Home Thoughts Weekly

After what feels like endless rain, the day was dry, crisp and cold... The view across Cardigan Island With a flat, calm sea... An essential ingredient for the evening meal was gathered... Strange to think that what once lived in a house like this... ... can be transformed into something like this... Although this was couriered to our doorstep from The Fish Society as a wonderful birthday surprise arranged by Tom. Sadly, it's difficult to buy locally-caught seafood as most of it is shipped abroad.  Eating out can be a bit of a trek too, as we live in such a far-flung place. I was thrilled to bits with my treat... As you can see from what was left... It's probably just as well birthdays only come round once a year!

Hmm, I think I saw tumble-weed rolling past this blog. I just don't know where the time's gone this year. More soon, I hope, but for today I'm over at Choc Lit's Author's Corner talking about birthdays and horoscopes.

Since I handed ‘The Next Big Thing ’ baton to lovely Choc Lit author Sarah Tranter whose novel, No Such Thing as Immortality , will be available very soon (look out for the Kindle edition at the end of this week!), I suppose it’s only fair that she’s handed one to me!    Thank you, Sara, for the zig-zag challenge which, thank goodness, wasn’t too challenging.   I was asked to find the word ‘look’ in my current novel or a work in progress then post the surrounding paragraph. To ring the changes from my current novel Move Over Darling , I’ve gone to the work in progress. Or rather the work I’m battling with as usual.  This is the first ‘look’ I found and it’s in the second chapter.  Some of you may recognise the location… “'My pleasure,' she exhaled, closing her eyes, ‘I look forwards to meeting you at the end of the week then.'  In the two years since Fiona and her husband, Paul, had opened Walton House, Little Spitmarsh had seen its financial...

This war memorial at Aberbanc is one we pass regularly.  Standing alone and in the midst of such beauty, it never fails to remind me of the sacrifice made by just one small village in west Wales.

Sunday 4 November  Lovely Lily, aka the new Mrs J is staying with us for the weekend while Mr J is away. We have a fine old time replaying her wedding day and looking at photos, but a bitter wind and heavy downpours put us off going for a walk to the beach. ‘Never mind,’ says Tom, ‘we’ll drive up to the tea hut at Aberaeron instead.’ A sense that the man in the tea hut is not, perhaps, as delighted to have any customers at all on such a miserable day as we would hope is offset by the fact that his tea is served in decent mugs. The sea is silvery green with impressive rolling waves and we park ourselves on a bench in a painted concrete shelter to watch it. ‘Tea time, is it then?’ says a man sitting on the adjoining bench to offer a biscuit to his scruffy little scrap of a dog. The little dog crunches delicately. ‘Sweet,’ Lily and I say to each other and, ‘oh look, it’s coming say hello!’ whereupon the little dog lifts its leg and does an almighty wee in front of us instead. I...

I'm over at Choc Lit's Author's Corner today talking about the story behind that article in Best magazine.  How much would you dare to bare?  Do come and tell me.