Spilt milk 🥛, War and Peace; Books and spinning plates 📚

I’ve never really worried about the heat before.  I always just thought that I was cold-blooded.  Piscean through and through.  However these past few days have been brutal.  I had to take my husband’s 40 year old Land Rover into town yesterday with the children.  Toby is away.  I feel like a spinnaker that has lost its ropes.  Wildly lost at sea. He’s been such a steady presence.  I have come to rely on him embarrassingly much.  Times like these are good for me, I can remember that I’m not a damsel in distress.  I’m a strong, confident woman.  Repeat.  Breathe.

Anyway, I needed to drop Iggywick parcels at the post office and swap his car with mine as it had just had new brakes fitted.  I walked into the post office, normally a blue job, and I was bright red in the face, waddling that sultry duck-footed pregnant waddle, pouring with sweat and I’d parked Bertha, canvas sides of the car open to the world, outside on the double yellow lines with the noisy children rattling about in the back like bowling balls.  The women (who all adore my husband) in there all looked at me in astonishment when I told them I was Toby’s wife.  'Goodness.' Was the tangible, surprised huff of collective thought hovering in the room.

It was then off to Vanstones the Land Rover garage.  We love the Vanstones boys.  I had to wait for an hour as the caliper was late to arrive (whatever a caliper is) so the children erupted into their brand new waiting room, making hot chocolates (in 32 degrees) and spilling them all over the table and floor.  Rob Vanstone - as busy as anyone ever can be - found the time to measure the boys with his measuring tape - their favourite pastime - chat to me and mop up spilled drinks on his hands and knees - literally charm personified while I tried to be invisible and melt quietly in the corner without making too much of a mess.

We will miss our Devon and Cornwall friends but Toby sent me this picture of Merlin from the new house last week. These new horizons made my heart jump about a bit.

Toby is in Norfolk, his uncle died, Mole is his next of kin.  This means he has to deal with all the bureaucracy - death certificates, funeral, cleaning out the house.  The house is a death trap.  I’m not allowed in as it’s so bad.  Damp.  Mould.  Hording galore.  The photographs he’s sent are pretty shocking.  It is also a lot of relived trauma for Mole after losing both his parents so young.  He’s an only child at the end of the line.  It seems as though he gets the brunt of everything. I feel utterly useless.  The only silver lining of this desperate story is that he has no more paternal family to lose.  This will be the last of the line that he has to sort out.  Jesse, the superstar, has gone up to help him.  Thank God.

Jesse.  I could not be more proud of our boy.  What a kind, helpful man he is turning into.  We thank our stars for him, every day.

I got up at 5am to feed the ponies, chickens and dogs.  Walk the dogs.  Get in the horses.  Wrangle the children.  Hang out the washing.

It was already boiling hot by half past six but the early morning light made it worth it.  It does make me appreciate Mole.  He does this every day.  Without ever a word of complaint.  I’m missing him a lot.  Jesse - fifteen years old - got up to feed and walk the dogs etc last week when Mole was up in Scotland.  I was so grateful.  It’s no mean feat getting a teenager up at dawn; he did it on his own volition so that I could get Pippin ready for school in time and not in too much of a rush.  So impressive.  And he got a brilliant school report.  The best yet.  I’m literally bursting with pride.

Life is a serious juggle at the moment, a lot of spinning plates in the air.  I don’t think I have ever had so much to do.  The house sale is in real motion - well, the cogs are turning.  The surveys are all good for Woodley and for the new house in Scotland.  Prices are agreed.  Lawyers have been instructed.  It’s all happening.  I am getting very excited although dreading the packing.  We have got a lot more stuff than I realised.  Half of it books.

Talking of books… 📚

Publishing day for my book is in FIVE days.  I can’t believe we are almost there.  It seems as though we have been building towards this moment for a lifetime.  Book two is in the editing stages.  Book three is taking shape.  I’ve had more photoshoots and interviews than I would ever have believed.  It’s all happening.  I’m loving barrelling along on this strange, unbelievable journey but I feel as though I’ve been banging very hard on the social media PR drum lately.  I’m sorry.  I am very aware of trying not to drive you all crazy with book-min.  I am incredibly grateful for all the support you’ve shown me.

Peering into the Pandora’s box of the early goodreads reviews - something I have been warned by other authors not to do any cost - is (obviously) something I have just done.  I hadn’t really thought about it properly until now and apparently my will power is zero.  But the reviews are great!  I mean, way better than I could have hoped.  One made me cry it was so kind and encouraging.  I’m a mess, I’m so anxious about everything.  I don’t want to let Viking and Penguin down.  Or Perennial at Harper Collins in the states.

So, thank you for all the preorders.  And the support. I’m hopeful that you’ll enjoy my story.  I have lived and breathed Sage’s story for a few years now and it’s a world I love to sink into.  Like Harry into the pensieve.  I become utterly immersed.  I hope you’ll find solace and peace and  rushing adrenaline and some prickling discomfort in Sage’s world like I have. It’s such a huge honour to be able to share it with you.  Thank you.

Phew.  Happy Saturday.  Thanks for sticking with me. I’d better go and check on the boys who are waging a full scale battle with their toy soldiers and tanks. Love you all xxx