I know I always say my blog will be short, and then it turns out to be mahoosive, but this time I really must keep it brief. Time is against me. It’s now almost 2pm on Saturday and as well as writing and scheduling this blog, I must walk to the shop to get snacks and water for the market tomorrow, vacuum the ground floor, do some ironing, sort out and pack the car ready for tomorrow, and put a second coat of paint on the pergola ends.

Painting. How am I doing? Surprisingly well. As I told you last time, I struggled with the cheap paint because it simply wasn’t giving any cover and washed off in the rain. Despairing, I bit the bullet and bought a large tin of the expensive paint that I have always used in the past and never had any issues with. It’s a brand called Cuprinol and I chose the shade Urban Slate from their garden colours range. It was £40 for a 2L tin. Gulp. But I had to do something. The cheapy stuff which had been £14 for a 5L tub wasn’t working out. I had wasted almost two weeks trying to paint with it — only to have it mostly washed off in the first rainstorm — so I figured I had no choice. My mother always says, “Buy Cheap and You Buy Twice” and it’s a maxim I usually abide by because she’s right. This occasion more than proved it. I bought cheap paint, it was rubbish, so I ended up spending more money to get decent paint. I am annoyed with myself because if I’d bought the good stuff from the get-go I’d be almost finished by now. Instead, I have wasted precious time.

We’ve suffered the wettest May in over 120 years which has not helped the painting to progress at all. Desperately dodging raindrops and sometimes even painting in the rain, I have struggled alone to break the back of this massive job. Then, the rain stopped, and a weak sun appeared for a few days. What with that and having decent paint, I tunnel-visioned and ignored everything else to just paint, paint, paint, every day I wasn’t at work, and it was dry. I had hoped to get the whole garden done before the girls got home, but then I narrowed my expectations to hoping to just get the pergola done. It’s part of the garden we use the most as the table and chairs are under it. However, through sheer bloody hard work and determination, I have finished the pergola today with two weeks still to go. Anymore I get done now will be a bonus.

Am I pleased with it? Yes, very pleased. The colours work well together. The Urban Slate on the woodwork blends well with the very expensive Rust-Oleum Universal One Coat paint I splurged on to paint my Victorian fretwork screens and the UPVC downpipes on the back wall. I chose the colour Anthracite because on the tin it looked so close to the Urban Slate colour that a blind man would be pleased to see the difference. It was expensive though. £22 for a tiny 0.5L tin. But it did exactly what it said on the tin. It went beautifully onto any surface and only needed one coat. I only used half the tin on the screens and pipes, so used the other half to transform the horrible terracotta pantiles on the front porch and freshen up the Victorian railings at the front of the house. I certainly got my money’s worth from that little tin.

It painted so well onto any surface that I ended up with black-streaked hands that I struggled to clean.

I am going to focus next on the return that runs from the back door down the side of the kitchen and bathroom extension. This is the bit you see from the dining room window so it would be nice to get that done at least before the girls get back.

I am bored with painting though. I am not looking forward to painting all the fence panels. It is monotonous and tedious work. Thank heavens I can take my little radio out there to keep me from going loopy with boredom.

Anyway, in other news, Mum is doing very well and thank you to everyone who has contacted me to send her their best wishes. As you know, she’s home now. I’ve been over to see her a couple of times and spent Sunday afternoon with her so Dad could have a break and go to the pub. When he got back, we had dinner together before I dashed off because I had a friend coming around for the evening. It was Bank Holiday Monday the next day, so it didn’t matter that she arrived with two bottles of wine.

On that Sunday, Mum asked if I could have another go at finding her some bedding plants for her pots and baskets. There was a plant market in town but as the sky was blacker than the inside of a coal mine, I decided to drive to B&Q on the way rather than carry a load of plants back in the pouring rain.

B&Q have an outdoor section with their bedding plant selection in the middle. It was practically empty. What with it being almost June and having a sort of nice couple of days weatherwise, people had rushed to do their pots and baskets and it looked like a plague of locusts had gone over the nursery. There was hardly anything left. Lots of begonias, though, so I filled up a trolley with them. I grabbed a pack of Sweet Williams that looked pretty and a few other bits and bobs. I was standing there, out in the open, looking around at the scant selection, when it suddenly went black, and rain hammered down. Instantly, I was drenched to the skin. I did that little shrieky thing we women do when our hair gets wet and dashed inside to pay for the plants.

Loading the car, I got even wetter and as I drove out of town my windscreen wipers were on the maximum setting and it was like driving underwater. It was weird though, as I approached the edge of town it was like I passed from one weather zone into another. There were blue skies and a dry road ahead, yet in the rear-view mirror, I could see the black clouds and torrential rain just behind me.

Reaching my parents, I dripped into their kitchen like a drowned rat. They looked at me, then looked at the innocent sunny day outside.

Dad was ready to go to the pub and chat with all his old mates, but before he went, he showed me all the preparations he’d done for dinner.

I’ve put oil in this tin ready to roast potatoes in.

Yeah, I do know how to cook a roast dinner, Dad. Just go. Have fun. We’ll see you later.

Dinner was delicious. Well, you can’t go far wrong with a roast chicken. I’d brought a lemon tart and Cornish clotted cream for dessert. I thought some cheese afterwards would be a nice treat for me and Dad, but I knew we would be quite full, and I didn’t want to do a full-on cheeseboard. I like Brie and Dad likes Stilton, so I bought a wedge of Cambozola as the creamy blue cheese is the perfect compromise. Again, I didn’t want to buy a whole pack of crackers and when I was in Waitrose, I found some delicious-looking (and smelling) three-cheese fresh bread, so I bought that. It was delicious, very cheesy and moist. We ate probably three-quarters of the bread and cheese, it was so good, and I took the leftovers home with me.

As I previously said, an old friend was coming around that evening, so I left my parents at about 6:30. I was looking forward to seeing her. Due to various reasons that I won’t bore you with here, we hadn’t seen each other since before lockdown. The lodger wasn’t in when I got home, so I texted my friend that I was back, and then fed the cat before she arrived. As I said, she arrived clutching two bottles of my favourite wine and as the lodger wasn’t in and neither of us had to work the next day, we had a bit of a silly time of it, drinking and picking songs on YouTube.

At around ten, feeling peckish, I thinly sliced the bread and cheese and laid it out on a board with grapes and slices of apple. I figured all that wine needed some company. The evening went on getting sillier and louder. Taking the plates through to put in the dishwasher at midnight, I noticed that the lock was down on the lodger’s door. Bugger! That meant he was home. How and when had he snuck in without either of us hearing him? We immediately turned the TV down and stopped singing, but the poor sod had been subjected to an evening of drunken carousing. Oopsie.

As it was another Bank Holiday in the UK it meant I only worked one day that week and on Wednesday headed to the nursery to try and get plants for my hanging basket and pots for the front steps. I knew there was no point going to B&Q as they’d been picked clean. So, I headed for Homebase — that was where I bought the Cuprinol and eye-wateringly expensive Rust-Oleum paint as well. Like B&Q, Homebase didn’t have much left in the way of bedding plants, but they didn’t have plenty of petunias in various shades of purple and cream. I know a lot of people (Mum included) don’t like petunias as they can go straggly in the rain, but I’ve always had a lot of success with them and love all the different shades and variations of purple they come in. Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday morning, I dodged the rain and painted, painted, painted — and potted up my plants in the rain — and by Friday afternoon I was very pleased with how advanced I now was. Maybe, I would get more done before my deadline of the end of June than I thought.

Saturday morning, I was doing Laxfield market, so I made sure everything was sorted and the car packed ready Friday evening. I tested my Google Maps Lady to make sure she was talking to me now — she was, so that was okay — had an early night and was up and off by eight the next morning. The journey there was fine. I was running slightly later than the previous two occasions so couldn’t park right by the church as I had before. I managed to find a spot opposite the pub around the back of the church, carried my table in, and grabbed two young lads in high-vis jackets to help me carry my boxes from the car.

The jury is still out on whether it’s worth doing the Laxfield Market. Yes, it’s a long way to go (almost an hour’s drive) for a market that only lasts two and a half hours. But the pitch fee is very low at only £10 for a 6ft spot. To put it into perspective, on that same Saturday some of the authors from my group had gone to do a Comic-Con in Watford. Now, that is a seriously long way with the potential to be a nightmare journey if the traffic is bad. The pitch fee is also a lot higher at £55 for only 3ft. It’s also an all-day event. I sold six paperbacks and one eBook in two hours. I also spoke to a lot of people, handed out cards, and gave my details to two book club organisers so something might come of that. I was home by two, so was able to make the most of the fine weather and get another three hours of painting out the way. In comparison, the authors at Watford only sold about eight books each. That was certainly not enough to cover the pitch fee, let alone fuel to get there.

I’m not booked in to do Laxfield now until October, so I still won’t have experienced the market on a hot and dry summer day. After October, I will be doing the Christmas evening market in December and then that will that for the year. Like I said, the jury is still out. I do make a profit, even if it is only a small one, and the nice thing was people who’d bought books from me the previous two times, came back to buy some more, and that’s always a nice boost.

Tomorrow it’s the Leiston Summer Fair. I did the Easter one, but it was a cold, wet, windy, and miserable day. The forecast for tomorrow is dry and sunny, so hopefully it will bring the people out and I will do well. Again, others in my group are doing a big Comic-Con in Ipswich so it will be interesting to compare our results.

It took me longer to get home from Laxfield than it did going. Whilst I’d been at the market a road ahead closed sign had been put up so instead of turning left, I was forced to turn right. I hoped that Google Maps Lady would be able to recalculate the route for me. I bumbled along narrow country lanes in deepest darkest rural Suffolk, putting blind faith in her, having no clue where I was. As the roads narrowed, I swear I heard banjos. Then I popped out onto a suspiciously familiar road. Certainty deepened that I’d been on this road before. My suspicion was confirmed when I reached a junction and was confronted with the exact same road ahead closed sign. I growled with frustration. There was no point turning right just to go around in a big circle again, so I turned left, eased my way around the sign and set off. Maybe the road wasn’t closed until after I needed to turn off.

Google Maps Lady then took me down twisty roads, made me turn down a back lane behind some house that was only wide enough for a single car, and out into the wilds. I had no clue where I was or even if I was heading in the right direction. I needed to pee. I drove through villages with strange names that I’d never heard. Suddenly, I popped out into the village of Stowupland and knew where I was. A few miles later, I turned onto the A14, and the scent of home was in my nose.

By the time I got home, unpacked the car, put everything away, and had lunch and something to drink it was almost three. I was very tired. I really, really didn’t want to paint. I looked at the bright sunny day outside and sighed. I would hate myself if I didn’t take advantage of it. I got into my painting scrubs and picked up my brush. Once I got started, it was okay. It was fresh and breezy, and I had good tunes on the radio to keep me going.

I painted until six, then came in to find missed calls and messages from Franki telling me to call her immediately. I did so. Got told off severely for not taking my phone into the garden with me. Apparently, it was urgent. Rys’s sister who had offered to rent a van in London and drive up to get the girls’ belongings on June the 28^th now couldn’t do it.

What were we going to do?

Could I hire a van?

No, I couldn’t. I’ve never driven a van in my life and didn’t want my first time to be on a busy road like the M6 on a Friday afternoon.

I messaged my brother. He has a van.

Not doing it on a Friday, he messaged back. But I can do it on the 26^th or 27^th.

Fine. So that was that sorted.

