Dog Days, Afternoons and Nights

As we enter the final week of that most heinous of months – the foul abomination that is January, I can see that there has been something of a theme for Ange and I. Namely, dogs. It’s been a dog-filled time like never before.

The year got off to a furry four-legged start when Becky and Paul went to Spain on January 2^nd and we stayed on the boat to look after Noel, Becky’s dog, and Snowy, Becky’s cat. We’re both boaters of old so we weren’t phased by the prospect but by gum I’ll tell you one thing, it was freezing on there.

I had planned to do Dry January again but unfortunately, when we got on to the boat the first thing I did was light a fire (which almost wrecked my knees in the process) and the second thing I did was to open a bottle of wine. The situation was desperate. Noel isn’t a particularly robust dog and it was important to keep him warm as well as ourselves.

And thus began a week of walks, feeding, fussing and poo-bagging.

Noel is a lovely dog but he’s incredibly needy and didn’t have the best start in life when he was a pup. Becky rescued him when he was about six months old and he came with a host of anxiety issues. He’s a loud barker as well and will sound off at the merest hint of a noise. On a boat that can echo and reverberate like having your head in the bass bins during a heavy metal gig.

For most of our week on board the canal was frozen solid but we were pleased with our own efforts at keeping the fire lit overnight. That is quite a skill actually. Not everyone knows how to do that.

We tried to enjoy our time on the boat but the minus degrees temperatures made it difficult and we were glad to get home again on the 10^th. But our canine duties were far from over.

One of our neighbours, Linda, had an accident on the ice whilst we were away and broke her arm. That’s bad enough but take into consideration the fact that she has a healthy and active spaniel and another problem becomes apparent. The spaniel is called Eric and he’s immensely strong, ergo Linda was unable to walk him.

The good news is that the community rallied round and a rota was drawn up for volunteers to walk Eric. He has four walks a day and this made the logistics a bit complicated but Ange put her name down for the early evening walks for the week. She enjoyed it but by the end of the week she was ready for a day or two off. Like I say, he’s a strong and powerful young dog and as awful as it sounds, I don’t think I have the physical strength anymore to walk such a vibrant hound.

The rota is ongoing and Ange is going to put her name down again. I might accompany her on some of the shorter walks, as sometimes that’s all he needs, but if they go for a proper trudge then I doubt my legs will keep up for very long.

During the week that Ange walked Eric we had something of a doggy drama. Becky rang very early on the Thursday morning to say that something was very wrong with Noel. Ange hastened to Skipton to pick them both up and take the poor lad to the vets. The diagnosis was severe arthritis. Now, I’m not a vet, although I wanted to be one when I was at school, but I couldn’t help- feeling there was more to it than that.

Noel is getting on a bit in labrador terms and arthritis is common in that breed but he stayed with us that Thursday night and I have never before in my life seen a dog look so poorly. It was heartbreaking to see. He couldn’t settle and he kept putting his head behind Ange’s back while she sat on the couch. His face had visibly dropped and to be honest I began to fear the worst.

The next morning a decision was made to take him back to the vet for a second opinion. He’d been given some medicine the day before which didn’t seem to have much of an effect and I began to suspect that he had some form of doggy virus because here’s the thing – he was back to his old self over the weekend. We hear about 24 or 48 hour bugs in humans so why can’t the same apply to man’s best friend? That’s the way I view the situation.

The next dog adventure we had was with adorable Bella who belongs to our friend and neighbour Val. Bella is a Jack Russell/Lhasa Apso cross and she is just about the cutest little thing you ever saw.

Val was in the process of moving to a new flat on the ground floor and needed somewhere for Bella to hang out for a few days. We jumped at the chance. Bella is the easiest dog to look after that you could imagine. Really, she is so placid and calm and gentle but also a little comedian as well.

Val asked if Bella could stay with us a couple of nights and we readily agreed. We love a bit of fur therapy and Bella is superb at providing it. It’s comical to see her take herself to bed (ours) at ten o’clock even though we’re still watching TV. She’s also got a rather effective bladder because she isn’t an early riser that needs to do her business at 05:00 a.m. but will happily wait until daylight arrives before doing her ablutions.

It’s win win!

