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 I had a lovely evening at The Rising Sun last night. Penny, Iona and Carole all came along and we chatted about Penny's new house, writing, people's views of romantic fictions (especially the views of journalists) and life in general.
Iona has been contacted by a journo who is doing a feature on Erica James and was looking for an aspiring romantic novelist who had read her. Iona hadn't but had thought perhaps I had, but unable to get hold of me (I was in Blackpool, thrashing my credit card), she took the interview. Just as well really, because I haven't read Erica James either. Anyway, the piece--including a photo--will be running in tomorrow's Sentinel (I appreciate that most of you won't be able to get hold of it but there may be an online version).
What else? Not a lot.
I've managed to write 1504 words today so am suitably pleased with myself.
I'm now going to get myself off my pump and down to the local retail park to look for some pyjamas for a friend who's been taken into hospital. As she has no family up here (I know the feeling) she's sort of reliant on the help of friends. Being as she was rushed in, she found herself there with nothing but one of those horrid hospital gowns with a split up the back and paper knickers. Lovely! Another friend was going to take some of her knickers up to her (yes, I know - I wouldn't either) but as she's a size 32, they'd probably just end up in a heap around Carol's ankles. I'll have a look for some drawers (my mum still calls them drawers) when I'm out, too.
PS: Today's title reminds me of H.R. Puffandstuff. Anybody else remember him?
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