It’s so close now. Only nineteen days until they’re home. I’m working a few of those days, and tomorrow is wiped out because of Leiston Market. The weather forecast for next week is not looking good so I doubt I’ll get much, if any, painting done, and then there is Mum’s birthday, Father’s Day, and Dad’s birthday in between now and the 27^th as well. Still, I will get as much done as I can. As for the rest, well it will be done when it’s done.

Oh my, look at that word count. I said this was going to be a short blog and here we are at over 2800 words again. There’s not much else to say, other than if you are in the Leiston area tomorrow then why not pop along to the Fair and say hello? Car parking and entry are free and there’s food and drink as well as dozens of stalls of lovely things to buy.

Finally, my book of the week is The Forest ~ a tale of old magic ~ which is on sale for half-price for the eBook and £2 off the price of the paperback. The link is on the book’s page of this blog.

Take care everyone.

Julia Blake

Hello everyone. I’m afraid it will be a short blog this week. It is Saturday afternoon and I’m dodging the rain trying to paint the fence panel sheltered under the pergola. I have calculated that I only have twenty clear days between now and going to collect the girls from university to get the whole garden painted. Now, that may sound like plenty of time, but when you consider just how much work there is still to do in the garden and allow for the vagaries of the British weather, it is not much time at all.

What have I managed to achieve since we last spoke? Well, you remember my problems with the paint not covering. After eight coats, it looked okay. I am in love with the colour. It’s so classy and stylish and the plants pop with colour against it. Then we had three days of torrential rain. Worried, I went out to look. The gate and shed were okay. Well, I say okay. The paint on the outside of the gate had streaked off to show the old blue paint underneath and there were slight wear patches on the shed, but nothing I couldn’t live with. As for the bench … it looks terrible. The rain has destroyed the paint, all eight layers of it. There are great patches where the paint has been rubbed off right down to the primer. I’ve left it for now, but something will have to be done about it. Luckily, the fence posts and trellis painted with the paint seem to have weathered the storm and are still looking good.

Since then, I’ve only had time to paint the restraining wall of the raised flower bed that runs almost the whole length of the garden. I bought a tin of lavender-coloured paint. Upon opening the tin, a shocking pink shade confronted me. I stirred it well and painted on the first coat. It sank into the wall. I painted on a second coat. Better, but still very patchy. I painted a third and went indoors for the evening. It still looked pink. I was very unsure.

This morning, I looked out of the dining room window. From this window, I can see down the side of the house to the top section of the flower bed wall before it turns the corner to run down the length of the garden. A gorgeous deep lavender wall greeted me. It looks amazing next to the purple slate tiles on the ground. Very happy with that which is lucky, considering I have a whole tin of it and am planning on painting the back wall of the house the same colour.

This morning, I awoke to an overcast, chilly, and rainy day. The weather forecast was different depending on which one you checked, so I didn’t know what to do. I went out to assess. Under the pergola, it was quite dry and the fence panel under there was sheltered. I thought, sod it, I’ll get a coat on and see what happens. I could see there were spit spots of rain elsewhere, but it was dry under the pergola, and nothing was reaching the fence. I’ll go back out when I’ve finished writing this and try to get the second coat on.

I also managed to get three coats on the trellis spanning the width of the garden at the end over the past three days. I hate painting trellis. It’s so fiddly and you think you’ve done it all and then you step back and all the bits you missed pop up to say hello.

I had to work a couple of days overtime last week and of course, those days were dry and sunny, which was mega annoying. On Wednesday — my one day off between my four days at work — I popped to the supermarket to do a quick shop. Arriving home, I looked at my phone and saw I had a missed call from my brother, a voicemail telling me to call him ASAP, a text, and a WhatsApp message all saying the same thing. Call me.

Now, my brother never calls me, so this worried me. Quickly, I put the frozen food away and then the landline began to ring. I dashed for the phone, but the cat appeared from nowhere deciding she wanted in on the action and shot between my feet almost tripping me up. By the time I righted myself the phone had gone to answerphone in the other room, and I heard my brother telling me to call him immediately. I called him back.

Now, I don’t want you to panic, were his first words.

Okaaay. When, in the history of time, has that ever worked? Opening a conversation with the words — Now, I don’t want you to panic — guarantees that the other person is absolutely going to panic.

It’s Mum, he continued. She’s been taken into hospital with a bleed on the brain, possibly a stroke.

Alarmed, I questioned him but that was all the information he had so I had to be patient until he called me back later in the day. Mum had had a small stroke and was in the local hospital. Of course, this was the one week I was working overtime so couldn’t go to see her straight away. Anyway, I’m not going to go into too much detail but after conducting tests, the doctors concluded that she’d had a mild stroke. Things were complicated by her diabetes, but they were pleased with her progress.

I received a few WhatsApp messages from Mum herself, which was reassuring. Some of them didn’t make a lot of sense, but then, Mum is dyslexic so that is par for the course. Saturday morning she phoned me to say that it would be okay for me to visit that afternoon. I knew she’d been complaining about the tea in the hospital, so I took my thermal cup with me planning to stop at Waitrose on the way, pick up a few treats for Mum, and get a free cup of tea from there to take for her.

I’ve only got coffee from Waitrose before, so didn’t know what the tea situation was. When I requested tea, a member of staff had to go and retrieve a teabag from a secret stash hidden away from thieving customers. I put it in the cup and added the hot water and a dash of milk. I poked the teabag around with the little wooden stick that was supplied. I waited for the tea to darken to the right colour. I poked and poked and poked at that bag. I think the milk was full-fat which is horrible in tea as it makes it too creamy. I mean, who wants creamy tea for heaven’s sake? Eventually, it darkened up although still looked a bit insipid, so I threw away the teabag and the pokey stick, put the lid on and set off for the fifteen-minute walk to the hospital.

It was quite a hot day. I was wearing jeans, boots, a T-shirt, and a coat. I was carrying a heavy bag with a 2l bottle of water in it (apparently the water in the hospital tasted like feet), plus a ton of snacks and a pretty tin pot of roses. I had my handbag slung over my other shoulder and was trying to carry a thermal mug of tea. That walk felt a lot further than it usually does.

I reached the hospital in one piece, found the ward Mum was in and then found Mum. Now, normally my mum is bundled up like the Michelin Man in more layers of clothing than a polar explorer would need and is still complaining about the cold. I was surprised to find her lying on top of the covers wearing only a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved linen shirt. I soon found out why though.

It was so bloody hot in that ward.

Oh. Good. Lord.

I mean mega, the surface of the sun, felt like my flesh was melting off my bones hot.

I sat down and watched the veins in my hands pop with the heat. Sweat broke out on my forehead and down my back. My clothes were seriously sticking to me.

Anyway, I gave Mum the tea. She took one sip and pronounced it cold and so disgusting it was undrinkable. I drank it. I admit, it wasn’t the best cup of tea I’d ever had but it wasn’t cold. Mum has a lead-lined throat and drinks her tea practically straight from the kettle.

I showed Mum the pot of roses in the bag, and she looked horrified and told me you’re no longer allowed to take flowers to someone in hospital.

Since when?

Why not?

We hastily hid them in a carrier bag ready for Dad to take home with him when he visited that evening. I unloaded all the other goodies, and we had a nice long chat. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but she was in fine form, not slurring her speech or anything.

When I got up to go, it felt like I’d wet myself. The seat of my jeans was soaked with sweat from the ridiculous temperature. Why? I mean, why is it so bloody hot in there? Everyone was complaining. It surely promotes the growth and transmission of bugs having it so hot, and I thought the NHS was struggling financially. Turn the flipping heating down a bit, it’ll save you a fortune on the electricity bill.

I walked home, relieved to be out of that oven of a ward and that Mum seemed fine.

She was released Monday evening and so far, touch wood, she seems to be recovering nicely. I had to work on Monday and Tuesday, but I visited her on Wednesday, and she was bright and on top form.

Before I went to my parent’s house, I messaged Mum that I could pop up town if there was anything she needed and go to the shops if there was anything that had been missed off their shopping list. I knew my brother had done a Tesco shop for them the day before, but I know what it’s like when someone else shops from a list for you, there’s always something you forgot to put on it or they didn’t pick up. I had spoken to my brother earlier and he’d told me yoghurt, and Mum added a couple more things to the list and asked if I could collect her replacement contact lenses from the optician in town. Which one? I asked. Dolland & Atchinson, she replied.

Now, I’ve lived in this town all my life and pretty much know where everything is. I ran through all the opticians in my mind and where they were. The only one I was uncertain of the name of was the optician in the Buttermarket. Concluding that must be D&A as I knew what all the others were, I put up my umbrella to cope with the torrential rain and set off for the Buttermarket.

The optician was VisionExpress, not D&A. Hmm. Where the heck was D&A then? I phoned Mum.

It’s at the top of St John’s Street, next to the Cookshop, she told me.

Hmm. Was it? I knew there was an optician there, but I thought it was Boots, not D&A. I trudged through the puddles. I reached the optician. I noticed a homeless guy had put up a little green tent in the shelter of the optician’s porch. I tried to imagine sleeping in a tent on a hard pavement in the middle of a rainstorm.

I looked at the name of the optician.

It was Boots.

I phoned Mum again.

This is Boots Optician, not D&A.

Oh, well they must have just changed the name then, she huffily told me.

I went in and asked for her lenses. To satisfy my curiosity I enquired if they had ever been called Dolland & Atchinson. Oh yes, I was told, about twelve years ago.

Well, then.

Mum also asked if I could buy her some begonias. When I said I could get them from B&Q which is next door to where I live and so easy to call into on my way out of town, she said no and insisted that I go to the little local nursery she liked to buy from which is not so convenient to call at.

I went to the little nursery. The rain had been bucketing down for two days so it was a muddy bog there. I asked for begonias. They had no begonias. Someone had been in that morning and bought the lot. I went to my parent’s house begonia-less and wishing I’d gone to flipping B&Q.

Since then, plants for a hanging basket and some pots have been added to the wish list. There is a plant market taking place in town tomorrow and Monday. As I am going to my parents again on Sunday lunchtime, I will pop to the market and see if I can get the required plants. If not, I will call at B&Q on my way there. Either way, I will find those bloody begonias somewhere.

And now it’s late Saturday afternoon. The sun has come out and the rain has all dried up. If I’m quick, I should be able to get another coat of paint on the fence and maybe even a final coat on the raised flowerbed wall, so I’m afraid I will have to cut this short.

There’s not a lot more to say, other than the book sale this week is on Fixtures & Fittings, book two of the Blackwood Family Saga. Until midnight next Friday, this will be on sale at 99p for the eBook and £6.99 for the paperback — or local currency equivalent — and the universal purchase link is below.

http://getbook.at/FixturesANDFittings

I will also be at the Laxfield Community Market on Saturday the 1^st of June and at the Leiston Community Market on Sunday the 9^th of June. If you’re around for either of those two events, why not come along and say hello?

Take care.

Julia Blake

Hello everyone from sunny Bury St Edmunds. The 1^st of May arrived, and it was as if the weather remembered what it was supposed to do. The last day of April was cold and windy. I had a friend coming for lunch the next day so I laid a fire in the dining room thinking it would be nice to have a fire going to warm the room whilst we ate. I pootled about the house Wednesday morning preparing lunch, changing my bed, and doing laundry, so didn’t notice what the weather was like outside. My friend arrived, looking very summery, and asked as it was such a nice day, why didn’t we eat lunch outside?