So, there you go, a doggy start to the year. I must say that, as I write, this January has been a vast improvement on the previous three. So far, neither of us have had a life-threatening illness and nobody near or dear to us has died. There’s still six days to go but we’re keeping our heads down and are determined to get through it unscathed.

In between all these animal antics I have been writing as and when I can and I have edited 6 chapters of the upcoming new novel. I’m wondering whether to do a cover reveal yet as I’m as excited as can be about this one. Maybe just a little while longer.

Anyway, it’s Sunday today and Val and Bella are coming to see us later which we’re looking forward to. You’ve never seen a dog smile like Bella when she first sees you. It’s a joyous thing.

All of this leads us to ask the question of ourselves, will we get a dog (or cat) of our own? I believe we will one day, when the time is right. For now, we’re living on borrowed fur and we’re loving it.

What Alan Did

Hallelujah!!!

I think that after all this time of searching, moaning and bleating I have finally found an equilibrium in my writing. Hard to believe I know. How many times have I come on here whinging and whining about my health complications or the next idea to improve my output? Hmmm?

Plenty, that’s how many.

And before you think to yourselves, “Oh no, here he goes again,” let me tell you that I am finally going to use this blog for it’s intended purpose and nothing more.

Blog! It’s a funny word isn’t it, as it doesn’t readily roll of the tongue as easily as “bollocks,” which, in case you didn’t know is the word in English that can be shouted louder than any other word. I’m not expecting you to nip out into the garden to find out, especially those of you who live in affluent neighbourhoods. Those who live in effluent neighbourhoods might get away with it though.

But enough about bollocks, I want to talk about blogging (it’s so easy to get distracted these days) and how I intend to go about it from here on in.

Blog is basically an amalgamated abbreviation of the words WEB and LOG. You probably knew that anyway so apologies if it sounds like I’m trying to teach Granny to suck eggs. Although why anyone, elderly or otherwise, should want to suck an egg is none of my business. But yes, you take the B from WEB and add it to LOG and you get BLOG.

A log, apart from being a piece of unprocessed timber or euphemism for a turd, is basically a record of events or actions. Such as the Captain’s Log from Star Trek for example. A diary or journal if you will.

I often read the blogs of other independent authors and that seems to be the way they play the thing. They use that platform to keep their readers up to date with what is happening on a daily, weekly or even monthly basis. Julia Blake is especially good at this – CLICK HERE to check her blog out.

I have noticed, and can admit the awkward truth, that I have used mine for the aforementioned whinging and whining and at times even railing against the system and the stupidity of my fellow man. And that is not what I intended at all when this blog began way back in… 2020 I think it was.

So for the future, that is what I foresee for the blog. I’ll keep you posted about little old me. A sort of What Alan Did kind of thing.

Substack, on the other hand, has already had the kick in the arse it desperately needed.

My Substack site was suffering from a touch of bloated pomposity and politicization at times and, again, that was never my intention at the start. I wanted to write humorous short stories and make people laugh and have a brighter day. I’m pleased to say that so far, in 2026, that has been the case. I have written 3 absolute corkers which can be enjoyed HERE.

All good so far then.

“Ah!” I hear you collectively cry. “What about all your health issues that you constantly moan about? Well, I’m glad you asked. I’ve finally started my fibromyalgia blog, entitled – The Adventures of Fibroman, which can be found RIGHT HERE. It’s only in its fledgling state at the moment so be kind and patient with it please. It needs work and time management has never been my strong point so bear with me. All I ask is that if fibromyalgia has affected you or anyone you know then do please get in touch through that channel.

That just leaves us with the novels.

Number 8 is written as a first draft and there will be a couple of months of editing the blessed thing. I’m making no more promises about times and dates; I’ve been hoist by my own petard too often in doing so. I’m just going to get on with getting it finished and let you know when it will be published and do the old cover reveal and all that kind of stuff. I can’t wait to show you the cover.

Phew! Glad I’ve gotten all that lot off my chest. I feel a lot lighter for doing so.

One big change I do want to implement however, is to increase the regularity of the blog. Last year I think I wrote something like 20 blog posts compared to about 100 Substacks and I have neglected the poor, dear old blog as a result. Something I need to work on. Call that my resolution for 2026.

