down a bit. And then? ONWARDS. To filling my head with the next book!

The Young Royals. I'm now
an expert on the Swedish monarchy
and elite boarding schools.

Culture

I've just binged Young Royals on Netflix, which was more in-depth and interesting than its high school romance blurb indicated. I'm also in the middle of Dolly Alderton's Everything I know About Love. I know it's good because it's one of those books that I wish I'd written. Yesterday I finished Murakami's memoir, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, and next in my personal readathon is Sathnam Sanghera's new release, Tonight the Music Seems So Loud, his George Michael biography. It's all go, culture wise.

Food and Drink

I can't lie, it's been leaves. A bag of supermarket salad leaves, with a few extra bits thrown on top. That's been the extent of my culinary output over the week. I've also discovered that if you get a tin of skinless, boneless sardines in olive oil, and pan fry 'til crispy, they jazz up the aforementioned leaves no end. 

A touch more effort was made on Saturday when we invited people over for a BBQ. It was still leaf based, but with added meat, bread rolls and sauce thrown in. Simple. At some point I'll be up for leisurely hours of kitchen pottering. Today, I'm focusing on keeping cool and picking at bits from the fridge.

Out and About

Father's Day involved a lovely day trip to the seaside. My brother and I did a parental visit to their coastal home and we all enjoyed a reasonable breeze. That can be the only reason I found myself eating a roast dinner that day. I also caught up with a mate for a drink in a hospital cafe which was lovelier than I've made it sound. Then on Thursday, I did a cinema double bill. Purely for the aircon on the hottest day of the week, I sat through Supergirl and Scary Movie. Neither of those films would appeal during cooler times but as it turned out, they were good fun and my overheated self felt calmer for an afternoon.

Right then Temperatures, you've made your point. We need to crack on and get our routines back. Silly season is over, do you hear me? 

And now, as we look around us on this Monday morning, it seems my stern words have worked. YOU'RE WELCOME everybody. 

Have a lovely week, folks.

Keeping it Real... Kinda...

Did you see that fab clip from BBC news last week? 

After the social media ban for under-sixteens was announced, a reporter asked a young person in school uniform, what they were going to do with their extra time. 'Stare at a wall,' was the dead pan answer. A perfect response. Exactly right. No notes.

I did, unfortunately, see a bunch of random responses to that clip online. (I realise looking at responses online was my first mistake.) They were the equally sarky but far less amusing comments of, 'Oh I don't know, why don't you READ A BOOK or something.' Sigh. Perhaps the problem with social media isn't the young people looking for community and diversion. It's the adults that shout in all caps, the immediate thought that they're having, the second they're having it, without digging a little deeper into what it means.

Making my own fun, 
aged eleven. Thank
goodness I discovered
the library.

Of COURSE, I'd love teens across the country to down social media and rush straight to their local lending libraries. Of COURSE that would be a brilliant state of affairs. I spent my own young teens - pre-internet - borrowing six books at a time, working my way through each one, then days later, walking back to the village library and swapping them for six more. The specific summer holidays when I was fourteen and fifteen, were spent in that exact way. So why can't today's teens do that? Well, my local village library closed a few years back, as have others throughout the country. I've no idea how I'd pass my teen-time now. I certainly wouldn't be able to consume the amount of books I did. Likewise, when I wasn't at the library, I'd be on the landline, talking to my friends. Who has a landline these days? No one I know. What about youth clubs? Do they still exist? After the austerity years, I don't imagine so. What are young teens supposed to do with their extra free time now? I'd much rather the teen-phone ban had been part of a thought-out package of support rather than simply taking away something that many have relied on for their support networks. Meanwhile, adults can continue to access misinformation at best, brutal, illegal content at worst, and no one seems keen to regulate it. But this post isn't about the new laws about teen social media use. Being child and teen-free, I've no skin in the game. Not in the traditional sense.

Yet news stories like this should be of interest to me. I'm currently in the process of writing the Leeza McAuliffe Stories, with three books currently available. I urge you to buy them for your social-media-starved teens to stop them staring at a wall, but I digress. I should be all over any law that affects young teens. In the latest story, Leeza turns thirteen. By the time I've planned, written, and published the next book, a social media ban may well be in place. She'll be fourteen, still have her mobile phone, but won't be able to access things that she could in the past. I really need to be doing a tonne of research about this particular issue to include in the next instalment.