Nice? Was it? I went outside to see for myself. Balmy blue skies and bright sunshine greeted me. Okaaay, so much for the fire. We laid the table outside and ate out there. I’d chopped lots of fresh herbs and mixed them with salted Cornish butter, freshly crushed garlic, and lemon juice which I then assaulted a chicken with. It had it up it, in it, and around it until the chicken felt either violated or satisfied. I pushed it under the skin and smeared it all over it. I roasted the chicken on a bed of thyme and the lemon peel. Add a big tray of herby Italian roast potatoes and fresh tenderstem broccoli, asparagus, baby corn, baby carrots, and peas and it was a delicious lunch. There were tons of leftovers — enough to make five enormous roast dinner pasties for the freezer.

It was so much nicer than going to a restaurant and a lot cheaper, plus I got five more meals out of it. I am finding lately that every time I eat out I’m disappointed. It’s so expensive and not usually that great. I always seem to sit there and think “I could have done this better and cheaper at home.”

What has happened since the last time we chatted? Well, that cough still hasn’t gone. It’s as bad as ever and I now know I have whooping cough. Franki did ask me if it could be that back in March, but I dismissed the idea because I was vaccinated against it when I was a child. But it turns out that the vaccine loses its effectiveness over time and of course, the vaccine was over fifty years ago so it makes sense that it’s not going to do what it’s supposed to. So, that’s me then. Still coughing and fighting to catch my breath. There is a rise in cases in the UK with more people sick with it in the first three months of 2024 than in the whole of last year.

I’m not sure where I got it from. It’s transmissible through droplets in sneezing so I’m not contagious anymore. I don’t remember being near anyone who was ill and sneezing. The only thing I can think of is that the lady I job-share with went down with it before me, so she was at work on a Thursday and Friday sneezing and snotting and breathing all over and touching the phone, the mouse, the keyboard etc. Then I went to work on Monday and touched them all, not thinking anything about it. Keyboards and phones are crusty with germs as it is, so it makes sense. Anyway, however, I caught it I wish it would go away. I’m bored with coughing. It eases off for a day or so, and then the cough comes back with a vengeance and takes me by surprise.

The weather has continued to be gorgeous. It was even sunny on the first May Bank Holiday — which is unheard of — traditionally it pees down with rain every public holiday.

Stupidly, I have decided that the garden is going to be my next project. I want to have it lovely for when the girls come home at the end of June. I get the feeling that this summer will be the last time we are together for any length of time. They both go to Reading at the end of September to take their Masters and once their year there is completed they will be looking for jobs and accommodation. There is no reason to think they will find a job locally so I must prepare myself that Franki could be working anywhere in the country. I’d like to have the garden as nice as possible so we can try to make full use of it. Last year the weather wasn’t very nice, so it didn’t get used much. Hopefully, this year the weather will be warm and sunny.

One piece of lovely, good news about the girls. They have had the results back for their dissertations. I can’t remember if I told you they were writing them whilst they were here over Easter. I proofread them both for them. Anyway, they must have impressed whoever assessed them because they both received a first. This is wonderful news. Their dissertations make up over 20% of their marks so to get a first is a huge boost.

They finished their last exam this week so have officially finished university. Well, this university. Their accommodation is paid for until the end of June, so they are taking a few weeks to rest and relax, although Franki is still working at Sainsbury’s and trying to do some extra shifts to earn as much money as possible.

Anyway, going back to the garden, everything needs painting. And I mean everything. All the fences, of which there are a lot. The back wall, the concrete fenceposts, and the raised bed restraining wall. All the trellis — so hate painting trellis, fiddly fecking job — the two coal bunkers, the gate, shed, bench and table. It all will need painting. It’s a massive job and what with work and everything else on my plate, I don’t have much time between now and the end of June.

I have five days off in a row this week so thought I’d better make a start, what the weather being so ideal. Wednesday, I went to B&Q and bought the paint and some decent paintbrushes. I made a start on the gate, the bench, and the shed. They are all being painted in a charcoal grey which I thought would look stylish and freshen up the garden. I made a start on Wednesday afternoon.

Now, I may not particularly enjoy painting, but I am very good at it. I estimated that I’d need to do three coats for the best finish and set to it with a will. It was still early, the sun was hot, and the wood was so dry that the paint was soaking straight in. I noticed it wasn’t going on very easily, it was sort of smearing around, but it was the first coat so I figured by the second I would be getting a better, more even covering.

I left them to dry for a couple of hours then went out to put the next coat on. This was even worse. It smeared. That’s the only way I can describe it. As I was painting the brush was wiping all the paint back off. It looked terrible. I finished the second coat, not happy with the result, but decided to see how it looked in the morning when it was thoroughly dry.

The next day I inspected. It was not looking good. Thinking that maybe I should have primed things first, I then wasted the whole of Thursday going back to B&Q to buy a good quality universal wood primer which I applied carefully.

Early on Friday morning, I painted on the first coat of grey paint over the primer. It smeared about. The only way I can describe it is it’s like painting olive oil over lard. I’ve never known anything like it, and I’ve painted a lot of things in my life. I persevered and completed the first coat. Left it to dry for several hours, then painted the second coat. The gate, shed, and bench had now had two coats of paint, one of primer, and then another two coats of paint. The coverage and finish were shockingly bad. Drag marks and smears ruined the look and two thick coats of dark grey paint hadn’t covered the pale grey primer which was shining through still in places.

Saturday morning, I painted another thick coat being ultra careful not to overbrush it or drag the brush through the bit I’d just painted. It’s still not right. It’s not covering. I’m not sure if it’s the paint or some other problem. I will have to paint on a seventh layer and see if that makes a difference. This is ridiculous. The tin says two coats should be adequate, yet it’s now had six layers and looks shite. I’ve used two-thirds of a sizeable pot on these three items. I was planning on using the charcoal paint elsewhere in the garden, but now I’m thinking not. I don’t know what to do. Short of removing all the paint, sanding the items down thoroughly and starting again with different paint, there is nothing else I can do but keep going and hope that eventually, if I keep applying layers, the paint will build up and give an even coverage.

As you’ve probably gathered, all work on my new book has halted whilst the sunny weather is here. To be in with a chance of completing the work by the end of June I must be out in the garden painting every day off from work I have — so long as it’s not raining, of course. I can’t do much next week because I’m working a couple of days overtime. I needed the extra days to make up for the two Mondays I lost due to there being two Bank Holiday Mondays in May. So, weather allowing, that will mean I can only paint Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday next week. I am hoping that I can at least finish the shed, bench, and gate this weekend so can make a start on the fences next Wednesday. Of course, I will still have housework, shopping, and social media to fit in around the endless painting.

At least I don’t have any more live events in May. The next one is the Laxfield Community Market on the first Saturday in June. It will be interesting to see how well I do there this time. The two previous times I’ve been it was cold, windy, and wet. I think that must have affected footfall. Hopefully, if it’s a dry sunny day then people will be more inclined to come to the market. After that, I will be at the Leiston Summer Fayre on the second Sunday in June.

It was the Indie Author Fair in Huntingdon last Saturday and that was an incredible day. I took 29 books because it was all I could afford and fit into my stacker boxes on my trolley. There was no parking at the venue, so we had to park at the local multi-storey car park and walk to the venue. I took another author, and we had a few hairy moments on the way when my Google Maps Lady developed laryngitis or something. She went mute and refused to give me any directions. I couldn’t understand it because the volume was up, it wasn’t muted and there was no reason why she shouldn’t be talking to me. In the end, the other author had to get her phone out, find Google Maps and navigate us from there.

The event was a spectacular success. Of the 29 books I took, I sold 27, traded one copy of Eclairs for Tea for a short story collection by the lovely author on the table next to mine, and brought one copy of Lifesong home at the end of the day. I even sold four eBooks with the buyers using the QR codes I had printed out on my stall. I spoke to lots of people and handed out bookmarks. It was busy the whole day. I had to ask one of the organisers to lurk by my stall for the two minutes it took me to dash to the loo, but, other than that, I was on my feet and at my stall the whole day.

The event had been very well advertised and eagerly promoted on local radio and in the local paper. The Mayor opened the event with a nice speech — I sold a copy of Black Ice to the Lady Mayoress, which was great — and because it was a dedicated book fair, everyone who came loved books and reading.

Of course, there were a few oddballs because there always are. Like the strange young lady who told me that she only read books about the Bee Gees. As I gaped at her, trying to process this very specific hobby, she added that she also liked books about wizards, warlocks, and magic. I brightened up at this and started to tell her about Erinsmore when she interrupted me.

“No, I only like non-fiction books about real warlocks and magic.”

Okaaay, I have nothing for you then. Move along, please. But she didn’t. She stood there and talked to me for another ten minutes about some warlock who accidentally summoned a demon and then had to live with said demon for twenty years. Umm, interesting, but I have people trying to get to my stall and talk to me. They do look keen on what I’m selling, and I may even sell a few books to them, but they can’t get to me because you’re in the way and oh look, they’ve given up and gone to the next stall.

This happened a few times. There were a couple of audio narrators doing the rounds and trying to hard sell themselves to the authors. And then I had a lovely man who stopped to tell me all about the book he was writing. He took up a good twenty minutes of my time, blocked all access to my stall because he had a pushchair with him, got lots of free advice from me, and then buggered off without buying a book. Please don’t do that. Yes, we do want to talk to people but if you have no intention of buying one of our books and you can see other people trying to get to us, please don’t keep on talking and blocking access to our stall. It’s not on. Authors will be too polite to ask you to move on and most of us are genuinely nice people. If the event had been quiet with no potential buyers, then yes, we’d be more than happy to chat. But it was busy. The room was heaving with readers looking for authors to connect with and new books to buy. Move along. If you’re not going to buy the author’s book — for whatever reason — then move out of the way, don’t block their stall.

By the time I’d driven home, dropped off the other author, parked, unpacked the car, put my boxes away and changed, I was falling apart with exhaustion. I was also starving hungry and in no mood to cook. I walked to the shop and bought a bottle of wine and then bought steak and onion pie and chips. Normally, I can’t finish a whole portion of chips, but I was so famished I inhaled them. They were soooo good and just what I needed. I had one glass of wine but didn’t even finish that. I was coming down from adrenaline and a headache was spearing me through my right eye. I was in bed and asleep by nine and didn’t wake until almost ten the next day.

The next day I rested, read, and wrote. Even though it meant losing a day’s pay, I was happy that the next day was a Bank Holiday so I could have another gentle day. I needed it. The event had taken more out of me than I thought.

And now here we are. My life has settled into a pattern of painting and coughing and I’m not sure which one annoys me more. I will have a coffee and then investigate the paint and coverage situation. I have a feeling I will have to apply a coat this afternoon and then maybe another one or two coats tomorrow which is totally stupid.

Oh well, at least this evening the new season of Doctor Who begins and there’s also the madness that is the Eurovision Song Contest. The largest music event in the world, I only watch to see the incredible staging and have a laugh. The UK won’t win. Our entry isn’t bad but it’s not Sam Ryder and there’s nothing special about it.

Oh, and before I forget, this week’s sale is on Eclairs for Tea and other stories. The eBook is down to only £1.99 and there’s money off the paperback and even off the hardback. So, why not treat yourself or buy a copy of the hardback as a gift for someone? Mother’s Day in the States is soon, and this beautiful book would make a lovely gift. The universal link is on the book’s page.

And that’s it for now. Take care of yourselves and I hope wherever you are the weather is being kind to you. Oh, and if the whooping cough epidemic crops up in your country and you’re not sure if you’ve been vaccinated or if it was so long ago it’s no longer viable, then please check with your doctor. This cough is horrible, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

All the best.

