Just wanted to say a big thank you to those who have reviewed my novel on Amazon.  It's a great feeling knowing people are reading your work and even better when you get such good feedback.

I've just been down the garden to hang out the washing and it's blooming lovely out there!  The sun is shining - the daffodils are all out and it smells so Spring-like.  A family (or two) of pheasants live in our garden - they find sanctuary from the pheasant shoots that are prevalent in these parts and come up to the house to forage for the bird-seed fallen from the feeders.  Mostly in the garden we see blue-tits, coal-tits, great-tits, goldfinches, a few sparrows.  This morning I saw my old friend the nut-hatch.  Nice to see him back.
I think I've just about recovered from yesterday's marathon shopping expedition with my Mum.  She's 83 now and still gets about but needs a shopping trolley to keep her going.  Unfortunately, shopping trolleys, my Mum and a crowded Salisbury market don't mix very well.  Mum knows exactly where she wants to go and makes a bee-line for it without too much thought for those who also may be trying to get somewhere.  (Sorry Mum).  She always looks at the fish stall but she's very choosy about what she buys - then it's the cheeses followed by the man who sells poultry and venison, honey and pickles.  We always look at the Farmers Market part as well and, of course, the Olive man (or woman as it was the case yesterday).  Mum always buys artichoke hearts and olives stuffed with garlic.
As for me, well, I usually get a couple of cheeses - there's a nice sheep's cheese made locally - and some goat's cheese.  So much cheaper than at the supermarket - you can get three cheeses for £1.00 or a lovely big portion for about £2.50 - and it's good cheese.  Sometimes I buy a pot of local honey although as I live in Hampshire I feel a bit of a traitor buying honey in Wiltshire - I did draw the line yesterday and said 'no thank you' to a pot with the label "Made in Somerset" though.  To eat honey locally to your home is supposed to be good for you I'd heard. ??  Then I always visit the chicken sausage maker's stall.  He always cooks up a few samples which I can never resist.  Yesterday I tasted the chicken with tomato and herb.  Never really fancied these before but I can tell you, they were delicious.  Other flavours are Garlic, Old English,  Spicy Chilli - I've tried most of them - Old English is the best.
By now we were both quite ready for some lunch but as it was only 11.30 we decided to browse in a couple of charity shops first.  Now this is an activity I enjoy and as I'm setting my new novel around people working in a charity shop I always feel I'm doing a bit of research as well as having fun.  One of the things we've noticed about charity shops though is the price-hike.  (is that the right word?)  The first shop we went into had second-hand paperbacks at £3.25 each.  You can get new books for that in most supermarkets now, so it's a bit much.  Mum bought a skirt but when we left she said something to me about the prices being more than they used to.  The shop was nearly empty and thats probably why.  I said I thought it was a shame that the charity shops were pricing themselves above what people who needed to shop in them could afford.  You can get a t-shirt in a store for a couple of quid and they were selling them for nearly £5.00.  To prove the point in the next charity shop we entered it was packed full of customers.  Many of the stock items were good products - a hardly worn M & S top for £3.99 for example.  And their books were only £2.50.
We had lunch in a nice Italian Restaurant - Prezzos - near the cathedral close.  It was a very nice meal served by a lovely young waiter who looked after dear old Mum and me very well.
Of course, by the time we'd eaten and got back on the road to Tesco I was pretty pooped to say the least.  But Mum needed to stock up on loads of things so it was an hour and a half later before we got her home.
I eventually got home at something past four, put all the shopping away and collapsed on the bed for an hour.
It was Erin's birthday - 19th - so I had loads to think about - you know, stuff like 'Nineteen years ago at this very moment I was in labour', and all that.  Then you get to think about the years between and you wonder what happened to your little girl.  Still she is growing into a lovely young woman.
We had chocolate cake with candles after tea and later went to The Golden Lion to celebrate with a drink.
Now - interestingly enough - there are four people who live in the village with birthdays on the 20th March.  They all live within about a hundred yards or so of each other.  The first one is 79 years old - the second is a lady who lives on the terrace (don't know her age and anyway you don't tell the world how old a lady is).  The third is Erin and the fourth is a lad of 16.  And they were all in the pub at one time or another last night!  Alan who is 79 had arranged a birthday party which coincided with the pub's Jazz Night, so there was music as well as a large cake in the shape of a hat baked by our very own village baker (Bob at the Post Office), Alan had brought along two black bin liners full of hats and many of the crowd were wearing random ones during the evening.  The landlord had laid on platters of home-cooked chips (that's fries to some of you).  They were delicious as was the cake.
But we were all very tired - Erin had gone clubbing on Monday night with her Uni friends and had very little sleep - well not her usual twelve hours - so we left the pub by 10.30 and were in bed by 11.00.
Am feeling much revived and ready to venture to Southampton today with Erin for a big shopping trip - to buy her present.  Phew!!!