Righto, I’m off to Blessham now to start knocking Joe Wilkie’s latest adventure into shape.

Last Roll of the Dice

It grieves me to have to write something so depressing at this time of year when the rest of the world is pissing it up and celebrating an imaginary old guy with a white beard and natty red suit when they should be remembering the birth of Christ. But Hey Ho, that’s the way humanity rolls these days.

I’ll cut quickly to the chase.

My 8^th novel is completed, well, first draft anyway. The problem is that I am tired and in pain and feeling utterly dejected as a writer. I made the classic mistake, when I first self-published of thinking that my work would sell in great numbers; how foolish and naïve I was.

Let me tell you the God’s honest truth – If anyone ever tells you it’s easy being a writer or an author they are clearly lying and they themselves are neither of those things. It’s a bloody hard slog to write a 90,000+ word book, a harder one to edit and perfect it and an even harder one still to try and sell the damn thing. And I just don’t have the wherewithal to carry on banging my head against the wall for no return.

So, here’s the deal.

Over the next couple of months, I’m going to finish editing and preparing that 8^th one for publication. It’s a cracking story and the cover, as I’ve mentioned before, is unfeasibly fantastic. I’ll then do my best to promote it for six months and if I still find myself in the situation where I am now, vis-à-vis not selling any books, then I’m knocking it all on the head. I can’t kid myself any longer and I don’t have the physical capability to do so either.

This book is the last roll of the dice.

Sorry to be such a killjoy at Christmas but I’m on my last legs here.

I Want to Shout it from the Rooftops!!!

Just a quick blog post today. I had a minor hospital procedure yesterday and I still feel a bit sluggish from the sedative (Fentanyl) so please forgive the shortness of this post.

But here we go!

I’ve never hidden the fact that my granddaughter, Erin, is utterly fabulous. You may think it’s an obvious thing for a grandad to say and you’d be right of course. But today she has once again showed her fabulousness, and how.

You may recall me saying that I’d asked Erin to create the cover art for the next novel as she is the most accomplished teenage artist you ever came across. Well, today she presented me with the artwork and I am completely bowled over by it.

I knew she’d do a great job but it’s even better than I could have ever hoped for. It is without doubt the best cover of one of my books yet. I’m not just blowing smoke when I say that; I believe it from my heart.

I feel as if I want to show it to everyone and shout from the rooftops (as the title of this post suggests) about how brilliant it is and honestly, you’d be the same. But to reveal it now would spoil the surprise. I haven’t quite finished the first draft yet and I don’t like giving too much away too soon.

But take it from me it is utterly wonderful and you’re going to love it. It’s a bit of a departure from the usual Blessham covers and I’m giving serious thought to asking Erin if she will help me redesign them all, with the exception of The Pheasants Revolt, which Erin’s mum created and which I love. But the others could certainly do with looking at from a fresh perspective and I don’t think there is anyone else but Erin who I would give the task to.

Erin gets me you see. We have always had such a laugh together and I consider her to be not only my granddaughter but also one of my very best friends. I always knew she had talent as she was always doodling away at an early age. One of my proudest possessions is a scribbly but lovingly done drawing in biro on a sheet of pink paper that she presented to me on my birthday when she was only five years old. Yes, I still have it and would never part with it.

Since those early forays into drawing she has progressed into a gifted illustrator and is now employed as a tattoo artist. That’s a job that takes a lot of skill and even more bottle to do. I’ve said before that I’d never have a tattoo but that if I ever change my mind then Erin gets the job without a qualm.

I gave Erin only the briefest outline of what I wanted for this book cover and she has produced something that any self-respecting author would be proud to have on the front of one of their tomes.

Damn it I wish I could show you it. But the time just isn’t right yet.

The Ingleby Problem

I’ve been scratching my head for some time now as to what to do about Ingleby, the fictitious town where 3 of my novels are based. Those novels, of course, being:

The Ghost of Lenton Wattingham

Mutch Wants Moor

Vole

If you haven’t read them yet then I would urge you to do so at the earliest possible convenience. They’re all full of dark humour and are thumping good reads that take an introspective look at the seedier side of life.

So why have I been scratching my head?