Julia Blake

Hello everyone. Isn’t it amazing that we’re almost at the end of April? It’s supposed to be spring here and the days are getting longer and there are pretty flowers and blossoms out, but the weather is not great. It’s like April has an identity crisis and can’t decide whether to be spring, winter, or somewhere in between. It’s cold and wet and windy. Perhaps April is in league with the energy companies and staying bitterly cold to ensure we put the heating on. Mine goes on for an hour and a half in the morning to warm the bathroom up for showers and then goes off until five, then on until nine. That’s okay when I’m at work. When I’m not I’m layered up and trying to keep warm.

As for the lodger, well, he’s out most of the time and I have told him if he’s ever cold in the house he’s to switch the heating on. So far, he’s assured me he’s warm enough and will say if he’s ever not, so that’s good. He went away on Thursday to York for a few days, so I have switched the heating off completely and will light a fire each evening. If there’s just me in the house, then there’s no point heating it all. A nice fire in the evening in the lounge is ample. That and my electric blanket to warm the icy sheets up.

The new lodger has settled in very nicely. He’s quiet, polite, and considerate. He eats at work most days so apart from breakfast leaves no carbon footprint in the house at all. Best of all, he’s completely drama-free so far, which is such a relief after the train wreck that was my last lodger. He talks to me, like a civilised grown-up, instead of insisting all communication be by text. He quietly goes about his business and is not the type to be out drinking until the small hours then wakes me up trying to get into the house. It is all so stress-free and it’s wonderful.

I don’t think I’d realised how mentally and emotionally drained I was by the whole unpleasant situation with the last lodger. She made me feel like an intruder in my own home. She complained if I used the bathroom or cooked dinner in the kitchen. It did seem like she was renting one room in the house and use of the shared facilities but felt this entitled her to the whole house. Creeping about my home for fear of upsetting her and being almost scared to go to the loo in case she chose that exact moment to want a bath was wearing me down and I am so relieved it’s over.

What have I been doing since we last spoke? Writing, writing, and then some more writing. Once I got the girls safely back to university, I sat down the next day and began writing book seventeen. I’m almost 20,000 words in and am pleased with how it’s going. It’s going to be a sci-fi story and it’s one that’s been in my head for ages. I’m quite excited about it because I’ve been wanting to write a proper sci-fi for ages. I know Lifesong is considered sci-fi, but it’s not set in space and there are no spaceships so it’s not proper sci-fi if you know what I mean. This story is shaping up to be a cross between Dune, Star Wars, and Games of Thrones, so it’s going to be an epic space opera read.

Speaking of Lifesong, I am running a sale on it right now. The eBook is only 99p and there’s even £1.50 off the paperback. The link is on my books page. The sale lasts from today until midnight on Friday the 3^rd of May so hurry and get your copy. I will be running one sale a week on all my books in the order in which they were published. Next week there will be a sale on Becoming Lili so if you don’t yet have a copy, then mark it in your diary.

I don’t have a live event this weekend, so it’s earmarked for writing and resting. I’m still trying to shake off that nasty cough and sore throat I had the last time we spoke. It seems to go away for a day or so, then come back. They’re calling it the 100-day cough, but I hope mine doesn’t last that long. Thank heavens I’m not coughing up a lung at night anymore. It annoyed me so it must have annoyed my poor neighbour. My throat would go into spasm, and I would cough and cough and cough. I haven’t coughed this much since I had Covid back in November 2021.

My next live event will be the Indie Author Fair in Huntingdon on Saturday the 4^th of May. It looks set to be an amazing day, so if you’re in the area why not call in and say hello? It would be lovely to see you.

This year is all about trying out lots of different events and seeing which ones are worth doing and which are not worth the time and money. Sometimes, it can feel like I’m doing one live event merely to make enough money to pay for the next. But it is all about getting my books out there and getting my name known to as many readers as possible. The books for Huntingdon were delivered last week so I’m good to go.

The house does seem quiet and empty without the girls, but it’s not long until they are home again for the summer and then we’ll have three whole months to get heartily sick of the sight of each other. While they were home, I don’t think the cat knew quite what to do with herself she got so much fuss and attention. We had a few issues with her getting up on the oven but then had a couple of nights when she slept on the sofa in the dining room, so I hoped she had settled down now that the upsetting presence of the previous lodger and all the tension she had caused were removed.

The girls went back to university on Wednesday. Thursday and Friday nights were fine. There was fluff and dirt on the oven, but not much and it was easily wiped off. I came down on Saturday morning though to find the cat had had some kind of rave on the white porcelain draining board and in the sink. It had rained overnight and there was mud EVERYWHERE. Paw prints and smears of mud, together with black fur and smears of blood where she had scratched herself and then rolled. It was disgusting and took ages to clean up.

I never catch her doing it, you see. I never catch her up on the surfaces, on the oven or in the sink, so I can’t shoo her down or try to discourage her.

At my wit’s end, I even talked about it on an Instagram post and a friend suggested that I smear Vicks Vaporub on the places I didn’t want the cat to go. I wasn’t sure about that — the cat seemed pretty determined — but I was desperate to try anything, so, when I went shopping later that day, I picked up a jar of Vicks and that night before I went to bed, I smeared it liberally over the draining board, the sink, and even on the oven. It smelled horrible and it wasn’t very nice having a white greasy smear everywhere.

Still, when I came down on Sunday morning, apart from a few tufts of black fur on the edges, everywhere was clean and she was asleep on the rocking chair in the dining room. I pointed it out to the lodger, and he said she had been there when he got up. Then he mentioned how every time he sits down in the chair to have a cup of tea, she gets up onto his lap for a cuddle and a nap.

I left the Vicks in place for a couple more days. She continued to sleep in the dining room. No fresh fluff or paw prints appeared, and I dared to hope that we’d cracked it. On Wednesday I cleaned all the rub off and bleached. On Thursday I went downstairs wondering if once the smelly barrier was removed, she had taken the opportunity to get back up there. But no, everywhere was sparkling clean and she was fast asleep in the rocking chair. It looks like her antisocial sleeping behaviour has been cured.

Maybe, who knows, all she needed was someone to sit in the chair and make a fuss of her. Or perhaps the stinky Vicks offended her nose so much that she now avoids the kitchen altogether. Whatever the reason, I am happy she is settled once more into her old sleeping spot, and I am no longer having to bleach down the kitchen several times a day.

She seems more settled as well. Since the last lodger moved out, she has become friendlier and is spending more time in the house. Always up for cuddles and love, if I sit down, she’s in my lap and gets quite offended if I move too soon. It’s nice to have my sweet and well-behaved cat back, although, I could quite cheerfully have turned her into a pair of gloves yesterday!

I was sitting in the lounge drinking my early morning tea and the cat was sitting in a patch of sunlight going about her morning ablutions. Suddenly, she started heaving in the way that strikes terror in the heart of any cat owner. Dumping down my tea, I leapt to my feet, quickly opened the front door, and pushed her towards it. She was almost out when she turned, and, as quick as lightning, shot between my legs and up the stairs. I charged after her crying out “Down, get down, you fecking manky animal.” She ran back downstairs and upchucked all over the final three steps, in the hall, and halfway across the new dining room carpet, before legging it at speed out the cat flap.

Now, cat puke is not something you can leave. You can’t think to yourself — hmm, the cat’s puked, I’ll deal with that later — it is something that must be dealt with there and then. So, I had to find the tin of carpet cleaner, scrape it up and try to clean the stains off before they set, the whole time muttering dire threats against the cat. To add insult to injury, when I finally got back to my cup of tea, it was cold.

Remind me again why we have pets.

To be brutally honest, when this cat goes, I will not be replacing her. I’ve had cats most of my adult life and the time was when I couldn’t imagine my home with a kitty in it. But lately, the sheer expense and fuss of having an animal is beginning to be a bit much. I worked out that I must work one whole day a month to afford the average expense of having a cat. I only work part-time so you can imagine how expensive it is. Adding up the cost of pet insurance, vet bills not covered by the insurance (of which there are many), food, flea, and worm treatment, it’s more than I can afford. Of course, I wouldn’t get rid of her — for a start, my daughter would never forgive me — but when she goes, then I have decided that will be enough.

Life is so expensive now and I don’t think it’s going to get any cheaper. I had to pay a visit to the hygienist and the dentist on Wednesday. My appointment was at 2pm. I was walking home by 2.30pm having parted with a whole day’s wages. Think about that. It’s obscene. A full day of work — and I work long days — just to be able to pay for someone to scrape the plaque off my teeth and spend two minutes peering into my mouth and saying that my teeth are fine.

I used to visit the hygienist regularly, but when I became a single parent and had to make tough choices as to what expenses were necessary or not, having someone scrape my teeth twice a year wasn’t as important as paying for food and clothing for my daughter. The only reason I have started going again is because my dentist put the fear of God into me and said that if I didn’t start seeing the hygienist, my teeth would all fall out. And that really would be expensive.

There isn’t much more to tell you. I’ve had a haircut, more expense, and spent time finding a storage unit locally for all the girls’ belongings to go into over the summer. They have a lot of stuff. I mean, seriously, a lot of stuff. There is nowhere to store it at home, it’s going to be crowded enough as it is having both here all summer, plus me, plus the lodger. That’s four adults in a not-so-large Victorian terraced house with only one bathroom. Certainly, there is nowhere to store a van full of boxes. Being a terraced town house I don’t have a garage. I only have a tiny sentry shed that is full, and there is no access to the loft space. So, it will have to be a storage unit. I phoned around and I think I’ve found a good one on the other side of town. It’s going to cost £240 for the whole summer, but that does include full insurance and VAT and we have no other choice. It will sit there until they go up to Reading University in September. I suppose at least they won’t have to buy anything for their new flat on the campus, they already have everything they could possibly need including a slow cooker, an air fryer, a blender, and a rice cooker.

Being so close, if they find during the summer that there is something they need at least it’s only up the road so can be retrieved. As well, I’m thinking that towards the end of the summer, we will get all their bedding out of storage — including the duvet, pillows, and topper — and take them to the local launderette to launder and then repack them. They will be all fresh and ready for them to take then.

The only thing not going into storage is their mattress. It’s a four-foot wide one so won’t fit the bed in the flat which is a double so is four foot six inches wide. The mattress is going to come here, and we will try and sell it. If you or anyone you know, would like to buy a two-year-old pocket sprung and memory foam small double mattress, please let me know. It has always had a thick mattress topper protector on it so is clean and in very good condition. I’m guessing we’ll want about £50 for it and we’ll even include the topper. It will be available from the 28^th of June onwards.

It’s now almost four o’clock on Saturday. It’s getting very cold so I have given in and lit the fire a little earlier than I normally would. My hands were so cold I could barely type, my nose was running, and the chill was making me cough.

It’s an eating day so there’s a nice dinner planned with a glass, or two, of wine. The diet is still going well if slowly. I put two pounds on when the girls were home but thankfully lost that last week. It’s very slow going, but I keep plodding away. I only have a little more to lose before I reach my target weight. Maybe by the summer then I can buy new summer clothing.

Sorry, this is such a short and rather boring blog but it has been a rather noneventful couple of weeks. Anyway, take care, and we will chat again soon.

Julia Blake

Apologies that this blog was published a little later than usual. It has been so madly busy around here that I didn’t have time to finish writing it and am finishing it early Sunday morning. So, hello everyone, it feels like ages since we last chatted and so much has happened.