Watch this space for news of the greatest birthday party of the year in Southwick!
Too tired to write tonight.......

having a quiet time with the blog today.  This is due to having spent the day with Mum trekking around Salisbury Market and being completely knackered.  But tomorrow I intend to get on a write about today.  I'm sure you can't wait to hear about my day.
Just off to the pub with my lovely daughter who is nineteen today, and lovely man of my life, Mark - more later.

Hello to all you lovely people who are following my blog.  If you are enjoying reading Caught in The Web - I'd really appreciate it if you would be kind enough to purchase a copy from the Kindle Store.  It only costs £1.69 UK or $1.99 US.  You can buy it anywhere and download Kindle onto any computer, iphone or smart phones, ipad, laptops for free if you don't have a Kindle.  I'm trying hard to sell as many copies as possible and would love it if those of you who have read it would do a review on Amazon for me.  Only a few words needed - but would make a lot of difference to how the novel sells.

Many, many thanks.....

And another snippet of my new novel:

7 - Geoffrey

He’s lying on his bed, head under the damp sweat-soaked sheets, trying to keep out the noise.  All morning he could hear the hum of the heater seeping through the vents in the wall above the bed, wondering how safe it really was in this place.  He couldn’t get out.

He wasn’t locked in his room but the front door to the building was closed and would only open if one of the nurses waved a key fob over the little red light on the wall.  He’d stood there watching the light turn to green and heard the door click open.  The nurses would turn and tell him to stand away from the door before they tried to pass through.  But it was OK.  He didn’t want to leave yet anyway.  It was just the noises in the vents that were getting to him.

Why was he here?

Because of what happened in the shop he guessed.  It was only a charity shop so he couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about.  Everyone else who worked there took things home without paying for them.  He’d have given them the money for all the toys he’d taken home if only they’d asked.  And the little boy who’d wanted to buy the Lego set was alright, wasn’t he?  He’d only meant to frighten him a little bit - was only playing.  He hadn’t wanted to hurt him - it was just the noise the boy made - it really got to Geoffrey.

The nurse was at his door.  He looked up and saw her peering through the slats on the little window.  Checking on him.  ‘Go away, go away, go away,’ he thought to himself, too afraid to speak out loud.  Why did they have to keep watching him all the time?  They called it “Obs”.  He was on fifteen minute obs apparantly.  That meant that wherever he was on the ward, someone would come along with a clip-board every quarter of an hour to see where he was and what he was doing, tick the board and move on to the next patient.  Nights were the worst.  He’d be trying to sleep and the light would go on in his room - the slats on the window would slide open and eyes would stare in at him - just to see if he was still breathing he supposed.  Sometimes he held his breath - just to see if they noticed.  They never did.

What a lovely day yesterday was - Mother's Day breakfast at the Post Office Tea Room with Mum and Dad-in-law followed by an afternoon of dress rehearsal for the panto which starts on thursday.  The rehearsal was a bit of a shambles - as all dress rehearsals seem to be.  One of my costumes, whilst quite effective, is most uncomfortable to wear.  It's never a good idea to agree to wearing a bald head wig and beard is it?  The wig's alright but the elastic on the beard rubs over the tops of my ears.  The other outfit is OK - a nice trouser suit with a pair of court shoes, but I seem to be in the beard more often.

I had three brilliant Mother's Day cards - two which made me cry tears of emotion, and one tears of laughter.  Thanks Kids.  I especially enjoyed the card with the message from Cliff Richard belting out in the restaurant.
We spent the evening having dinner at The Hunters - many photos taken and much laughter.  We finally got home at ten exhausted and full of good food.
I love my family so much.

Today I need to get back into writing - but just for now, here is chapter six of Caught in the Web for those of you who may be interested:

Chapter Six

Peter was worried.  

