Briefly . . . I screamed my way into this world in the mid-60s and have lived in Berkshire all my life (apart from a few months here and there).
I was, coincidentally, born in the same hospital in Hendon as my husband, Mark, although he arrived a few years after me. We didn’t discover this fact until we went on holiday together and compared passports, as you do . . .
In a nutshell, I have two teenage sons: my eldest, Sam, is at Bath Uni and my youngest, who wishes to remain nameless, is at College. Sam has a lovely, lovely girlfriend, Beth, who works for Chase de Vere. She is my inherited daughter and chief champion of my writing. Mark and I have been together for 12 years, married for four.
As a complete change, I now work for the local vicar. She is a dynamic lady. I can safely say that I do not sit and twiddle my thumbs, whisk away the dust settled on the one electric typewriter resting on an ancient desk and produce the odd letter to the parishioners. Oh no, she is like a Duracell battery . . . and who knew that ‘parochial fees’ and the ‘Diocese’ and the like could be so complicated?
That I didn’t embark on a career in writing earlier in my life.
Much to the embarrassment of my youngest son, I took up ice-skating well past my 20s! Under the expert and patient guidance of my ice coach, I learned to skate backwards, execute crossovers (forwards and backwards, don’t you know), one foot turns and other complicated manoeuvres.
Ironically, the only bone I have broken since then is my toe; a chopping board fell off the draining board onto my foot squashing the poor little digit. Would you believe it?