Firstly, the journey to collect the girls from university, how did that go? When I arranged things with Franki, she assumed I would collect them mid-morning. No, I said, I want to avoid rush hour traffic, I will be there by eight. No, you won’t, they retorted. That would mean being on the road by five and I can’t see you doing that.

Reader, guess what, I was on the fecking road by five. I got everything ready the day before, was up at 4.30 for a quick pee, a gulp of tea and a blueberry breakfast bar, and then I hit the road. It was just me and the lorry drivers at that hour in the morning. They all sat in the inside lane, and I bombed past them. It was a wonderful, clear run and I was pulling up outside the girl’s university accommodation at a couple of minutes past eight. I phoned them. I’m here, I announced. There was a disbelieving silence, then — bugger, umm, okay, we just have to put our shoes on — hmm, methinks they didn’t believe I’d actually arrive this early.

Anyway, they let me in so I could pee and help them pack up food items they were bringing back to use during their stay. Twenty-five minutes later we were on the road and heading south. I wanted to get the fiddly bits of the A500 behind us and be on the M6 before stopping for coffee and breakfast, so we pulled over at Keeles Welcome Break Services at about nine. After a much-needed coffee, and bacon and sausage bap, we climbed back into the car and off we went. By now, it was nine-thirty and as we headed south on the M6 we drove past a twenty-mile tailback of traffic stationary on the M6 heading north.

Just think, I said, gesturing at the bumper-to-bumper traffic jam. If I was going to pick you up at ten as you wanted, I’d be sitting in that lot.

As it was, I’d timed the journey perfectly and we reached home at midday. By now, I was stiff from sitting behind the wheel for six hours and desperately needed to move about. I had a cup of tea while they unpacked and settled in and then we went for a walk about town. There were a couple of things they wanted to pick up and I needed to get keys cut for them for the new lock. It was a chilly day and spitting with rain, but it was good to be walking and out in the fresh air. I treated us all to hot chocolate in the Abbey Gardens and then we wandered home for dinner. I had a lasagne all prepared and ready to slide in the oven, with peas and garlic bread, and Ben & Jerry’s ice cream for afters.

It was Good Friday the next day so we rested and to be honest, I can’t remember what we did. I know I must have prepared for the Stonham Barns Easter Craft Fair because I was going to be up and off early on Saturday morning. The weather wasn’t great again. It was bitterly cold with a nasty spitting rain that I think kept some people away. We were in the big barn right at the end of the showground and there was inadequate signage letting people know we were there. There was live music with a young lad singing popular songs. Don’t get me wrong, he was very good, but he was also very loud. People struggled to hear what we traders were saying. Sometimes they gave up and simply walked away. Footfall was low. A fellow author spoke to one of the organisers and pointed out that without signs no one realised there was trading in the barn, and they agreed to have signs up for the next day.

The weather the next day was even worse. It was bitterly cold and pouring with rain. Typical British Easter weather. A few of the traders who had been there on Saturday failed to arrive on Sunday and I can’t say I blame them. I had noticed that they didn’t seem to sell anything. I did sell a few books though. By the time I added it all up at the end of the weekend, I had sold enough books to just about cover my expenses with a small profit and I guess it’s all about exposure and getting my name and my books out there. Plus, it was the first time this craft fair had been held. I think lessons could be learnt from the experience. If I do the event next year, I think being in the marquee would potentially be more beneficial. It’s the first thing the public comes to after leaving the car park, instead of being at the end of a long muddy field when people are tired, and all shopped out.

But then this year was all about trying every event we could and seeing what sticks.

Monday was a bank holiday, so I was able to rest and spend some time with the girls. They had been busy the whole weekend I was at the craft fair. Their dissertations for their bachelor’s had to be submitted on Wednesday, so they were finishing them off. I did what I could to help on Monday and spent three hours proofreading them to check spelling, grammar, and punctuation.

It was weird going back to work for only one day on Tuesday and I kept thinking that it was Monday. I was very tired though and it was a relief to go home at six knowing that I had the next five days off.

Wednesday dawned clear and sunny, which was a nice change from the wet, cold, windy days we had been experiencing. Desperate for fresh air and exercise, we piled into the car and drove to West Stow Country Park. Only a few miles from town, it’s a site of archaeological importance as the remains of an Anglo-Saxon village were discovered there in the seventies. I remember going there on a school field trip in 1977 and still have photos of the few houses they had reconstructed.

We have visited periodically over the years and when Franki was young it was a popular destination because of the rather awesome play area for children. Set in thick sand, there are climbing frames, swings and slides and other fun things to do. There’s a café with a large wooden balcony to sit on that always sells very nice cakes. There’s a long walk along the river and lake. They hold fun activity days such as archery, Anglo-Saxon re-enactment days, and a Lord of the Rings Quest Day. The reconstructed village itself is always being added to as more houses are discovered.

We had a great walk and went bug hunting. There was much excitement when an unusual species of ant was discovered. Before coming home, we sat at a table in the sunshine and had coffee and snacks.

Wednesday is also market day in Bury St Edmunds so when we got home, we went for a long wander about town and did some charity and vintage shop rummaging. Interesting books and unique rings were bought. All in all, we must have walked miles, and we weren’t finished yet. We were meeting friends at a local pub for dinner and to take part in the quiz they hold every Wednesday evening. I’ve done the quiz before and know how hard it is. Now, I’ve done a lot of pub quizzes in my time and usually, I’m pretty good at them but this quiz is weird. I can’t explain what it is, but the questions are not split into general knowledge or sport or literature categories, they are all random and mixed up and I am rubbish at them. I very much relied on the skills of my teammates, but we still came third, despite me not being much help.

After all that walking on Wednesday, we were exhausted the next day so didn’t do too much, or that much the next, to be honest. It was nice spending time together as I haven’t seen them since Christmas. On Friday, I prepared for another market the next day and went to meet my fellow local authors for a drink in the afternoon.

Saturday morning, I was up and off early to the Laxfield Community Market. Again, it was a slow start book sale wise and I’m still undecided whether these markets are worth the hour-long drive each way. Yes, the pitch fee is low, and I did sell eight books which was enough to cover my costs, but it is a long way and quite a bit of wear and tear on the car as the roads are terrible with gaping potholes along the edges. Remember, it was a pothole that did my car in and was the reason it failed its MOT last month.

On Sunday we were meeting the rest of the family for lunch to celebrate my parent’s 60^th wedding anniversary. The plan was that I would drive out to the village where my parents and my brother and his partner live, pick them up so everyone could relax and have a drink, and then they would all share a taxi home.

I jumped in my car at 11.30. Turned the key. The car started but I noticed that the radio didn’t come on. I tried to drive to the end of my road. It was like trying to drive a tank. The steering wheel was cumbersome, and it was a struggle to turn it. I indicated to turn onto the main road. The indicator didn’t work. Every single error light was lit up on the dashboard — including some I never knew existed. By now, I was horribly aware that something was very wrong indeed. There was no way I could drive the car the way it was. I turned into the large car park of the retirement flats behind my road. Luckily, it was empty as I fought with the heavy steering wheel and did about a fifteen-point turn. I thought the power-assisted steering must be broken. I managed to get back onto my road and into a parking space at the end of the row of parked cars, thinking that parallel parking was probably beyond my capabilities. I noticed that the speedometer wasn’t working either. I tested the lights, wipers, and washers. Nope, nope, and nope. Bugger! I needed this like I needed a hole in the head. Having just paid out to get the car through its MOT I did not need yet more expense.

I phoned my parents to let them know what had happened. Don’t worry, said my mum, I’ll drive us in. She did. We went for lunch then afterwards sat in the garden with a cheeseboard and wine. It was windy but not too bad under shelter. The whole time I was worrying about the car. I had zero pennies to pay for major repairs and if I had to buy a new car … well, that wasn’t going to happen … and then how was I going to attend all the events I was booked in for? More importantly, how was I going to get the girls back to uni the following week?

Various theories were floated across the table as to what might be wrong with the car including the alternator, electrics, and a computer chip … they all sounded expensive, so I silently fretted. It was Sunday, so I couldn’t even phone my mechanic.

Monday morning, at work, as soon as I knew my garage would be open, I called them. Drop it off when you can, they told me, and we’ll try to look at it. We are busy right now though, so it might take a few days. To add to my misery, I’d gone down with the sore throat and bad cough lurgy that was doing the rounds and was feeling rough. Leaving work at six, the last thing I felt like doing was trying to drive a car with no power-assisted steering or speedometer across town and then walking home. Briefly, I wondered about trying to do it in the morning. But I must be at work by 8.30 and there wouldn’t be time. I needed to get it to the garage ASAP. I had no choice, I had to do it. I was dreading trying to drive the damn thing. The worst part was trying to turn it around in my road, it was like trying to turn a dumpster. My arms were aching by the time I made it onto the main road. Given the time of day, there wasn’t too much traffic about and once the car got going, I found taking corners a lot easier than I thought it was going to be. Still, I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I made it to the garage in one piece and without annoying anyone with my lack of signalling and clumsy turning. There was a nice big space for me to drive straight into, so I did. I dumped the keys in the overnight key box and walked home.

As they had said they’d be too busy to look at the car straight away, I was alarmed to see a missed call and a voicemail from the garage mid-morning on Tuesday. I listened to the message.

Hi Julia, your car is fixed and ready to be collected.

Wait. What?

I phoned them back.

It was a fuse, they told me. A fuse had blown so we’ve replaced it and now everything is fine.

I couldn’t believe it. A blown fuse had caused all that car catastrophe. But I took the win and told them I’d collect the car on Wednesday.

By now, the tickly cough and mildly sore throat had changed into a hacking and persistent cough which annoyed everyone, including me, and every time I swallowed it felt like I had razorblades in my throat. After two long days at work, I dragged myself home Tuesday evening to find the girls busy making us all homemade Chinese for dinner. There was wine in the fridge and a beautiful bunch of flowers in a vase for me. They knew I wasn’t well and that I was worried about the car, so had decided to pamper me. Of course, once I told them the good news about the car it turned into a celebration. We watched one of my favourite films, Sense and Sensibility (the Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman version) and all had early nights.

Wednesday, I walked across town to collect the car. I need to apply for a passport. Not because I’m going abroad for a holiday — the chance would be a fine thing — but because I need it to prove I am a UK citizen. Being born here, paying National Insurance and tax for forty years, and owning property is apparently not enough. My new job means I subcontract to the company so must register for a tax code and will need to do a tax return. When I tried to apply, I needed two forms of ID, but I only had one, my driving licence, and it was going to be impossible for me to get any of the other accepted forms of ID, so I had to bear the expense of having a passport photo taken and paying for a passport which I don’t need. I called into a photography shop that is registered to take passport photos and had one done. I looked at it and cringed. I looked exhausted and ill in it, probably because I was. Oh well, no one is ever going to see it.

I originally had a grocery collection slot of 10am but when it looked like I would not have a car I changed it to a home delivery slot of 5pm. Wednesday is the day I always strip beds and do laundry, but I’d noticed when I put the first load in that morning that I was running low on laundry tabs so bought a box on my walk across town to collect the car as I’d forgotten to put them on the list.

The relief when I got into the car, turned the key, and everything in the car worked, was indescribable. I drove home. It was like driving a cloud compared to driving it there. I’d never realised what a difference power-assisted steering made.

Wednesday night my cough peaked. The back of my throat kept going into spasms and I would cough and cough and cough until I imagined my next-door neighbour was sick to death of me. I was sick to death of me as well and it was a very tired and bleary-eyed Julia who staggered downstairs the next morning.