In short, I think the Ingleby novels have run out of steam. Or is it me that’s run out of steam for the Ingleby novels? May I beg a few moments of your time whilst I elaborate? Thank you.

When I independently published my first novel – Ah Boy! – in 2019 I had already got the plan for a full series of books starring the central character, Joe Wilkie. But at the time, I didn’t want to pigeonhole myself and just write in one particular style and felt it best to branch out into other literary worlds. That’s when the idea for Ingleby came about.

I saw my writing career going as thus – A Blessham/Joe Wilkie novel followed by an Ingleby novel and repeat the cycle.

The thing is, as time has progressed and with my development as a writer, I’m just not “feeling” the Ingleby thing anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as proud as a peacock with those three books and many people have told me how they think Mutch Wants Moor is the best book I’ve written to date and I’m somewhat inclined to agree.

However, I had begun work on another Ingleby novel over two years ago. It was the follow up to Mutch Wants Moor featuring the adorable Archie and Aggie Stone and their canal boat Orca. I had actually got 15 chapters into it and for some reason, which I can’t fully explain, I just stalled. Came to an abrupt halt. I didn’t know where to go with it. I’d driven it down a literary cul-de-sac and couldn’t turn around.

Here’s what I think happened.

Over the last 6 years of being an independent author, I’ve come to realise that Joe Wilkie and the village of Blessham is where I’m happiest writing about. I think Joe has really developed into such a well-rounded character and those stories are so much fun to write. To be honest with you, I wasn’t having very much fun with that abandoned Ingleby novel.

I’m firmly entrenched in that particular camp that says if you don’t enjoy writing then you shouldn’t really be doing it in the first place. And I wasn’t enjoying writing that one. It just didn’t have the same flair, pace and joie de vivre that its predecessor had and I was finding it hard to recapture all that.

Henceforth, I shelved it and turned my focus back onto Blessham. Note the word “shelved” in that sentence; I’m a firm believer in the phrase “Never say never.” It may come to fruition at some point in the future. But for now, it remains unfinished.

I’m now a mere 4 chapters from finishing the first draft of the new Blessham novel and I am having a mountain of fun in doing so. I swear I haven’t enjoyed writing this much since The Pheasants Revolt, back in 2020/21. My imagination is running more riotous than a large group of poll tax protesters and ideas are just tumbling out of me like last nights kebab. I’m having a blast.

Also, and I’m sorry if this sounds like bragging, but I’ve been gifted a new computer by my amazing and generous in-laws the Morgan Family. It’s an absolute beast of a machine which was formerly used for gaming so you can probably guess how powerful and fast it is. I love my old laptop and it served me well for 11 years but it’s starting to show it’s age a little (like all of us) and running rather slow and I think it’s time to retire the old girl.

This new machine though is so fast and efficient that I can write around 1300 words an hour or more. Something I couldn’t do on Propane Elaine (my laptop’s name, don’t ask).

So, here’s where I’m now at. The Ingleby novels will henceforth become the Ingleby Trilogy until such times as I return to them in the dim and distant future. I’m going to focus the bulk of my attention on getting some more Wilkie books written so that there is a lengthy series for readers to immerse themselves in and I desperately need to be so much more proactive and creative with the marketing of my books as well. I don’t invest anywhere near enough time in doing that.

And I think my books are well worth promoting.

I also have a couple of other irons in the fire, one of which is an anthology of my non-novel scribblings from this blog and Substack etc and there’s a new character I’ve been playing about with in my head which I’m slowly developing for when I eventually do need to take a break from Blessham, which is bound to happen at some point.

So sincere apologies if you prefer my Ingleby books. Like I said, I most likely will return to that townful of reprobates at some point in the future, but for my own career’s sake I need to focus on Mr Wilkie and Co for now.

September

Yes, it is a strange title for a blog post written in October. The thing is, there were no Blessham Hall blog posts at all in the ninth month of the year and here we are, a quarter of the way through the tenth. Call me Slacker!

Actually, I’ve not been that slack since the last post on August 28^th. I’ve worked on the next novel, getting it up to 12 chapters (or two thirds if you prefer) and its looking pretty good.

But for another thing, I took two weeks holiday in Ireland from September 15th to 29^th and if that sounds like slacking off then you’re wrong. I’m a great one for believing in investing in yourself and that’s what I did over there in the Emerald Isle.

