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Sunday, 11 March 2018

The Unexpected Rose Bowl of Doom...and why I think it should be a cake.

So, you know last week, when I went off to the RoNAs. with my little suitcase and a packet of HobNobs, a bit like Paddington Bear only without the label?

Well, I only went and WON THE RONA ROSE!!!

For anyone who doesn't know, that's the award for the best 'short' Romantic Novel of the Year. Think novella, Mills and Boon length books, in fact, I think Mills and Boon donated the trophy in the first place (It's actually called the Betty Neels trophy after one of their more successful authors. You can look at her books here. She seems like a nice lady). So they gave me a rosebowl.

Here is the rosebowl in question. Also pictured, flowers and the star that you get when you win your category. And the dog's blanket.

And I was wearing unsuitable shoes! Now, if you've ever tried walking around a room carrying a rosebowl and a crystal star, talking in an overexcited fashion to people you haven't seen for nearly two years, and wearing shoes that you can barely stand up in, well. I don't recommend it unless you want people to think you are a) drunk b) in need of medication or c) possessed by the spirit of a three legged terrier hopped up on Bonio and in drastic need of walkies.

Here are pictures: 
This is the line up (minus two who hadn't arrived yet) for the Romantic Comedy award. Eve Devon, Trisha Ashley and Matt Dunn, plus me. We all had a good giggle before this was taken, and lots of talk about underwear (although, to be fair, that was mostly Eve and me).

And this is me, post win. Looking, as you can see, somewhat shell shocked. But that might have been the shoes.

And then, the next day, I had to walk back through London, on a kind of inverse 'walk of shame', carrying the Unexpected Rosebowl. It's quite big and didn't fit in any of the bags I had, so it was stuffed, rather ignominiously, into a carrier bag, and turned out to be Quite Heavy when carted through town on plastic handles. Plus, I have no idea what to do with a rose bowl. In my house it's pretty much just a very posh Quality Street dispenser...

so, I put it to the Committee that, in future, all awards should be either very very light things which are easy to pop into a bag and carry for miles without arousing suspicion (like a bath sponge. Very light and squashy)
The new RoNA Rose award. Lacks a certain something, though.
or cake, OR something that is v v useful to have in the house (washing machine, log burner) or cake.

I realise it's harder to engrave the winner's name on a cake, and possibly a little harder to keep to pass on to next year's winner, but...IT'S CAKE! Plus much easier to carry, probably internally.

Sunday, 4 March 2018

Off to the RoNAs...

Tomorrow I shall be leaving my cosy existence in the wilds of North Yorkshire, for that there London, where I shall be attending the Romantic Novel of the Year Awards ceremony. Once there, I shall be running about with a big pink face, squeaking in excitement at all the very well known people there. I may even try to pee in one or two handbags.

It is a wonderful honour to be shortlisted. You knew I was shortlisted, didn't you? Well, I am. Once with
this, and once with
this. The list of other shortlisters is so esteemed that I am the only person on that list that I have never heard of and, indeed, very few people attending will have heard of me - except in the context of 'watch out for the one with the big pink face, she pees in your handbag if you don't keep an eye on her'.

So, think of me tomorrow, trying to be all polite and well behaved and everything, and trying to look acceptable in the pictures, where I must appear with normal people who look nice and are wearing lovely dresses (or not, in the case of the men) and shoes, and clapping happily at whoever wins. Because it's all about the books, you know, and the best book will most definitely win, even though I am pretty sure it won't be one of mine. It will just be lovely to see some of my friends there and have a giggle and a drink and applaud and just generally lig about.

Oh, and pee in a handbag, that's a given.

Here is the rogues gallery where you can see all the beautiful books and their beautiful authors. And me.

Sunday, 25 February 2018

Expecting The Beast, how far up the cat will it go?

Well, we've been warned. Cold weather is, apparently, on its way.

Now, it might have escaped some people's notice, but we've actually been entertaining a little season we like to call 'winter' lately. You know, that time between November and May when it gets darker and the birds finally shut up and the grass stops growing? That one?
Here's a clue. It looks a bit like this, only with less dog. Usually.
And the temperature fluctates on a day to day basis from 'nice in the sun but chilly in the wind' to 'cor, blimey that's cold, I'm going back inside to light the fire'. So. Winter is Cold. We can deal with that.

But, apparently, this Cold is bringing Snow! There might be lots of it!

Thanks for that, weather people. Can you stop giving me predicted snowfall in centimetres and tell me how far it's going to come up the cat? I still, despite having had a run of many years at it,cannot think in centimetres, but if the weather person could stand in front of their map and, maybe, indicate? With their hands?
 'In Yorkshire, we're forecasting around five centimetres of snow, which is this much' (holds hands apart to show how deep it is) or, approximately a quarter of the way up the legs of your average cat. For Jane Lovering, that means, don't let Zac out, but Big Arthur should be absolutely fine.'

That would be nice.

How far up the fluffy one? Vaguely?