Gracie

Gracie - likes hot, weak tea and a nice custard cream. Sits on park benches in the sun, sucking on Mint Imperials and disapproving of the younger generation.

On Wednesday afternoons she meets up with a few like minded friends for a game of Bridge and a gossip - but she always gets home in time for 'East Enders'.

Is a close relation of Dolores, who jetted off to live in America. Gracie is staying firmly put in the good old UK. They will exchange spider-writing letters on thin, shiny paper, because naturally, neither of them approves of the internet.

Dolores in her swanky new home in the USA
(many thanks to Janet for the loan of the picture)

22 mile picnic

Here in the UK we have been enjoying an unusually hot spring, a blessing after the misery of the long winter. So it is picnic time again and we happily wend our way through flower lined lanes and villages hoping to wear off more calories than we will put on later.


Past blossoming orchards and sleepy cows...


...down (and inevitably, up) - winding lanes...


...past grandious Cotswold 'piles'...


...and parched fields, waiting for rain.


We too are rather parched and it is fortunate that our destination is here;


Or, to be precise, here;


Oh, the injustice that our favourite pub is nearly ten miles from home! By now I am an alarming shade of red and it is with great relief that I plonk myself down with a much needed glass of Addlestone's cider -


- and a chance to relax for an hour or so and watch the world go by.


At last we haul ourselves up and begin the journey home and the all-important mission of finding a suitable picnic spot. Returning through Broadwell village, with it's pretty cottages -

- and back on the road. It is now mid-afternoon and hot as June.

Somewhere along here is...

...the right spot for a picnic, a modest affair.

Marjorie carries most of the supplies and needs a rest too.

Returning home through the abandoned farm in the woods, surprising the plump Buff Orpington rooster who had strayed from his harem -

- and scuttled off, legs wattling furiously, to protect them.

I am not used to cycling this far and there were now points when pushing was necessary. Byeee Andy!

There he goes, off down the home track.

Disappearing towards the village. Put the kettle on dear.

There is nothing like coming home somewhat exhausted, to find that someone has had a lovely, lazy afternoon in the sun. And then discovering that you have cycled 22 miles. Something I can barely believe myself.

Cobbling it together

When I was much younger and thought the publishing world would fall at my feet on my graduation day, (1993) I dreamed of important brainstorming meetings, full of ideas whizzing around, ending with a nice lunch at *some little place*. It has taken eighteen long years for it to happen but I am happy to report that the reality is even better than the dream. Planning the world of Puddletown with Templar meant a few visits to the offices, where a few hours would be spent thrashing out the storylines and the basic design of every layer of each spread.

When I arrive at the Templar premises, I'm usually taken to this nice meeting room and offered coffee; much needed as to get here has meant getting up at 6am, to catch the early commuter bus to a train station, finally arriving at about 10.30. My eyes are like slits by now. This particular meeting was to deliver the felt toys for 'Mrs Mouse's Cupcakes' and to go through the next book. To celebrate, cupcakes had been bought in.

I get first pick, choosing the lemon one. This is a cover proposal for the next book, made up by Janie, the designer. Just a dummy. So many mock ups have been made as the formats have gradually evolved. The post-it note is querying the exact shade of blue for the outer frame, such is the level of detail invested in the production. Notice her thick pile of notes beneath.

The big moment, the unveiling of the toys! Although I have emailed jpegs of them to Janie, (who makes my work look beautiful in the books) neither she nor Hannah, the editor, on the right, have seen the real things. I am so lucky to be working with these ladies, who are on the same wave length as I am, which means that planning my books has been such fun. It's almost as if they've been to Puddletown themselves...

Janie, like myself, hates having her photo taken. Hannah has a gorgeous smile! She is the clever hand behind the stories; once we've made ourselves slightly sick on cupcakes, we spend a couple of hours going through the next story, 'Peggy's Lost Pennies'. Hannah takes my ideas, they are thrown into the pot and thrashed out almost word for word (do we use *grinning* or *beaming*? I decide beaming, more in tune with the character). Later she writes up the final story, far better than I could. Janie too puts in ideas for how the storyline develops, so by the end we have all stirred the pot, like three benign witches.

You would not believe how much work goes into producing a simple five page story book. By lunchtime, after an intense morning, with much scribbling, note taking and discussion, we have basically sorted out 'Peggy's Lost Pennies' and are ready for lunch. At *some little place*, just as I used to dream of. Lots of gossip and chat, because although Janie and Hannah are work colleagues, we all get on very well. And, because it is my big day out, I am treated to ice cream. Days like this are very special indeed.

A plea for help

I believe that the Puddletown books were offered in an Easter giveaway in a magazine called the Sunday Post Extra - I think I've missed the boat in finding a copy, so if anyone has the page (45) and is willing to send it to me, I'd willingly swap it for a pack of postcards like these.

Pops and Popsicle

To my pleasant surprise I recently found myself the unintentional winner of a batch of 'cake pops'. I had to be educated as to what these were, (it's a cupcake decoration) but once enlightened was only to delighted to accept them from Angel's Kitchen. Cupcakes. Harder than I thought. Had visitors + small children a couple of weeks ago and thought I'd just *whip up a batch or two* while cleaning the house from top to bottom. Silly me. Took a lot longer than I thought to do the most rudimentary decoration. (If you have now read the story of 'Mrs Mouse's Cupcakes' it is not a million miles away from what happens to me when I entertain rare guests, I try to do everything at once with disastrous results).

And although in the end they looked vaguely passable, upon sampling them later - when said guests had departed - I discovered that they were somewhat dense and dare I say, a little heavy? Oh dear...could have done with those highly edible cake poppers.

I should stick to needle felting and leave the cake baking to the grown ups. Popsicle is another commission just crossed off my order list.

I have had some really lovely blog reviews of my book, my head is swollen beyond redemption I fear. So many, many thanks to my friends

Anne of Frayed at the Edge

Janet of The Empty Nest

Aaron Paquette
(one of my oldest blog-buddies - not in age, but in length of time!)

A proper bookshop

Above the door are ancient carved dragons. Peering down the narrow corridor, shelves of books beckon you down...

...and down. The entrance is just on the right. Mind your head as you go in, if you are tall.

Inside, a warm, bookish sanctuary, with a tempting little corridor leading off. Shall we look?

The front room, with leather comfy chair and heater. Browsers and dippers are very welcome here. As are buyers, of course

But don't settle, there is more to explore - back through the wood panelled passageway, to the tallest bookshelf you ever saw -

'Books to the ceiling,
Books to the sky,
My pile of books is a mile high.
How I love them! How I need them!
I'll have a long beard by the time I read them.'
(Arnold Lobel).

Further on and further in.

This is a shrine to books and book lovers. This is a warm, welcoming haven, with sofas and higgledy-piggledy piles of interest to lure you to 'bide a wee while' and immerse yourself in papery Heaven. Do take a seat.

Oh happy day, that such places still - just about - exist. A proper bookshop.

Cornell Books Ltd, The Wheatsheaf, 132 High Street, Tewkesbury, Gloucestershire, GL20 5JR.

*The Wheatsheaf used to be a pub dating back to the 1500's and can be seen from the front here.*

No idle hands

Until I invent the ever-replenishing household pot, there is no time for idle hands, despite having picked up an old man's cough. (Not literally from an old man that is, just sounding like one). My chest has been rattling and whistling like a dried seed pod in a north wind, but it's quietening down now. Life at the moment is mercifully uneventful. Apart from the pleasure of seeing this -

- sell out of stock on Amazon UK on the first day of sale. More coming soon - thank you world!