Sell the Pig sequel is officially "awesome"

I promised you some exciting news about the sequel to Sell the Pig, and here it is. I've just received confirmation that the indie publisher Ant Press has agreed to publish it. And as you can see from their website, they only take on "awesome books and awesome authors".

Ant Press is "a small, family-run, dynamic publishing company with a passion for engrossing, well-written books". And furthermore, they state: "Ant Press will only accept books they love and believe in." So I'm even more thrilled that they have agreed to take the sequel.

One of the faces behind Ant Press is New York Times best-selling author Victoria Twead, who wrote Chickens, Mules and Two Old Fools,  Two Old Fools - Olé, and Two Old Fools on a Camel. 

The Pig sequel is written, the deal is done, I just now need to trim and tidy up my final draft, send it to Victoria for proof-reading and formatting, then it will be available soon in Kindle format, to be followed by a paperback at a later date.

So there you have it.  Keep watching this space for the publication date!

A paperback is born!

Finally, after a long and protracted labour, I have given birth - to a paperback!

Pleased and proud to report that Sell the Pig is now available in paperback from Amazon (.com and most of the Europe channels).

Sell the Pig in paperback

As ever, do please leave a review when you've read it as your feedback is always most welcome and I have finally got Amazon to allow me to leave replies, although it won't let me leave them as Tottie which is seems to think is a rude word - it isn't!

And if you like it, do please tell your friends. Thanks so much.

Moving to France - why the Auvergne?

Faithful readers of Sell the Pig will already know that my decision to move to France's Auvergne had a lot to do with a certain drinks advert.

Back in the 1970s, Dubonnet was advertised with a slogan of, I think,  "Way up there" to the sound of the achingly beautiful shepherd's song Bailero from Canteloube's Songs of the Auvergne. This link is far from being the best ever version of the song but it does have the advantage of showing you some of the stunning scenery of this very green region with its hopefully extinct volcanoes.

Having listened to the music, I'd long held a desire to visit the region and as soon as I did, it captured my heart. So I was amused on a recent guided walk round a little local town, Cunlhat, (and if you think it looks hard to pronounce, I can tell you the locals pronounce it nothing like it looks!) to come across this painted gable end, advertising Dubonnet!

It's rather ironic, as when I first began work as a cub reporter in Manchester, my editor was nicknamed Pissquick - you can guess why - and his wife was an alcoholic, whose favourite tipple was Dubonnet.

But that's another story - perhaps for the sequel to Sell the Pig!

Not just any other family moving to France

It's a cold, wet, miserable day in the Auvergne.  Yes, we do get them. In fact overall our weather isn't that different to that of the UK, only more extreme - our hot is hotter, our cold is colder.  So I thought I'd go and rummage round in the attic for some more photos for you and I suddenly came over all nostalgic and found some family ones.  Not sure if they are what you want to see, but thought it might help you will picturing the family behind the move to France, before dementia, depressed dipsomania and downright dottiness set in.

As ever, I'm in your hands, dear readers, to know what you would like to see.  Do please let me know.

I thought it would be nice to start with one showing a relatively normal family scene, Mother, Father, Brother and me, with my brother's godfather, Fr Leo Rakale CR on a visit from Bulawayo, where my father had met him during his wartime service there.

"Mother certainly had her share of admirers. In fact she went out with the man Auntie Doris went on to marry, before her younger sister did. I have no idea why she waited so long nor eventually made the choice she did.

Recently, when age and dementia have removed inhibitions, Mother has taken to looking wistfully at her wedding photographs and saying: “That was the day. I wonder if I did the right thing?”. A sentiment I have certainly shared throughout most of my life."

Parents' wedding, April 1947 

"My father's job as a newspaper editor came with a heavy social engagement schedule. There were endless civic receptions, cheese and wine parties, film premiers and other such delights to attend, for which mother would put on her finest gowns. And they did make a handsome couple, it has to be said." 

Wilmslow Civic Ball 1962

"Mother was a real looker, with beautiful blonde hair so long she could sit on it, who surprisingly didn't marry until she was 30. Doris was the dizzy blonde who made the good marriage."  

Mother (left) already well into her 80s, with younger sister Doris

Mother (right) in 2004 with older sister Ethel in the lovely home in St Helens

Right, that's your lot, lovely readers.  Sorry the spacing went a bit funny, think I've now sussed what I did wrong and will do it better next time.  As ever, do please leave me some comments and request any pictures you would like to see.