You know the old phrase – “Feeling recharged?” Well I well and truly am. I was literally like a flat battery and Ireland was the charger. It’s done me an absolute power of good. My mind is much calmer, my outlook more philosophical, my body less achy and my imagination fired up. It was a great time of personal refreshing, based in the delightful West Cork coastal countryside with the gal I love.

I’ve put on a few pounds in weight but who doesn’t on holiday; unless they go to one of those hideous health spas. You couldn’t pay me to try one of those things. I can cover myself in mud, eat salad and abstain from alcohol at home so why pay for the pleasure?

And I can get an enema from the NHS.

But 5 pounds weight gain is a small price to pay for how that holiday has affected me. I wouldn’t go as far as to say something as crass as I feel like a new man but I’m certainly in a considerably better state than before I left.

I didn’t actually switch the old laptop on until this Monday, a full week after we returned. I used that time to unwind some more and just enjoy being at home here at Blessham Hall. I think that week was just as mentally restorative as the previous fortnight. Since Monday I’ve been writing for all I’m worth with zero self-criticism/loathing and no doubts about my direction as a writer/author.

I’ve been focussing on catching up with Substack this week but from Monday next it’s back to the novel with a vengeance as I shall be spending some of the weekend having a quick refresh read-through before plunging back into it. I feel rather excited at the prospect. And I’m not usually the excitable type.

I’ve got my granddaughter – Erin – signed up to design the cover for the novel as she has turned into the most accomplished tattoo artist you ever saw and her drawing is… what’s the word now…

Special! That’s it. Truly special. I’ve never seen a nineteen-year-old with that level of artistic skill and talent.

“Ah!” I hear you say, “You’re bound to say that being a proud grandad.” To which I would say, “Good point, well made.” But in this instance it’s much more than just grandfatherly benevolence. Just wait until you see the cover. I’ve always swore blind all my life that I’d never have a tattoo but if I ever change my mind then Erin gets the job.

So things are rather good here at BH and long may that continue. I need to pace myself better so that I don’t end up a burnt-out wreck again, but if that does happen then I know where to find relief.

And a damn good pint of Guinness.

It’s Been a While

Like the title says, it’s been a while. Quite a long while actually, between blog posts that is. The last one was on the 15^th of July. A shocking 5 weeks ago. So a blog post is well overdue, and here it is.

I’m not going to make any grovelling apologies, I’ve stopped doing that, we’re all busy these days so why should I beg for forgiveness? It’s my blog after all. Life often has a subtle knack of getting in the way of things.

So what has happened since last we convened on the Blessham Hall Blog?

Plenty.

I’d better let you know from the off that I have a hospital procedure on the horizon as I’ve been having a little internal trouble for some time now. Is it serious? Don’t know yet but fingers crossed it isn’t. Yes, I am a tad worried but what will be will be. Que sera sera, as they say Austria. Or is it Belgium? I can never remember.

So that’s looming large and is occupying my mind a great deal.

You’ll be pleased, though, to discover that the first draft of the next Blessham novel is now over half way written. Obviously I’m not going to give too much away but I want you to know that I haven’t had this much fun writing a novel since The Pheasants Revolt, which is my very favourite of all my books. I have to stop writing very often to allow myself some titter-time. If the author can laugh at his own work then it’s a good sign, I think.

Joe is slightly out of his depth at the part where I am in the writing process and the poor little chap is in a somewhat fearful state of mind. Incidentally, talking about Joe, I was in conversation with someone who is currently reading Ah Boy! and she described the character of Joe as ‘adorable.’ That made me very happy.

Anyway, work progresses. But I’m not setting any time constraints on myself for the following reason:

I’ve been abominably ill these last few weeks.

It’s true and whilst I’ve not been shy about documenting my health struggles on this here blog things have been pretty grim lately. Apart from my hospital issue the fibromyalgia has been an utter bastard to the point where even walking around Blessham Hall becomes a tearful effort. Good days, bad days and all that but I’m getting so pissed off with it.

I’m also seeing a mental health professional again for the first time in a good long while. I’m not losing my marbles but I am still struggling with the passing of my Mum earlier this year and there are several other external pressures affecting me and it’s left me in a bit of a vulnerable condition.

