I live in a second-storey flat that I’m constantly filling with old things: including one husband, and four guinea pigs. They are all named after book characters. Rest in poopies Samwyse and Charlotte, and may you eat, poop, and sleep forever Ginny, Arietty, Madeline and Baby. Baby isn’t named for anything. I ran out. Name suggestions tolerated only.
I’ve lived in a lot of places, travelled where I liked, did what I wished. (Except when I was in the army, they kind of frown upon that there.) And generally picked up all sorts of odd bits of information that make me quite interesting. I almost died twice, which also made me very funny.
I try something out, a method, a project, anything really, then wait for it to go a little wrong, okay, yes, maybe I’m secretly hoping it will go a lot wrong, and then I write about it. Then more disastrous the happening, the more hilarious the review.
I also collect Big Ben alarm clocks. If you like my writing, give me a clock. Not on the head. I might lose my sense of humour.