Incapable of doing much, I went for a brief walk with the girls to a patch of natural woodland behind the college in town. They wanted to search for bugs, and I just needed the fresh air and gentle exercise. It was a lovely day, mild and sunny. The woodland was carpeted with beautiful spring flowers and the trees were pretty. After an hour though, I was spent and needed to go home to rest until dinner.

I don’t usually work on a Friday, but my co-worker was on holiday, so I was covering for her. It was a very long day. Still not well, I struggled to keep going and was very pleased to go home, heat a bowl of soup for myself and then flake out on the sofa. The girls had gone out for dinner, so I had the place to myself and read quietly with the latest David Attenborough documentary on the TV until they came home.

Yesterday, Saturday, I struggled to get going. Although I had ordered the repeat prescription of my thyroid medication in plenty of time, I didn’t get the text telling me it was ready for collection until Friday evening, so I hadn’t taken any since Thursday morning and I was beginning to really feel it now. Without the medication, I experience chronic fatigue, joint pain, headaches, sleep issues and vagueness. I tried to write as much of this blog as I could, but there was housework to do, a book review to write, and a potato gratin to make ready for dinner.

By late afternoon, I was shaky on my feet, but we all walked down to the pharmacy to collect my meds. It was closed. The times on the door and the website both claimed it would re-open at five, it was now just gone four, so we went to visit Franki’s grandmother who is in a care home a five-minute walk away. We walked back to the pharmacy at five. It was still closed. We waited and waited. No sign of it opening. We were calling into a fellow author’s book launch party at a local pub and didn’t want to be late so had to leave without my medication. I hope they’re open sometime today so I can drive around and get my meds. It’s so annoying. If you’re not going to be open at the times the website and your opening times door poster state, then stick a note on the door saying when you will be open, so people know if it’s worth waiting.

As Saturday was our last evening together with no work the next day, we had a lovely big dinner with posh ice cream for dessert, all washed down with a bottle of pink prosecco. I can’t believe how quickly the holiday has flown by. We had so much planned to do, but between me having to work, the three days of events I was already booked to do, and my illness, we haven’t done as much as we planned.

And now it’s Sunday. Our last day together as I must work on Monday and Tuesday and then I’m driving them back to university. Not looking forward to that journey. The journey up won’t be so bad because they will be with me, but I don’t like driving long distances alone so will be pleased when I get home safely.

I will miss them when they’re gone, but I am looking forward to the peace of an empty house so I can start writing my next book. Oh, and in case you’re wondering, yes, the lodger has now fully moved in but he’s out a lot and is so quiet when he is here that we barely know there is anyone else living in the house. The perfect lodger, in other words.

Anyway, this is now a simply mahoosive blog and it’s almost nine so I need to get it published and distributed to you, otherwise you might think there is no blog this week and go off and read something else.

Take care of yourself and I look forward to chatting with you next time.

Julia Blake

Good morning, everyone. I am writing this on Thursday because I will be away at the Gt Yarmouth Sci-Fi and Fantasy Weekender for two long days on Friday and Saturday, and then, as if that wasn’t enough, I will be at the Leiston Community Market all day Sunday. Yep, the event year has begun with a bang. As you will remember, last time we spoke I was off to do the Laxfield Community Market for the first time on the first Saturday in March.

So, how did it go? Well, the weather was against us for a start. It was cold. I mean, bitterly cold, with a nasty sharp wind blowing in from what felt like Siberia. I found the venue okay, even though Satnav took me to the back of beyond and through villages that looked like time had stopped still. I’m sure at one point I heard banjos. Anyway, I got there, and, despite the dire warnings by the organisers, I managed to find a parking space right outside the church.

Two kind men helped me carry all my things inside and guided me to my pitch. The stall had been created by laying a board across two pew ends. Points for creative thinking, but it was a little awkward because I had an ornate wooden pew end bisecting the front of the middle of my stall. I had to work around it, but I think I managed okay. I also couldn’t stand behind my stall — well, not unless I did a limbo underneath it or straddled one of the pews — neither option being attractive, I settled for lurking to one side.

It was cold. Oh, my, was it cold! A 14th-century church is not the warmest place at the best of times. Factor in no heating, the doors being wide open, and that gale-force wind I talked about whipping through, it was so cold that I lost all feeling in my feet and hands, and my nose was so cold it wouldn’t stop running. Not a good look.

It was a little sluggish to begin with. Regular traders assured me that the dreadful weather had impacted footfall. I felt sorry for the stallholders outside the church. It must have been perishing out there, and that wind was threatening to blow them away. The stallholder next to me complained a bit and requested that the heating be switched on. She was ever so politely told no. I could understand the reasoning. The doors had to be left open to encourage people to come in and quite honestly, given the size of the church and the height of the ceiling, the heating would have to have been on for hours before we got there to make any impact at all. The Market is run to raise funds for the church, having the heating on full blast with the ruinous cost of electricity nowadays, would eat up any profit so the church would probably end up out of pocket.

I spoke to a lot of people and handed out quite a few cards, so you never know. One elderly chap did make me laugh though. I saw him work his way up the opposite side of the aisle, spend time looking at the stalls at the top, and then work his way down my side. He stopped by my stall and looked at my books. He clearly wanted to say something, so I smiled encouragingly.

HIM: I’m not a pervert, you know.

ME: Umm, okay. Good to know.

HIM: But I can always tell when a woman is in the family way.

ME: (Looking down wildly at my stomach) Umm. Right?

HIM: They always touch their stomach.

ME: (Quickly removing my hand from my stomach). Okay.

HIM: I sometimes know even before they do.

He then proceeded to tell me a long rambling tale about a lady who served him in the bank many years ago. He told her she was pregnant, and she didn’t even know herself. By this time, I’d pegged him as lonely, desperate to talk to someone, possibly slightly deranged.

HIM: It reminded me when I saw the cover of the book back there.

He gestured vaguely towards the back of the church and the penny dropped. A fellow author who had a stall there has a silhouette of a pregnant woman on one of her book’s covers. It had triggered a memory in him which had fermented in his brain until he reached my stall of books when it burst forth.

The market ran from 10am to 12.30pm, but by midday, the others were beginning to pack up. I sold eight books, which is not bad, and was certainly enough to cover my expenses and time. I am booked to do another one on the 6^th of April, so, if you’re passing, why not call in and say hi? Hopefully, it will be a warmer day.

Last week was a week of little wins and freebies. It started when a patient unexpectedly gave me a voucher to have my nails filed and painted at a local beauty salon, which was a lovely surprise. I hadn’t done anything to warrant it, other than compliment her on her nails. I went to the salon on my way home for lunch and booked an appointment for Friday morning. I was going to friends for dinner so thought it would be nice to have my nails done beforehand.

On Wednesday, I set out on a mission to find some new clothes. The diet has gone so well that I’ve lost two stone (28lbs for my American friends) and have dropped a dress size. Whilst I didn’t want to spend a lot of money on clothes which would hopefully soon be too big for me, I did need a few interim bits to see me through. I needed a pair of black work trousers as mine were bagging off my hips. I walked into the first charity shop and looked at the trouser rack. The first pair I picked up were classic, black, tailored Marks & Spencer trousers — still with the tags on stating that they originally cost £25 — I got them for £8. I also got a pair of DKNY jeans for £4.50 and a pair of blue canvas trousers for £3. The next charity shop yielded a beautiful black roll-neck sweater and a good quality charcoal grey long-sleeved t-shirt.

I needed flat black boots. As I’ve mentioned before, I have problems with my ankles giving way so have reluctantly decided heels of any kind are a no-no. I did look around the charity shops but as my needs were so specific, I wasn’t hopeful of success. I went to the shoe shop. They had a sale on, and I picked up a pair of long black biker-style boots with barely-there heels and solid ankle supports. It was the last pair like that I could see, my size, in the sale for £25 down from £70. Fitted a treat and were instantly comfortable. I walked about the shop and felt very safe in them, so I bought them.

I needed more foundation as I was squeezing the dregs from my current tube. I never used to buy expensive foundation but, as I’ve aged, my skin’s needs have become more demanding, and I found the cheaper stuff wasn’t going on very well or doing its job of covering and concealing. I spoke to the lady on the Estee Laude stand two years ago who gave me a free sample to try. It was a game-changer for me. Yes, at almost £50 a tube it’s a lot of money. But the tube lasts me a year because the coverage is astonishing, so it works out more economical than buying lots of the cheaper products. I called into Boots the Chemist and to my joy, not only was it down in the sale to £40 but I got a free tube of foaming cleanser with it. Bargain.

I toddled off to Waitrose to pick up a few bits and pieces. My energy company were giving me free electricity between 1-3.30pm and I planned to cook a lot of meals for the freezer. Whilst in Waitrose, I got a free coffee. I love that they do that and always make sure I take my thermal mug with me to use.

After a very successful cooking session, I ended up with two lasagnas, two portions of spaghetti bolognaise, two portions of chilli, three portions of cauliflower cheese, eight portions of braised red cabbage, two boxes of part-cooked roast potatoes, and eight jacket potatoes. Lots of yummy food that just needs to be reheated or finished cooking.

Friday morning, I had a long lazy shower and styled my hair, then went to have my nails done. In the afternoon, it was the Zoom meeting with my local author group which finished at 5.30pm. That left just enough time to change and freshen my make-up before I was collected to go to dinner.

The lovely Becky Wright who makes my covers, and promo images and checks my formatting had sent through the covers and formatted paperback version of Hide & Seek. I spent most of the day on Saturday uploading it to Amazon, ordering a proof copy, and placing the eBook on pre-order for a publication date of the 27^th of March. I also listed the book on Goodreads and prepared the page for the website. It is amazing how much needs to be done before a book is published. Anyway, Hide & Seek is now available to pre-order from Amazon at a special sale price of only £1.99 or local currency equivalent. I will put the universal link below which should work if I manage to figure out the tech correctly. If you prefer a paperback, then that will be out probably a week before the eBook.

https://mybook.to/HideANDSeek

As a bonus for my readers, Lost & Found — book one of the Blackwood Family Saga — is on sale for only 99p or local currency equivalent until launch day. The other books in the series are all also on sale for only £1.99. Again, all prices will return to normal on the 27^th of March.

http://mybook.to/LostANDFound

http://getbook.at/FixturesANDFittings

http://getbook.at/SugarANDSpice

http://getbook.at/KissandTell

http://getbook.at/PitchandPace

After my lovely week of little wins, freebies, and smooth-sailing book dealings, I hoped life had finally settled down. But this week has not been so kind. It started on Monday when I couldn’t find one of my gloves. I know in the grand scheme of things, losing a glove is not a big deal, but I’ve had them for almost twenty years. They are lovely soft leather gloves in an off-black, sludgy green colour. Over the years, the leather has softened and moulded itself to my hands, so they fit me like a … well, like a glove.

It’s so annoying. I can’t think where I could have lost them. The last time I remember wearing them was when I walked home after dinner late last Friday evening. Since then, the only places I have been to are Waitrose and work. I know they’re not at work. I’ve searched home, my handbag, coat pockets and behind the shoe rack. It’s not here. I’ve even gone to Waitrose, and we searched the lost property box. Plenty of gloves, none of them mine. Bit bummed out about this. Like I said, I’ve had the gloves for a very long time, and I liked them. Oh well. There is not a lot I can do about it, other than buy a new pair.