Thankfully, I’m married to the most wonderful human being and she is as supportive as they come. I reckon I’d be lost without her. I know I would.

I also suffered an insect attack a few weeks ago and was bitten a good many times on my legs and ankles. Now, mozzy bites are nothing new to me, I get them every year, but these were something else. They all went purple in colour to the point where it looked like I was covered in Ribena stains. Horribly painful but the most shocking part was that I honestly believe that some of them were spider bites, which is quite horrific when you think about it.

But, by slathering hydrocortisone cream all over myself and ingesting antihistamines by the handful I have, mercifully, seen a huge reduction in the discomfort and swelling brought on by those multi-legged gits. It’s not been a fun time I can tell you.

On to happier things though.

Substack for example.

I have my first paid subscriber and I am elated. That someone believes in my work to the point of wanting to pay me for doing it is one of the best compliments I ever had. I’ve never claimed, personally, to be a good (or even average) writer and there have been a few unkind folks who have pointed this out and derided my output, but now I feel a sense of affirmation that I must be either improving in my craft or at least in some way entertaining. And I can’t ask for more than that really.

I am one of those authors who reads other people’s work and then say to myself, “I wish I could write like that.” But then again, I’m not Terry Pratchett or Douglas Adams or Tom Sharpe or anyone else. I’m Alan Stevenson and I write bawdy slapstick comedies and, yeah, I’m content with that. So I’ll just say “nuts” to the naysayers. Come and tell me how bad I am when you’ve written seven full length novels yourself.

Also, while we’re talking about Substack, I have been pretty consistent with my output there. Tuesday and Thursday are my Substack days and there’s some pretty decent literary fayre on there for everyone to enjoy. I’ve been on that platform for a year and a half now and there are over 140 posts to read including poems, short stories, essays and a serialised novel. Go take a look HERE.

What else has happened?

Well, for one thing, Ange and I have realised we aren’t getting any younger and have started to make the most of the rest of our lives as best we can. That means having day trips, small holidays and some serious quality time together. We had a run over to Heysham in the car earlier this month and it was gorgeous. Ok, yes, I struggled to walk and was in tremendous pain but I was also in the company of the woman I love and I was as happy as a lark for a day. We ended the day with sausage and chips on Morecambe sea front. Ok, so it wasn’t a Michelin starred restaurant overlooking the bay of Naples but to us it was truly delightful.

Other than all of that life goes on. Some days I write and some days I don’t. I did, for a few weeks, go through quite a dark patch where I considered throwing the towel in but then I got that paid subscriber and suddenly things became a lot brighter.

I’ll endeavour to leave a shorter gap between blogs posts next time but please do understand that life gets in the way sometimes and we all have our limitations.

See you soon x

Fool Time Score

Fool, now there’s an interesting word. As a noun, it means a person who lacks judgement or acts unwisely. An idiot, basically. As a verb, it means either to deceive or trick as well as to waste time or act foolishly.

I think I’m guilty of being both the noun and the verb recently.

I’m a fool to myself, speaking of the noun. I keep setting time targets for myself and then broadcasting it either via this blog or Substack. And then I look like a total berk when I don’t make good on those targets.

Take my blog post from the 9^th June. You may recall it; it was titled Switcheroo. It was a well written, little piece that fizzed and zinged with positivity, that I concocted in a mood of joie de vivre. I was feeling triumphant from writing a whole chapter of my next novel in one day and became so full of exuberance that I made all sorts of claims and promises in that post that I was going to get the novel finished in the space of a few weeks.

Foolish of me.

Here we are several weeks later and I’m just on the cusp of finishing chapter 7 of that book. Nowhere near what I had crowed about on June 9^th. Nowhere even remotely near.

Now, I’m not saying that the writing itself has been a struggle as I am convinced that this is going to be one of the best Joe Wilkie books yet and I am enjoying the writing process immensely. I truly am having so much fun with this one.

It’s just that I haven’t gotten all that far with it. Life, as you know, has a habit of getting in the way of things and my life is no exception to the rules. Yes, I could blame poor health, yes I could blame commitments and yes I could blame my own reticence and idleness at times. The stark naked fact is that I simply shouldn’t have made those claims in the first place.

