What speakers do best

I am a proud owner of the first draft of Wide Angle, a Gilbert and Alice mystery. It is a light-hearted look at crime, something one would call cozy crime, the sort you’re not afraid to take to bed with you at night. Murder happens, naturally, but amidst all that bloodshed there is room for quirks and oddities, eccentricities of the highest order and outright silliness – generally speaking: my life and the people that populate it.

Don’t let any writer tell you that any similarity between the characters in their books and any living (or dead) persons is purely coincidental. No such thing as absolute fiction!

To give you an example of the kind of real life incidents you may find yourself cosied up to in bed when reading one of my books:

Yesterday, I asked Daughter to carry a pair of heavy speakers to Husband’s study. My back, you see, is shot due to a spot of aeroball. She obliged (grudgingly) and placed the speakers oddly in the doorway, kind of facing each other, like so:

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I was intrigued and confused by that awkward positioning, but you see, I shouldn’t be at all, because the speakers were doing what speakers do best – they were speaking to each other!

You can see it, can’t you?

 

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Getting bruised in Devon

With the best of intentions I organised this PGL adventure. I could still pretend that it was for my child more than myself. All that childish stuff of climbing walls, throwing yourself off rocks, competing to the top of Jacob’s ladder against fifteen-year old boys and their alpha-male dads  – all that would be just perfect for Daughter and Daughter’s Friend. Whilst this year the girls are just into face-painting, next year next year they will be into make-up, Prada handbags and designer shoes (oh dear! there go my life savings!). It was our last chance to do the  child-friendly thing.

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It may have been child-friendly but, by Gods, it was far from a woman of a certain age-friendly! I suffered from general exhaustion, pulled muscles, bruises and torn ligaments. On top of that some viral infection took hold of me and shook me like a pitbull terrier shaking a rag doll.

Back home, I’m licking my wounds and promising myself to go on a Mediterranean cruise next year.

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