Last week, I noticed a slight trace of water around the base of the sink vanity unit in the bathroom. I mopped it up, assuming I’d been a bit overzealous when washing my hands or something. A few days later, the water was back. I mopped it up again. A day later it was back. Now I began to wonder and keep an eye on it. Yep, there was water seeping from under the unit. I took everything out and tried to look. It’s a fixed unit with a solid bottom shelf which I couldn’t remove to get to the pipes underneath. The leak — if that’s what it is — got worse. Even more worrying, the water had a brown tinge to it. When I wipe it up, the cloth is stained brown. Where is it coming from? Why is it brown?

I made a video of the leak and sent it to my plumber on WhatsApp. I could see he had read it when two ticks appeared beside it. Three days later, he hadn’t responded. The leak was getting worse. Now there was water permanently oozing from under the cabinet. I was worried about it rotting the wood of the cabinet. I tried to see if using the sink made it worse. It didn’t seem to. Then I worried it was water from the toilet system. Which was even more worrying. I made another video showing how bad it had got. Sent it to my plumber. Again, he watched the video but still hasn’t responded. Not even a “Oh dear, sucks to be you, I’m sorry, I’m too busy, find someone else”.

It’s rude and annoying. Okay, I get how busy plumbers are, but a simple text takes seconds to send. At least he could let me know that he is too busy to bother and then I could attempt to find another plumber. God knows where though. Plumbers are rarer than unicorns. I’ve mopped it up again today and washed the floor. I’m out at events for the next three days and then at work for two, so I’m hoping it doesn’t get any worse before next Wednesday because I’m not going to be here to do anything about it. I will need to try and get something done before the next lodger moves in because it doesn’t look very good, having brown water seeping out from under the sink.

And that leads me to the new lodger. He has paid his deposit and the first month’s rent, but because he still had two weeks left on his current lodgings and was going away for a few days, he has delayed moving in until next week, when he will move in gradually. I have a good feeling about this one and it will be nice sharing my home with a grown-up again.

Then late Monday evening, I had a video call from Franki. She and Rys are coming to stay for Easter and were supposed to travel down by train on the 28^th of March, returning on the 13^th of April. We were aware that train prices were increasing slightly by 4.9% but as it cost £100 to get them both home to Suffolk for Christmas and then back to university, by my reckoning, a rise of almost 5% would only add £5 to the cost. Wrong. They tried to buy their tickets and found that the cheapest return fares would be £300 — and that was with student rail cards.

WTF!!

Now, I was never very good at maths at school, but going from £100 to £300 is not a rise of 5% it’s more like 200%. How can they justify such a hike in prices? I Googled it and read an article where the train companies were stating that an increase was necessary to meet rising costs — yeah, probably increased wages for the drivers. In the same article, it stated that the Government was keen to get people off the roads and onto public transport. I’m sorry. How does a ticket price increase of 200% achieve that?!

Franki and Rys are both students living on student finance and the little amount Franki earns from her part-time job at Sainsbury. There is no way they can afford to pay that — I can’t afford to pay it either and, even if I could, I wouldn’t. This is appalling. It’s once again holding the poorest members of the community to ransom. Students and people who can’t afford cars are the ones this will have the hardest impact on.

It has left me with no other option but to drive up there myself on the 28^th and collect them. A round trip of almost eight hours — so much for getting people off the roads — and another round trip of eight hours to take them back on the 17^th of April. They are staying a few days longer than originally planned.

I don’t want to do this, but what other choice do I have? We need to get them home and with the train out of the question it only leaves the bus, hitching a lift, or me going to pick them up. The bus is not an option. Too long and complicated a journey which would involve them being dumped on the wrong side of London and a two-hour journey by tube to get to the right side and then another train journey to Suffolk. Hitching, obviously, nope. Not going to happen. So, that leaves me driving up there to collect them.

My car is going for its MOT next Tuesday so I will ask my mechanic to check my oil, water, windscreen wash, and tyre pressure whilst it’s in. At least I will know the car is okay to drive all that way. Fingers crossed that nothing major needs to be done to the car and that the final bill isn’t too eye-wateringly high.

I can’t wait until they go to Reading University. At least that is only a couple of hours away and has much better public transport connections.

It will be lovely to have them home though. They’re here for almost three weeks over the Easter break. We have a lot planned, including a big family lunch at a local restaurant to celebrate my parent’s 60^th wedding anniversary. Sixty years with the same person. That’s three life sentences.

I’m doing two live events during that time. The Stonham Barns Craft Market on the 30^th of March and then the Laxfield Community Market on the 6^th of April. If you’re going to either of those events, again, come and say hello.

Right. I think that is all my news and I need to go and get everything sorted for a very early start tomorrow. We must be there by 9am for a 10am opening and it’s a good hour and thirty-minute drive, depending on traffic. As I took all my contemporary books to the last event and Gt Yarmouth is a sci-fi and fantasy event, I need to swap all my books over and make sure I have all the right bookmarks and promo material.

Take care, my friends, I will let you know how things go next time we chat.

Regards

Julia Blake

Hello everyone. Today I want to ask what you think about morals and doing the right thing. And now, I haven’t been born again, I’m just curious. Yesterday, I needed a couple of things from the shop so walked up my road and into the car park at the top — Waitrose is only a hop, skip, and jump from my house so it’s my go-to place if I only need a few items. Anyway, a neighbour was walking in the same direction, and we were exchanging small talk when we saw a car reverse at speed out of a space that wasn’t a car parking space and ram into a car parked in a disabled space opposite.

Shocked, we expected him to stop. But it quickly became apparent that the driver had no intention of stopping. We shouted. Lots of other people crossing the car park shouted and waved him down. The car stopped, and the driver got out. All tattooed and angry-looking six-foot-plus of him. He swore at us that he had had every intention of stopping, so we hadn’t had to yell at him to do so. Hmm. Really? I think not.

He then stalked over to the car he had hit and looked at it. Declaring angrily that he hadn’t done any damage at all, so there was no point leaving a note, he turned to go back to his car. An equally tattooed and angry-looking woman also got out of the car and added her two-pence worth at the top of her voice. My neighbour and I looked at the car he’d hit. Several long scrapes were in the shiny new-looking paintwork. We pointed them out to him.

Whilst this was going on, I took out my phone and photographed the registration plate on Mr Shouty’s car.

Yelling that it was none of our business and that he would leave a note, he stalked back to his car, got in, revved up, and drove away at speed.

Okaaay, so that was him driving away from someone’s very nice new car that he’d just hit without leaving his details. Also, bear in mind, that the car was in a disabled space meaning that either the driver or the person they were driving was disabled.

Everyone who witnessed the incident congregated to discuss it in outraged tones. A piece of paper was found. I was the only one who had witnessed the whole thing (my neighbour had disappeared at this point) and had the presence of mind to take a photo of the car, so I wrote on the paper what had happened and left my number. It was raining heavily, so someone found a plastic bag from somewhere to put the note in. It was left under the windscreen wiper, and we all went our separate ways.

So far, the owner of the damaged car hasn’t called, so maybe the damage was only superficial, and they have decided not to pursue the matter.

I have been thinking about it ever since. That man knew what he had done, but instead of owning up to the accident — after all, we all make mistakes — a lapse in concentration, a bit too much pressure on the pedal, it’s easy to see how it can happen and it could have happened to anyone. But, because he thought he could get away with it, he decided not to do the right thing and simply drove away.

Would I ever do that? No, I don’t think I would. For all my faults, and lord knows they are legion, I like to think at my core I am a person who will always try to do what is right. I think mostly because it is right, but also because I wouldn’t like it done to me. And I think that is what guides most of us. Would we like it done to us? No. Then don’t do it to someone else.

But I am aware there are some — like the nasty shouty driver yesterday — who seem incapable of imagining themselves in someone else’s shoes.

That leads me to ask the question — how do live with themselves? I try very hard not to behave in a way that will hurt someone else. Maybe I don’t always succeed. Blunt talk and having no filter runs in my family, and I am just as capable as the next person of saying something that unintentionally wounds. But I would never deliberately set out to hurt or upset someone. And if I thought I had caused injury, I would try to make amends.

So how can people like Mr Shouty yesterday justify their behaviour?

I imagine that poor car owner coming back and finding their lovely car all scratched up. It was a nice-looking vehicle. I am no expert on makes and models, but it was in pristine condition with shiny metallic cherry-red paintwork. I would have been very upset if it was my car.

There have been moments in the past when I have been tempted to try and get away with something I knew was wrong. I went to the ATM outside a bank once and found £10 in the cash dispenser tray. Did I keep it? No, I handed it into the bank knowing that they would be able to look at their records and see who had used the machine before me and credit it back to their account. Another time, I found a £20 note blowing about the car park. Did I keep it? Yes, because honestly, there was no way of finding out who had dropped it. Even if I had taken it to the police, it’s unlikely that the original owner would bother going all the way to the station to report a dropped bank note.

I have never stolen anything in my life. I just couldn’t. I am the kind of person who if I find something in my shopping that I know I forgot to scan in the shop so therefore didn’t pay for it, the next shopping trip I would scan and pay for it. Maybe I am too honest for my own good. And I’m not some kind of saint, I can lie to get out of doing something I don’t want to do, or tell a white lie to save someone’s feelings, or keep a secret. But out and out malicious lying simply to manipulate or hurt someone, no, I could never do that.

I firmly believe the default position for most people is honesty. I used to know a farmer’s wife who would put a table out on the roadside with jars of honey and homemade jam, cartons of eggs, and punnets of plums and apples. They were all clearly priced and she would leave an honesty box on the table. At the end of each day, she would go down and most of the time the money in the box exactly matched the value of the items taken. Oh, occasionally, she would be short by a few pennies — as if the person who took an item didn’t quite have enough change on them — but overall, it was spot on.

It was a sleepy county lane. There was never anyone manning the table. There were no cameras or anything to monitor the transactions. There was nothing to stop someone from helping themselves to whatever they wanted and not paying a penny. But that rarely happened. Why? Because the default position of most people is honesty. And in a world where terrible things can and do happen, that is quite reassuring.

As I told you last time, the lodger has gone much to my vast relief. She did have one last childish comeback and threatened again to take me to court, but she doesn’t have a leg to stand on and I have fully documented proof of the damage sustained to my property and how much it cost to replace the items. Even if she does pay the exorbitant costs of consulting a solicitor, they will tell her that there is no case to answer. I have now blocked her everywhere it is possible to block someone and hope never to hear from her again. I pray this is an end to a very unpleasant episode and that I can now move on.

As I said last time, I put the room up for rent at 9.30am on Saturday, and by 3pm that afternoon I had found someone I liked enormously and felt would be easy to live with. He is an older gentleman, and, in the interview, he came across as a very calm, agreeable, mild-mannered and, most of all, drama-free person. I am done with drama. No, I think someone who likes tea, books, and history sounds like the perfect fit. He has paid his deposit to secure the room and will be moving in next Wednesday.

What else have I been doing?

Well, not a lot to be honest. I worked most of last week. On my days off I went through the feedback from my proofreaders and polished my latest book until it shone. It is now with the cover designer, and I am anticipating putting it up for pre-order in the next week or so.

The name of the book is Hide & Seek. It is book six in the Blackwood Family Sage and will tell the story of young Liam Blackwood. A war photographer, he always knew his career was a risky one, but suddenly there is a gun pointing at his head and it’s clear that Liam has seen or photographed something that someone wants kept quiet.

It’s an exciting, rollercoaster of a read that will keep you on the edge of your seat. The eBook will be available for pre-order soon at a special pre-launch price, plus all the other books in the series will be on sale at special low prices.