Things hadn't been the same since Karen had started working in that place.  When he thought about it, he supposed that it had all began to go wrong when she'd had that operation.   He hated coming home to an empty house.  Ever since he was small when his father had left.  Mum said he was too young to remember.  But he did.  How could he not remember the shouting, the crying and that final bang of the door as his father went out for the last time?  Afterwards, it was the silence that got to him more than the noise.

He’d come home from school and rather than play indoors on his own he would hang around in the Co-op where his mum worked.  She never came to sports days to watch him run and hardly ever came to school plays.  Peter would watch the other mothers cheering on their children.  

The knot of resentment which he'd kept tight in his chest was re-ignited when he was away at University and she'd told him that she was fostering a teenage girl, an orphan.  When he came home that summer, he couldn't even bring himself to look at the girl.  

'You couldn't even look after me properly,' he snapped.  'How can you look after someone else's child?'

‘That’s not fair,’ she said, recoiling from his anger.  ‘I’ve always done my best for you.’

‘I was never good enough though, was I?  She’s a girl - is that it?  You always wanted a girl and you got me.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.  You were all I wanted.’  She reached towards him but he pulled his arm away.  ‘Karen hasn’t got any family.  She needs a break.  You’re not here much now anyway.’

‘So she’s taking my place.’

‘Of course not.  Just give her a chance, please.’  She paused.  ‘This will always be your home and I’ll always love you.  No-one could take your place.’

Peter glared at her, knowing that she was lying.

The realisation that the girl was making his mother happy made Peter even more angry.  He felt the pain of jealousy and rejection as he listened to her singing around the house and the two of them laughing together in the kitchen.

He went back to university each year infested with resentment towards both of them.

When he'd finished his degree and came home he was still feeling the same but was surprised to find that Karen was growing into a beautiful woman.  Peter realised that he wanted her.  He thought she'd make the perfect wife, shy, innocent, and always eager to please.  He made it his business to pursue her - woo her -  he showered her with gifts and flattery until she finally agreed to have him.  And she had been the perfect wife - until recently.

The doorbell rang.

His mother stood on the doorstep, leaning towards him for an affectionate hug.

'I thought I'd just pop in on my way home,' she said.  'It's been a while since I've seen either of you.'

'Karen's at work, so it's only me.’

'Shall I put the kettle on then?'  Margaret was already on her way to the kitchen.  'What time does she finish?'

'She won't get home until ten at least.'

Margaret looked at him and smiled.  'Oh well, I suppose that's shift work for you.’

'Bloody annoying actually,' he retorted.  'She's never here in the evenings any more.'

'There must be times when she finishes early.'

'Yes,' he said.  'Only she's tired in the evenings when she is here.'

'Oh?’

'I don't know why she's being so stubborn,' Peter went on.  'It's not a proper job for a woman.  She comes home stinking of that place.'

Margaret was making the tea.  'Got any biscuits?' she asked.

'In the cupboard above the toaster.’

Settled onto the sofa a short while later, Margaret poured the tea and handed a mug to Peter.

'Come on,' she said.  'Stop looking so miserable.  Karen needed to do something a bit more challenging after all she's been through.  She'll be alright.  She's young and hasn't had much of a life.'

'That's not true!' Peter argued.  'She has everything she wants, whenever she wants it.  All I ask is for a wife who's here for me.'

'Sometimes a woman needs to do things for herself,' Margaret pursued.  'To follow her own dream, you know?'

'I work hard to give her everything she needs,' he said.  'It's just being selfish, thinking you can follow your dreams.  What about my dreams?'

'What about your dreams?'

'I just want to be a proper family, with a wife and children.  No-one's interested in what I want.‘  He paused.  ‘It was the same when I was little.'

'That's not true,' Margaret sighed.  She sipped her tea, trying to find something to say which would ease the tension.

'What about Karen's days off?' she asked.  'She can't be working every day.'

'Of course not,' he snapped.  'She has a couple of days off every week, but they're not always at the weekends.'

'Couldn't you take time off in the week and go out for a day together?' Margaret suggested.

'That would be difficult,' Peter complained.

'Perhaps it's what you both need though,' Margaret said. 'Spend some time together doing something nice.  You must have holiday time owed you.'

'I don't know.’

'Well think about it at least,' Margaret urged.

She stayed another half an hour, making small talk, asking Peter about his job and trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that had settled between them.  Eventually she made her excuses and left, promising to drop in again later in the week.