Except... hmmm. Maybe not. One of the things I've been intentional about is keeping technology references to a minimum. The second I mention anything real-world and current, the book is immediately dated. In the first book I mentioned her little brother was always playing Fortnite. I used that reference because two youngsters I knew back then (in 2019) were obsessed. Now they're not, and I've not heard it talked about since. It still exists, sure, but was it a sensible reference to add to a book that's supposed to represent a relatable experience of being young for years to come? Probably not. I've learnt my lesson. No more specific game references during a surge in their popularity from me.

An extract from the latest book
Leeza McAuliffe is Branching Out.

In a similar vein, I've been cautious at using social media in the stories. Leeza has a phone. I think it'd be weird if she didn't. She is, however, not allowed on social media sites as a parental rule. This is referenced in the last book (see photo) where she's fairly accepting about it. If I start mentioning Snapchat every two minutes, I'm asking for trouble. One day, in the near future, Snapchat will be for old people, and a new app will roll up. I can only mention well-established technology that's become part of the vernacular of everyone, not just the youth. This means that the youths in my books 'message' each other instead of 'WhatsApp', they share memes without the host app being mentioned, and they continue to talk in person on the school bus. Occasionally they'll FaceTime if the plot demands it, and their 'group chat' is called just that, with no mention of the social media site behind it. It's the easiest way to write fictional young people over an extended period of time. 

I've also built in some tools to make this easier. The school Leeza attends is tiny - sixty pupils, three classes, smack bang in the middle of the countryside. By creating such a specific high school experience, I can also create specific phone rules that suit the story. So whilst in the real world, secondary schools seem to be stopping phone access during the school day, I can swerve that. This school is different. (It's also fictional, which is a big help.) If I need Leeza to send a text at lunchtime to move along the plot, I can still make that happen. It also helps that I've written Leeza's family as being a bit skint. They moved to the countryside after buying a dilapidated farm house with two redundancy payouts. Things are better than they were, but there's not much spare money. That means there are no expensive devices all over the place. She has a phone, and access to a family iPad, but that's it. She uses the school library for books, helps out in the mini supermarket for pocket money, and has no real place to spend her cash in her immediate location. That helps to avoid needing to include a shed load of technology. She can't afford it so it's not there.

It's not always that simple; it's a tricky balance to find. On the one hand, I want to write authentic, relatable stories for young people to believe in. On the other hand, if I made them totally authentic with cutting edge references and up-to-date technology, I'd be giving them a tiny shelf life. I guess I'll carry on the way I'm going. Focusing on the universal themes of growing up - spots, periods, crushes, angst, school, friends, family, heartbreak, laughing 'til you burst, and working out who you are and what you love. Nothing can age those themes, and any reference to social-media law seems irrelevant. The inclusion of an accurate legal change, or all of humanity and its rites of passage experiences? I'll think I'll leave the legal stuff out of it, ta.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Joy is a Choice...

Has summer 2026 started now? 

The World Cup has, and in my teens that would've been enough to mentally wind down and embrace the season. This year? Meh. I'm only vaguely in. The US's involvement makes the tournament feel icky (although the Curacao and Scotland matches provided great moments.) 

Likewise, it's Pride month. Happy Pride! This year, more than I can ever remember as an adult, it's clear that Pride is as it began - a protest not a party. A local council leader (a stone's throw away from where I live) has just announced they're not supporting Pride anymore. That comes hot on the heels of the same council stopping financial support for Refugee Week. There's no longer a creeping sense of things going back in time; progress has been halted and is being turned around, in some local councils at least. 

It's all so joyless, isn't it. The vibe seems to be, I don't like it so you can't have it. Proper playground shiz. Whenever I've encountered someone in real life whose default setting is 'bitter and obstructive', I try to remember it simply means they're deeply unhappy in their own life. That strategy has (mostly worked) at giving me more resilience than I'd ordinarily have when dealing with them. The trouble is, that these people are no longer consigned to one troublesome colleague, or the random neighbour that causes grief about the hedges. These people have now been elected to positions of power. Assuming they're struggling with deep-seated misery at the way their lives have turned out, doesn't change the bigger picture. They're joyless, and their misery is making council policy.

