CUTTING CHILDREN'S HAIR IS NOW SO MUCH FUN!

/remi%2Bat%2Bthe%2Bhairdressers.jpg" imageanchor="1" >

MY grandson Remi finally having his hair cut!

PS FREEBIE ONLY STARTS TOMORROW...SORRY

Free read for a few days!

With spring in the air, and the countryside full of gorgeous daffs, and because I feel so happy and generous and exhilarated by it all, I decided to run a freebie on my "Walking on Marshmallows". So for those that blaze through my blog and haven't read it yet, get downloading! It starts tonight.

Big smiles
Janey

Litter

Is it me, or have I been in such a fog of newly found love for the last three years and a bit years - but is the litter on our roads and bi-ways mushrooming? Recently I've been noticing an unprecedented amount of trash and ghostly plastic bags fluttering on the trees. I don't know; in my youth I'd sooner walk down the street naked than release something of waste from my hands, so hounded were we by stern playground monitors ready to cuff an ear, and bins boldly embellished with signs stating "KEEP BRITAIN TIDY". Good lord, I don't want to sound like my dad, but it really is a crying shame that nobody seems to care or respect our beautiful countryside. Does anyone else have any comments on this awful state of affairs?

I haven't blogged for a while and there's a reason for that: I'm in love! With my brand new grandson, Tom along with his brother Remi, a very gregarious and delightful three year old. I'm afraid I'm smitten and have been back and forth to London since the 8th January so much so my writing has suffered. But I will get back, very shortly back to the anchor of my laptop.

but here's a little taster of my current-work-in-progress book ; ))


CHAPTER 1

You’re mad, and you drive me mad, but guess what? I’m mad about you…
Happy Anniversary Sleeping Beauty...

A delicious shiver shot through Angie as she thought back to earlier – Matt kissing the tip of her nose as he tried to wake her and then the way her eyes drifted sleepily open and locked with his, and then their mouths seeking out each others, and then kissing spongily, and then frenziedly like a couples of duelling daggers, and then...the inevitable.
Angie giggled, and tried to cross her fingers but they were all numb and clammy from the heavy pile of try-ons draped across both arms, and that she’d been carting about for the last half hour. Please God maybe just maybe this time they might have hit the jackpot. After all the temperature chart said she was bang on, and she had this feeling inside, a real gut feeling that this time she might, just migh—
‘Stop! For the love of God, stop!’
There was a pause, then a split second of confusion during which Angie let out a hideously girly scream, did a dithery pin-toed cha-cha, and then finally let go and slammed with wild abandonment into the well-padded contours of her mum’s arse.
‘Mum! Jesus Christ!’ she staggered about like a drunken fool, tripping over something squashy that had slid from her arms. ‘What the hell are you doing?!’
‘I can’t!’ wailed Bridie dragging a theatrical hand up to her quivering mouth.
‘Can’t what?’
‘Bear it!’
‘Bear what?’
‘This place, it’s horrible, it’s like Dante’s Inferno.’
By this place Bridie meant Oxford Street’s, multi-levelled Top Shop, bursting-at-the-seams-with-every-conceivable-item-of-outerwear-and-accessory, frenzied shoppers and grating music blaring from every orifice.
‘But you wanted to come here,’ said Angie, trying to remain calm as she bent down to pick up the spongy thing she’d nearly gone A over T over – in this instance a pair of bright red, elasticised slacks for the fuller figure (i.e. size 18 masquerading as 12).
‘I know, but I feel sick!’ The hysteria began to mount again. ‘I think I’m going to faint! Oh God, luv, you have to get me out of here!’
Get her out of here.
Angie gripped a handful of fabric until her knuckles turned white. Did she just say: get.her.out.of.here? Where the hell did she think she was on I’m a Celebrity. Jesus wept, this was unbelievable, un-bloody-believable. Less than ten seconds ago she’d been swanning up and down the aisles inspecting labels with her pretend glasses on as if she was bloody-bleeding-pissing Kate Middleton’s personal shopper.

Hope you enjoyed!!!

Christmas is over : (

Yes, over! And I wonder how many years, months, hours, minutes are spent looking for the end of a roll of sticky tape. I contemplated this during my second day of Christmas present wrapping. Every year I think to myself I'll get more efficient and buy one of those sticky tape dispensers, but like new year resolutions (i.e. brisk walk every single day, in bed by ten, up at six for second brisk walk, join a pilates class, wean self off chocolate, never eat chips in any state or form again, clean windows at least four times a year as opposed to every two years, never get cross or grumpy with annoying people but rather smile serenely and imagine them naked)just goes down the plug hole. So the cursing under the breath continued, until about seven-eighths through wrapping my darling Peter appears rested and smiling from his studio at the end of the garden, looks inquisitively at me and then says "Darling! Why don't you use my dispenser, it'll make it so much easier."

.........Argggh!

Anyway, that aside, and the fact that I feel at least a stone heavier, it was all so magical. I had all my girls over for the first time ever and we ate, drank and made merry as a complete family.

It is therefore, after such heavy imbibing, time to get back into some serious writing. I've made a conscious decision to do a part 2 Walking on Marshmallows, but perhaps in the form of a Novella which is about a third of a book. And then perhaps another and then another.

We'll see.

Fingers poised over the keyboard, I am still trying to decide. A lot of people say it isn't a good idea, but I say go where the heart is telling you, and Angie, Bridie and Hazel are calling me to resurrect them.

So for all you people who loved the escapades of my last book, watch this space! And for all those that haven't read Walking on Marshmallows One then get downloading! I can promise you an absolute gas, and just the ticket after the mad, whirlwind of the festive season. Just click on the book to the right of this page and voila. It's on a countdown special at the moment too!

Hope you all had as fabulous a Christmas as me, and on that note shall say Au Revoir and Bonne Annee.

Janey of the Walking on Marshmallows

POPPIES AND RUPERT BROOKE

I heard on the radio a poem by Rupert Brooke which was all about WWI and was so moved I was prompted (as I do about a lot of things) to look him up on the net. Not only did he have an uncanny likeness to Hugh Grant, but sadly he died so young.

Here are a few words written by his closest friend upon his death...

...I sat with Rupert. At 4 o’clock he became weaker, and at 4.46 he died, with the sun shining all round his cabin, and the cool sea-breeze blowing through the door and the shaded windows. No one could have wished for a quieter or a calmer end than in that lovely bay, shielded by the mountains and fragrant with sage and thyme.

Profound words, and such a beautiful rendition of someone's death

I thought, with all the poppy fever and talk of the Great War, I'd share that one with you.

Do look up his poetry, especially the one about going off to war, it's pretty powerful stuff.

Janey

PS thank you to all those who have recently purchased my book.