Be afraid, be very afraid!... British Fortnight at Brief Encounters is now in full and glorious swing, where you can discover all about my own royal wedding experience and where to get the best cream tea EVER - along with a whole host of other authors & goodies so do pop along and join in the party. Anyone for a cucumber sandwich?...
At the same time, you can find a review of Entertaining the Delaneys, and don't forget that both The Delaneys and Me and Entertaining the Delaneys are being offered as one of the British Fortnight prizes, along with many others, so it's definitely an offer not to be missed.
Also this week, I've been additionally lucky in being interviewed at the Book Wenches site, so you can read all about my current and future plans there.
Reviews this week have included an unexpected review of Maloney's Law at the Niciasus Book Blog and a 5-star review of Brady's Choice, also at Niciasus (thanks for both these, Nicci), and a 4-star review of The Delaneys and Me at Goodreads (thank you, Casey).
Recent meditation poems are:
There’s not much truth,
but a great deal of silver
a combination of factors
that never bodes well,
If in doubt or under threat
create a tax to fleece ’em.
The enemy must be appeased
and as for friends – police ’em.
The past has its own echoes
that enrich the mind
like a memory of God
or the scent of jasmine,
fragrant and kind.
What can I say? Still we struggle on in the ongoing battle with the pesky middle neighbours and their really irritating solicitors. Our desperate attempts to make some kind of contact with the bloke buying the middle flat last week via the estate agents met with friendliness on the part of the estate agents and absolutely no action. Surprise, surprise. So first thing this morning, I ring up the middle flat estate agents again and they're all very friendly and promise to ring back as soon as possible - and so far (3pm) nothing. Hey ho. I don't expect anything either - but hey at least the woman I spoke to actually seemed to grasp the concept that if we sign their transfer document which has the incorrect address for the new middle neighbour on, then yes that does mean we can't sell our own flat to our buyer as we can't get the new middle neighbour to agree to the leasehold transfer as we don't know where he lives now, and the sale of our flat is therefore put into jeopardy. Deep deep sigh.
In the middle of all that it appears that our own solicitor has a Cunning Plan but has only this afternoon seen fit to reveal it to us. Bloody hell (sorry ...) but if she'd simply had the sense to talk to us two weeks ago, then we wouldn't have had to run around like the proverbial attempting to explain to the very deaf ears of the horrid middle neighbour solicitors why we'd love to sign their wretched transfer (we hate the current middle neighbours! We want them out, as indeed do most of the other neighbours too!) and why we can't (it means we can't then sell our flat, you ridiculous people, as you won't tell us where the new middle neighbour actually lives ...) Nor would I have had to - twice - attempt to contact the new middle neighbour's estate agents for this vital legal information, and nor would K and I have had even half of the amount of angst we've had to go through for the last two weeks. Ruddy solicitors ... (sorry).
Anyway, it is a Class One plan and may actually get us round the obstacles the middle neighbours and their solicitors are putting in our way, and with no legal prejudice to us and our sale - which is of course my only concern. I don't care two hoots about them and would like nothing more than to take their transfer document and shove it where the sun don't shine, my dears. Now there's a happy smiley thought that is cheering me mightily, ha!
But, hey, I'm not worried - it's Lent! And hopefully soon (please God) we'll have a lovely happy house in Woking with a garden all of our very own, and we will never ever have to think about shared leaseholds again - what bliss! There's always hope, eh.
Turning to the simpler joys (or possibly not) of TV, I must say I thought last night's episode of the new Midsomer Murders was very choppy to say the least. K did point out that there were indeed, as the recent media row has pointed out, no black people anywhere, not even in the city disco scene, though we did keep our eyes peeled just in case ... The main problem though was what the heck have they done with Sergeant Jones??!!?? Last time we saw him, he was the nice, bumbling, pleasant copper we all know and love, but yesterday he was a rude, angry, punch-the-witness-and-hold-him-down-till-he-confesses yob. What??!!?? Did I miss something? Is Jones so distraught that the original Barnaby (not to mention the nice police lady - where is she?) has gone that he has had a total personality transplant?? The Case of the Missing Sergeant: it's a plot worthy of Midsomer indeed ... Whatever next?