It is important - or even our duty - to refuse to be led down that particular road. We need joy! We need fun! We need a summer of memories instead of a shameful collection of blazing news stories. What are you going to do? Where's your particular joy coming from today? How are you making the world better? 

These are obviously rhetorical questions. I've no more answers than you have, but I am thinking about them. I'm thinking about what I can do to make the world more joyful, not less. There are so many current pressing issues with which our elected politicians must grapple. But if they're hell bent on snuffing out communities coming together, then they've seriously lost their way. Let's help them find it, in whatever joyful ways we can.

Writing News

Meanwhile if you're looking for a book for young people, that features a gay character with a happy ending, let me point you towards my own new release. Leeza McAuliffe is Branching Out is available now. What is lovely is that people are letting me know that they've got their copies and are reading it. I'm getting regular pictures from all over the place (including Australia!) of paperbacks sitting on laps or held up for the camera. I write novels about the ups and downs of growing up, some of which can be stressy and frustrating. I'm a big advocate, however, of it being 'all right in the end.' You want something uplifting, dare I say, joyful? Something that provides escape from the bad stuff, or at least offers encouragement that things can be better? Then knock yourself out with this little lot. We fight the bleakness with the tools we have to hand. My tools are my books! They're not much but I'll use them.

Culture

Despite my 'meh' feelings about the World Cup, I finished Dear England last week on a football nostalgia high. It was only right, therefore, that I kept up my tradition. Whenever England Men are about to play in a tournament, I find myself watching, An Evening With Gary Lineker. It's not available in the usual places so, as has become habit, I watch it on YouTube where someone has filmed it from the telly. It's blurry, shaky, and the mouths and words don't quite match. Still, I love it. Based on the play that's set during the Italia '90 World Cup, this film has given me and my partner many lines that have become part of our vernacular. ('No Bill', 'I think I might support Germany for a bit', and 'Geet a beer for Birgitta'.) And if you want, I can recite Monica's speech about the World Cup wall chart, any time you like. Don't say I didn't offer.

Yesteryear
on my train
journey

In book news, I'm in the middle of Caro Claire Burke's Yesteryear. It's a fascinating premise (trad-wife influencer finds herself in original trad-wife era of the 19th century much to her horror) and I'm gripped. What I've no idea about is how it's going to end. I'm trying to enjoy the plot without second guessing every little thing, so I can get the full impact of how it's resolved. Easier said than done. 

Seafood chowder with
lobster roll in background.

Food and Drink

On Tuesday I was sitting on a bench in a Scottish harbour, looking at the fishing boats, feeling a gentle breeze and the sun on my face, whilst eating fresh seafood chowder from a lobster shack. It was such a moment. The unbridled joy of it all! What was ostensibly a quick lunch in the place I was staying, became a lovely mindful experience. And now I'm back home, I've thought about that seafood chowder ever since. Obvs, I'll have a bash at making it. It was chunks of smoked haddock, prawns, baby shrimp, with a few pieces of potato and leek, all cooked together in a creamy sauce. It can't be too hard to replicate. Unfortunately the only photo I took was the one featured here. I was clearly too busy being in the moment to adequately record it.

Tuesday night, about
9pm, North Berwick.

Out and About

As mentioned above, I had a couple of days in Scotland which soothed my soul and took me away from my laptop for a bit. I'd assumed it would be cold and rainy - that was the weather I left at home - but it was glorious. Summer 2026 felt like it began while I was there. It was also cool to feel the Scottish World Cup buzz. If it had been decades since England had qualified, would I feel as meh about it because of the host country? Possibly not. On top of that, I was at the Rainford Festival on Saturday. A gazebo, a bunch of lovely people, and Tony Hadley of Spandau Ballet headlining with ALL the tunes. The dream!

Tony Hadley plays Rainford.
More joy!

Let's find the joy. How's that for a plan? Let's work on our own bitternesses and disappointments so they don't bubble over and affect the people around us. Let's live and let live as a bare minimum, or even better, let's support people and groups being bullied en masse. Let's see the friends that sustain us, read the books that intrigue us, and sit on a bench and feel the breezy sun; whatever it takes to feel joy. Joy is a choice. More joy next week? Yeah, let's do it.

Have a lovely week, folks