For 3 years now, I have earned my meagre living as a writer – lovingly supported by my wonderful better half, Wendy, and during that time no less that 20 books have passed through my rapidly typing fingers.
For most of that period, I had never really had a plot or even known what was going to happen to my characters until the words came out in front of me. I became a child again passionately writing vibrant stories for children – as well as grown up children – every one of which I enjoyed, probably far more than my readers ever did.
During that time and all those words, I had one policy only.
Never, ever, write when I had a drink.
It stood me in good stead, having seen the doggerel that I had written under the influence - and that of others in similar states.
But I always knew, somewhere deep inside, that there were stories in me – true stories – that involved a little alcohol. Stories that are funny. Stories that maybe it takes a little alcohol to recall, and a little more to hear.
So, against my better judgement, I have rescinded the pledge – remind me to tell that story later, about Charlie looking for the pledge, it’s hilarious – and taken just two weeks out to tell as many tales as I can, accompanied by a glass or two of red, as I sit in comfortable French sunshine and laugh to myself.
Please excuse me if I ramble a bit, but hopefully you will feel and – if you close your eyes - see my smiles.
My stories are about being in bed with cows.
I hope it works.