In other news, not only have Franki and her partner been accepted at the University of Reading to do their Masters in Entomology, but they have also been successful in their application for a small apartment on the campus, which they are thrilled about. It’s not a massive flat, just a bedroom with a living/dining/kitchen area and a small bathroom, but it is their own space that they won’t be sharing with anyone. So, no more working around somebody else’s messy kitchen habits or dealing with piles of dirty plates that aren’t theirs. I am happy for them as I know it’s what they both wanted more than anything.

They will both be coming to stay for the Easter break, which I am looking forward to and then I won’t see them again until we move them out of their current university at the end of June, when we will bring all their belongings down south to go into storage here ready to be moved to their apartment at Reading University in September.

They are both living here for the whole of the summer break — three months in all — and are planning to get summer jobs so they can help me out with living expenses.

It looks like being a busy year for all of us. I am booked to do at least one live event a month, sometimes two or three. During March, I have the first Laxfield Community Market of the year tomorrow, then the Gt Yarmouth Sci-Fi and Fantasy Weekender Friday and Saturday the 15^th and 16^th, and then immediately after that, the Leiston Craft Market on Sunday the 17^th of March. As I said, busy.

It will be the first time doing any of these events so it’s very much a “suck it and see situation”. I am a little nervous about tomorrow. Not about doing the actual event. I’ve done enough live events now to be very confident doing them. No, it’s the journey there by myself, finding the venue, and then managing to find a parking space. The organisers admitted in their email that parking can be “tricky” which hasn’t filled me with confidence. I am going to try to get there as early as possible to allow plenty of time to suss out the situation and nab a space.

At least I now have a special holder on my dashboard for my phone and know how to programme Google Maps to plan the route and tell me directions as I drive, so at least I won’t get lost. I spent this morning sorting and packing up everything and it’s all standing in the lounge ready to go in the car. Because the Gt Yarmouth event two weeks later is Sci-Fi and Fantasy only and I couldn’t afford to buy too many new books, I have decided to only take my contemporary books tomorrow. So, that means The Book of Eve, The Perennials Trilogy, The Blackwood Family Saga, and Eclairs for Tea and other stories. My pitch is six feet wide, and I will have the whole table to myself, which I am not used to. Usually, I am sharing with another author so only have three feet to display all my books in. I am taking a jug of artificial flowers to brighten my stall, plus a laminated page for each of the books with images and a brief synopsis. Normally, I don’t have the space to display them so it will be nice to have the room for a change.

Hopefully, the market will be a success. It’s about an hour’s drive and the market only lasts from 9.30 to 12.00 so it’s a gamble on whether I sell enough books to cover my costs and make it worth doing in the future.

As I said, it’s all about trying new events this year to see what works and what doesn’t. If it is successful, then I am booked to do another five markets at Laxfield during the year, so, fingers crossed.

Last time I told you about my fall which resulted in a nasty bruised face and a black eye, The bruising over the head spread quite considerably until the whole eye socket and top of my cheekbone was a rather fetching shade of purple and magenta. It is fading now, but there is still a nasty dark purple bruise under my eye which I am hoping will go away. Even though I cover it with make-up it still shines through.

It’s getting late and I’m hungry. There is steak for dinner, with crunchy herby potatoes, onion rings, and peas, and I may put a fried egg on top of my steak for no other reason than I want to.

Take care everyone. I’ll let you know next time how the new lodger is settling in and how Laxfield Market went.

All the best.

Julia Blake

Hello there. It’s been a bit of a rollercoaster two weeks. Firstly, I am happy to say that the lodger has gone. It was a very unpleasant leaving. Some of my property was damaged beyond repair so I had to retain part of the deposit to replace the items. She was not happy. The text messages from her were frankly disgusting. They were offensive, threatening, and harassing. I did not respond to most of them but have them on my phone if I need to go to the police about her. I think the situation has been sorted but who knows?

Anyway, onwards, and upwards.

The room has been thoroughly cleaned and put back to viewing standards. It is such a nice room and I find it very distressing when lodgers don’t take care of it. As you can see from the photos below it is spacious, clean, and tastefully furnished. There is a working area, an armchair and a space to put a TV. Two sets of bedding and towels come with the room. There is a new mattress on the bed that has never been slept in.

The ad went up this morning and I have three people already coming to view the room this afternoon. I anticipate many more. I looked at how many people had registered needing a room in this area. There were 68 — and this does not count all the people looking on the site but not making a profile for themselves. I then looked at how many rooms like mine were available. There were three. It’s a landlord’s market it seems, and I will take my time carefully choosing this time.

It will be nice to get the whole situation sorted as soon as possible, especially as I am working overtime next week. The practice is not usually open on a Wednesday or a Saturday, but due to circumstances beyond our control, we had to move a day and a half worth of appointments so must open Wednesday and Saturday morning as a one-off to move the appointments to. I don’t mind, it’s only this once and the extra money will be handy at the end of the month.

I am also happy to report that I finished writing book sixteen. Coming in at 53,889 words it is book six in the Blackwood Family Saga. It took me exactly a month to write, format, and edit it. It then went to my formatter and proofreader to go through and fiddled with a couple of bits of formatting I couldn’t do myself. Her feedback is in. She loves it and couldn’t find anything wrong with it so the next step will be sending it to my beta readers to go through. The cover is being made and I’m looking at a launch date sometime in March. It’s been a year since my last book was published so I need to get another one out there.

In the meantime, I am booking more live events. My first one is at Laxfield Market on the 2^nd of March. If you’re in the area, why not come and say hello?

Speaking of events, my mum called me a couple of weeks ago and I asked if I would like to do a tabletop sale with her in her local village hall. She had a few things to try and sell but didn’t want to do it alone.

You can bring your books to sell on your half of the stall.

Yes, but I won’t sell any.

You might.

No, I won’t. It’ll be like that sale we did in Risby last Christmas. Full of grim-faced old people in dreary clothing, who looked at me as if I was speaking gibberish when I asked what they liked to read. Snapped I don’t read at me, then stomped off.

But it was only £2.50 for my share of the stall, and I could tell Mum wanted to do it, so I agreed.

I was late setting off due to misreading Mum’s text, but we were still able to park right outside the hall and it didn’t take us long to set up. Mum was right, she didn’t have much, and I’m so used to setting up a stall by now that I can do it in my sleep.

All around us were tables of other people’s tut. Big heaps of clothing, old pictures, knickknacks, books, glassware, you name it. The sale started at 10 and we were packing up by 11.30. Much to my surprise, I’d sold nine books in an hour. I was not expecting that. I think it’s because, in a sea of second-hand and used items, I was offering something brand new and shiny. I gift-wrapped a couple of books — one as a Valentine’s Day gift and one for a birthday. I was born in this village. People know me and they know my parents, so I think a couple bought to support me, which was lovely.

I took Mum home and had a quick coffee with my parents, then drove home and unloaded. I had offered to help set up the Love Your Local Author sale so barely had time to scoff down an apple and rush across to the hall where it was being held.

I heaved tables about, set up chairs, made helpful suggestions about layout and who should go where, did a bit of handholding, and then went for a brisk walk about town putting up posters and making sure all the promo was in the right locations. I walked home and found the lodger had moved most of her stuff out and had texted that she wasn’t coming back that night but would pop in Sunday to finish the cleaning. I went down to the room, thinking as it was such a nice afternoon, I’d open the window to start airing the room. I noticed all the dirty bedding and decided to put a load in to help speed up the process. And that’s when I discovered the damaged mattress and all hell let loose.

I won’t talk about it. It was horrible, as I have said.

Sunday, I cleaned the room myself. It needed taking apart, scrubbing, and putting back together again. I also gave the kitchen and bathroom a deep clean. I had offered to go and help clear away after the sale so wandered down at four. Helped finish packing up and assisted my friend back home with her trolley of books, collecting posters on the way.

We then went for a celebratory drink at the pub. After the weekend I’d had I felt I needed it. A drink turned into a takeaway back at theirs and it was there that my accident happened. We were sitting at the table outside, I stood up, my ankle collapsed underneath me, and I hit the patio. I went down like a ton of bricks. I landed on my head. Hard. The sound my skull made as it connected with the solid brick ground is something I will never forget. I lay there, stunned, convinced I had cracked my skull like a boiled egg. My friends helped me up. Weirdly, it didn’t hurt. My temple and brow bone were swollen and tender to the touch, but I thought I was fine. I finished dinner and then went home. I was cold and tired and sore, so I went straight to bed.

Monday morning, I awoke to a world of pain. My face was sore and very tender. I ached all over. My knuckle was bruised as was my shoulder, elbow, knee, and ankle. I dragged my sorry bag of bones out of bed and looked in the mirror. There was a massive bruise on my temple, my eyebrow was puffy and grazed, and a beautiful black eye beamed back at me from the mirror.

Now, a lot of people have told me that I should have gone to the hospital when it happened and maybe they’re right, I should have, but I thought I was okay Sunday evening and then I had to go to work on Monday and Tuesday. My word, they were two long days. I put on thick makeup and fixed my hair, so it fell over my eye. By the time I walked home on Tuesday, I was wobbly and exhausted, but I still had to get in the car and drive to the doctor to collect my prescription and then to the supermarket to collect my shopping. It was the last thing I felt like doing. But I needed food, so I did it and it was okay. I was home by 6.30 and at least it was done.

On Wednesday morning I ironed all the bedding belonging to the room which had been freshly laundered. I had a friend coming for lunch which I was looking forward to. We hadn’t seen each other since before Christmas as they had gone down with Covid so couldn’t come to our New Year party. We had settled on the 14^th of February as it was the first date, we were both free, then realised it was Valentine’s Day so decided to eat at mine instead of going out. Did not want to be sitting in a restaurant on Valentine’s Day. Someone might think we were a couple and try to sell us a rose. I had a pack of very posh Italian meatballs in a tomato and basil sauce in the freezer so had got those out. I’d bought a nice mixed salad and found a recipe for Italian potatoes roasted in breadcrumbs and parmesan that looked fabulous. We are all about the potatoes, my friend and I, so I knew she would appreciate them more than pasta.

Anyway, she arrived, we opened the prosecco and caught up on all the news. The potatoes were in the oven and smelled amazing. I went to slide the meatballs in and found a tray of black and charred lumps that had been a whole bag of potatoes. I had followed the recipe exactly. Were they salvageable? No, they weren’t. They were only fit to carbon-date rather than eat. I rummaged in the cupboard and found a pack of rigatoni pasta to cook instead, and lunch was delicious. My friend had bought a gorgeous passionfruit tiramisu for dessert.

On Friday I had the lock changed … I am not going to say any more about that. Friends called round to do it and then we sat in the garden for a couple of hours drinking wine and coffee and chatting. It was a lovely Spring-like day. After they’d gone, I decided to treat myself to fish and chips for dinner.

And now it’s Saturday. I put up the ad for the room this morning and so far, have had a lot of responses. Two people have already been to view the room, one of which I liked very much, and there are more viewings lined up for this afternoon and over the next few days.

I am heartened by how good the response has been so far. I don’t think it will take very long to find another lodger.

It’s a short blog this time. There is so much I could say, but it’s probably best I don’t. This whole experience has left me sick to the stomach and shocked at how badly people can behave. I want it to be over. I’m tired of it now. Tired of being made to feel like the villain when I have done absolutely nothing wrong. Tired that the irresponsible actions of one person are being twisted to make her claim to be the victim. Oh well, onwards and upwards.

Hopefully, next time we talk I will be in a better place emotionally. Right now, I’m feeling a bit vulnerable and emotionally drained — not to mention looking like I’ve taken up cage fighting as a hobby.

Take care of yourselves.

Julia Blake