Because now, I look like a fool for saying them.

As a verb, it’s even worse!

I feel like I’ve deceived my readers by making such bold statements. I’ve fooled people into thinking they’re going to be reading Joe’s next adventure in the near future when in reality it might not even be this year.

I mean, I’m doing my best and I’m hopeful it’ll be released before Christmas but the truth is I just can’t promise that and I shouldn’t have given people the wrong idea when I said it would be ready by Autumn.

Ok, it might well be ready by Autumn if I get my foot down but then again it might not. I just can’t say for certain.

And to think, I convinced myself and all of you that I thought it possible that I’d write three chapters a week. I’m a fool whose fooled.

So I’m sorry everyone. I’m not going to make any more bold promises or set myself time-based targets that are just unrealistic and unfeasible. Instead, I’m going to knuckle down and write my ass off as and when I can and instead of focussing on the release date I shall focus on producing the best book that I can. Quality over quantity must now be my mantra when it comes to the daily word count.

I think, as a writer, I should be aiming for more mystique and less foolishness.

Incidentally, a fool is also a kind of pudding. It’s pink, fruity and not very healthy. Now, who does that remind you of?

Forging Ahead

An ultra-quick blog post this week because I’m rushed off my little tootsies.

Right then, three week ago I promised you a progress report at some point and here it is. In a nutshell, I haven’t made as much progress with the next novel as I would have liked to have done but I have made good progress none-the-less.

There are now 5 chapters in the bag (first drafts) and I am so chuffed with the way the story is panning out. Joe is coming out with some absolute pearlers of his limited vocabulary and Lady Stark-Raven is as mad as a suitcase full of semolina. I think she might actually be losing the plot. It’s ok, I’ll reign her in a bit.

There are several new characters in this book including not one, but two, antagonists and a rather fetching young woman who has quite an effect on our hero. I wouldn’t go as far as love interest because Joe only has eyes for Meg Morrison but this new lady has certainly caught his eye.

The antagonists are perhaps the most unusual thing about the new characters. I really do wish I could go into deeper detail about them but that would be unwise of me at this juncture. What I can promise you is that it is my full intention to get this book into your hands at some point in the Autumn.

I don’t want to set myself any more time goals or targets; I just want to get the bloody thing written.

There have been a few calls and pulls on our time recently but that’s just this wonderful life getting in the way. We all have our responsibilities. However, on a health front I do have some rather good news. My weight and my BMI are both down and my blood pressure is absolutely bang on. I had my annual medical with the nurse yesterday you see and I was so pleased with myself when I left.

Another amazing thing, which must be due to the weight loss, is that the nurse managed to get blood out of my left arm at the first stab. I usually come out of these sessions looking like a second hand dartboard with puncture wounds all over my limbs. In fact, pretty much on every occasion for the last five years or more, they’ve had to extract the blood from the back of my hand, which, as you can no doubt guess, ain’t none too pleasant. But no, yesterday, straight into the left arm and three vials of my most vital of fluids were filled to the brim in no time at all.

And there was one other thing that came out of my medical that I have no explanation for. I was measured for height and it seems that I am one whole inch taller than I was at this time last year. And the nurse checked and rechecked a few times but there was no denying it, I’m now officially, on record, as being six foot tall. For years I have struggled with the shame of being five foot eleven inches. Now I can hold my head up high and call myself a strapping six-footer. Well, maybe not strapping. Overlapping perhaps. But a six-footer all the same.

Right then, that’s all the news from Blessham Hall. Back to that 8^th novel.

Speak soon xx

Add It To The List

I know, I know, don’t remind me, it’s been nearly 3 weeks since the last blog post on the 9^th of May but I haven’t been idle, believe me. I’ve written some utterly sumptuous and hilarious Substack posts in that time and I’ve made a pretty good start on the next Blessham novel.

Blessham novel? I hear you say. Shouldn’t that be an Ingleby one next.

Well, yes, by rights it should be but I’ve decided to throw convention out the window and follow my heart and right now my heart says Blessham. I had got a sizeable chunk of the next Ingleby book, featuring Archie and Aggie Stone, done, which was somewhere around the 15,000 word mark but I’ve shelved it for now.

