A Future Somewhere Free 20th July 2019

I’ve been quiet on the blog, because I’ve been editing and editing away on A Future Somewhere.

And now it’s here, no more excuses – you can find it on Amazon for FREE today 20th July.

Give it a go – it won’t do you any harm, and then give me a review -but only if you enjoyed it ūüėČ

Wow – Self promotion doesn’t come easy!


Nostalgia inducing mid-life crisis

I spent a night with some old university friends in my old university town. The night that bubbled with the memories of Jarvis Cocker and Damon Alban lookalikes, has made me pine for a past that’s long gone flat.

My late teen years were a time of £1.20 Taboos and Lemonades, broken hearts and kind unappreciated eyes , that shine kinder now for someone else. I never spoke Welsh, maybe if I did I would have married a Welshman. Things would be different now. They get you those Welsh boys, with their singsong accents and hearts full of green grass and seaside. They get you hard.

My university town was Cardiff. I remember walking through the town for the first time, it seemed so small and managable compared to London. Intimate and easy, windy streets with dingy bars, and kissing on steps.

Now I’m so much older, there’s magic in those memories. Haircuts influenced by Anthea Turner and Kylie Minogue fringes. Not being able to afford tickets to an Oasis gig, but rocking up anyway, hanging around the outside, desperate for a look at a Gallagher. Singing your sout out to Neil Hannon and his Divine Comedy. Eyeliner and glitter smeared on your face after a night of enjoying someone you shouldn’t be enjoying.

My Dad posting me a Fleetwood Mac CD, and the Goddess power radiating though my tiny stereo and into my bones and blood. ‘You can do anything.’ Stevie whispers as she dances through my veins, ‘Anything.’


Just a Saturday Girl #TeenInThe90s

We all had Saturday jobs in the 90s.  My first foray into work was Saturday girl in an old lady shop that sold tea-towels and big bras.  I think I earned £15 a day which was given to me in a brown envelope at the end of every shift.  It was the most money in the world.  That with a mix of baby-sitting and waitressing, were my first footsteps into the world of work.

Then when I was 16, in between my obsessions and homework, I managed to hold down a regular evening and weekend job at a popular men’s fashion store in Ilford.

My job came an extension of my social life.¬† I got paid somewhere around ¬£4.50 an hour to talk to ‘fit’ customers, visiting school friends and colleagues,¬† and on occasion, I even folded Tshirts.¬†Untitled design (6)

Ilford was hardly a style mecca and the men’s shop I worked in was basically the best of a very limited offer.¬† Popular for the¬† choice of Ben Sherman shirts, 501s and Kickers shoes,¬† it tried desperately to be hip and trendy.¬† ¬†Management sent us tape cassettes full of eclectic mixes of LL Cool J, St Etienne and the Cardigans – horrible mixes that everyone in the store hated, staff and customers alike.

There was a lot a lot or romance going on in the stock room.¬† I remember taking the rubbish out with a colleague and having an illicit snog in the lift on our way to the big rubbish bins. It was the first time ever I got paid to do something I shouldn’t and it felt great.

Even better was that a lot of mates worked in the neighbouring stores. We’d go and stand over the other’s till and gossip right through lunch-break and then later get dressed for a night out in the mall toilets.

I made so many friends through my Saturday job, that when I look back now, some of those Saturdays and Wednesday evenings, even the Boxing Days and Christmas Eves, these days are as important to me as those spent at school or on nights out.¬† ¬†Somewhere subconsciously I was picking up life-skills as well as having a great time with great people.¬† And true story – my husband always asks me to fold his jeans and T-Shirts for him as he likes my ‘professional’ style.¬† ¬†All that training finally paid off.

Untitled design (7)Untitled design (5)

*The 96 diary entry above makes me sound like the ‘bitter bitch’ – not the girl I was referring to. The poor girl had done nothing wrong but be my ex-boyfriend’s next girlfriend. She was actually lovely but I had to maintain an irrational hatred for her.¬† Sorry!¬†

If you’re wondering how much the 90’s high-street has changed from the high-street we love today, the answer’s not much.¬† Sure we lost Our Price and Woolworths, but the River Island, Debenhams, Burger King – the big hitters – they still all reign supreme.

If you like YA and are interested in reading more of my insignificant ramblings, then why not sign up to Beta read my first novel Рwhooohooo. Who knows, you might just like it (if you hate it then keep it to yourself).