Leaving home in the UK to move to France

Just to prove I do listen to my kind readers and respond to their requests, here, especially for Carl, are some of the pictures of my "grottage" near Market Rasen, Lincolnshire.  Affectionately known as "The Hammer House of Horrors" when I bought it because it was in such an appalling state, having been largely lived in by animals for years.

As ever, photographs are accompanied by relevant text from my book, Sell the Pig, for the benefit of those who have not read it and to link things together for those who have.

"I wasn't particularly thinking of buying a property at this stage in my life, and certainly was not certain that that area was where I wanted to put down long-term roots, having been there barely six months. But, like the Elephant's Child, I am full of “'satiable curtiosity”.

"So when a neighbour told me horror stories of a cottage in the hamlet that was coming up for sale, I simply had to go and take a look at it. She told me it had been repossessed by the mortgage company when the former occupant, who apparently had some mental health issues, fell behind with payments and became unable to live there on her own any more.

"According to my source, the house was in very poor condition, as she'd kept all of her animals indoors for years – and I do mean all. Apparently the menagerie included dogs, cats, chickens and goats."

  Main bedroom

"It's hard to say which of our senses was assaulted first. The smell was indescribable. But my eye was immediately drawn to the tell-tale dark brown stains all over the floors and the door frames, wherever we looked.

"Before we'd even stepped over the threshold Mother was already saying “No, oh no.” But Auntie, who was surprisingly intrepid, was bumbling about peeping into rooms and cupboards and following me up the stairs and round the bedrooms – very brave, as parts of the upstairs floor boards had been rotted away with presumably several years' accumulation of animal urine."

First impressions on entering - the "kitchen"

...."I loved my cottage, now promoted from grottage, with a lovely garden, all created by my own hands. My predecessor there obviously had some very serious issues as, once I started digging in the mass of nettles and runaway lonicera nitida which was all there was of a garden, all I came up with was endless pairs of tights inside Walkers' crisp packets.

"Not sure which flavour. The blue bags. I only like the plain ones so I don't know the colours of the different flavours. But whatever the former resident had been trying to achieve, I can tell you that no matter what soil you plant that combination in, it simply doesn't grow into anything."

The garden, as I saw it first

That's your lot for today, but I promise to show you some of the "after" photographs, after the promotion from grottage to cottage.  Do please leave me your comments and as ever, this blog is driven by you.  What yea ask for shall be given unto thee, or something like that.

Have dog, will move to France

As promised, I decided to start this blog to support my book, Sell the Pig. Those of you have read it may like to see photos of the main characters, to put faces to names.  And those who have not yet read it might enjoy reading a few excerpts to see if you might like to.

A very brief recap, it's about the, some would say, bizarre decision for my rather unusual family to up sticks and move to France together. Unusual in that the family consisted of Mother, aged 89, and pleasantly barmy with vascular dementia, Brother, a manic-depressive alcoholic with a double decker bus as a plaything, Meic, my larger than life border collie, and me, a decidedly dotty middle-aged freelance copywriter.

For those of you interested in dogs, here's a bit more about Meic.  For those not interested in dogs, my usual advice - look away now.

"I hadn't exactly intended to get Meic. When I'd left my riding centre in Wales, in the early 90s, to move to Dorset, I had a small black collie cross named Mady. She came from a rescue centre, where she was called Mandy, but she was so definitely not a Mandy, I just dropped the N and she became Mady."

Mady

"She was very happy as an only dog. She was a very easy and biddable dog, though inclined to be a little bit bossy with other dogs. She did on one occasion up-end my friend's lovely Staffie, Camilla, whilst giving away a huge amount of weight in the contest. That's how tough and determined she was."

"I wasn't in the market for another dog. There was no danger at all of my wanting one when Anna-Lou showed me the remaining two puppies. But then I saw Meic. Or Mott, as he was called at that time. And something cracked. To Mady's intense disgust, she found herself sharing the back of the car on the way home with a squeaking, peeing, puking puppy who had not had much experience of car travel."

Meic, aged 5 months

"I'm sure there are those amongst you, if you've read thus far, who will be thinking why not just put him to sleep and move and get a new dog once installed in France? Trouble is, I'm a bit of a softie with my dogs and always apply the Toy Rule – as long as a dog is still quite happy to play with a favourite toy, there's too much life there to extinguish, in my humble opinion."

Meic, demonstrating the Squeaky Toy Rule

So there you have a couple of doggy faces to put to names.  The rest is up to you, dear reader.  Tell me what you would like to see photos of and I shall do my best to post them here for you.