I don’t know, I just wasn’t feeling it and the comedy wasn’t as good as its wonderful predecessor – Mutch Wants Moor, which, lets face it, is probably the best comedy novel ever written. And I want to do justice to the Stones as I have a very strong connection to them. Ahem!

I will come back to that one at some point but for now I feel the call to go back to the charming village of Blessham and when I’ve got that out of my system then it’s another visit to Ingleby. Ok?

So why is today’s blog post so named?

Without whinging I’m afraid I’ve got another ailment to inform you about.

Diverticulitis!

No, I hadn’t heard of it either.

It’s a digestive problem where small pouches grow on the wall of the colon and if they become infected they can cause a lot of pain. I think mine must be infected because some days I feel like asking the doctor for a colon transplant. Other days it’s just a gripey little nuisance but there’s not a single day goes by without it causing me some level of grief.

But, as I say, I don’t want to whinge about it because whinging gets you nowhere; only on everyone else’s tits. And my own tits are quite enough, thank you. No, I thought I’d just let you know the state of play. I had to endure a fair amount of ignominy before the doctor arrived at his diagnosis; something I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Let’s just say that he was anything but gentle with me!

The brute!!!

I’ve sought a second opinion since and I’ve been asked to produce a sample of my leavings which has gone off for analysis and I’m seeing another doctor about it on the 9^th of June. Hopefully there won’t be any need for internal photography but that’s a distinct possibility.

I just hope they have warm hands this time.

Apologies to those of a nervous disposition if this is all too much information but we’re all grown-ups here aren’t we. And if you’re not a grown-up then you really need to seek your parent’s or guardian’s permission before you read any further.

Actually, it’s not that bad is it?

Anyway, what I thought I’d do, just for a jape, is to make a comprehensive list of my ailments, both past and present dating back to the root cause of them all. It may make interesting reading and I think it will be cathartic for me to get it off my chest.

Right then, here we go. These aren’t exactly in chronological order because I’ve forgotten the chronological order but it goes something like this…

It all began in 2003 when I contracted the SARS virus when for 24 hours my soul hovered between this world and the next. Seriously, it was a close thing.

Since then I have or have had…

Encephalitis
Myocarditis
Pericarditis (no point having only one carditis, is there?)
Depressive Anxiety Disorder
Fibromyalgia
Bell’s Palsy
Cervical Spondylosis (literal pain in the neck)
Vertigo
Meniere’s Disease (hearing loss)
Re-occurring constipation
Pneumonia
Diverticulitis
And I once put an axe into my foot but that was an accident (or was it an axe-ident? Geddit? No? Ah well, please yourselves)

Quite the list, isn’t it? And they’re just the ones I can remember. There may be others.

Truth of the matter is that SARS made an epic mess of me and I’m still in a long-term battle because my body took such a pasting. The only one’s I can’t really blame on the SARS, for certain, is the spondylosis, pneumonia and the axe! Maybe the constipation as well but I’m still divided over that one.

Do me a favour will you; if you ever see SARS walking down the street please feel free to kick him in the nads for me. Of course, that’s not the reality. SARS is not a physical embodiment that one can deliver a swift toe to the goolies to. It’s much worse than that.

SARS stands for Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome and is a variant of the coronavirus, which is something you may have heard of. Basically a cousin of Covid-19. And I know exactly where and when I got it. I just can’t pinpoint the so-and-so that passed it on to me. But when I do…

…nah, no use crying over spilt milk.

Instead I make the best of my life, which I have to say has improved manifold since 2011 when I met my wife, soul mate, best friend and love of my life – Ange. She can’t make the illnesses go away but by heck does she support me through them. And lets not forget she’s had some pretty serious health issues herself in the last couple of years. It’s reassuring to have someone that caring in my life. I don’t know what’s going to be next to add to that list. Hopefully nothing but life is full of curve-balls and me and my lovely will face them together.

I’ll leave it there because at this precise moment Ange is baking a carrot, apple and sultana cake and I want to be there when it comes out of the oven and salivate over it for half an hour or so whilst it cools down enough for poor little Alan to have a piece.

Hope to bring you a Blessham update next time.

Until then x