Last month, the need to replace my faithful old black car – and the dearth of any more colourful ones in my price range – inspired me to write about car colours in my column for the July/August double edition of the Tetbury Advertiser.
When did British car buyers become so dreary? Shopping for a second-hand car to replace my defunct Fiat Panda, I’m astonished to find the choice of colour so limited.
In the February edition of the Tetbury Advertiser (because they don’t have a separate January issue), I’m talking about how to fit more into the New Year using a time-management method inspired by a simple kitchen device.
Continue reading “How to Make More of 2024 Using the Pomodoro®Technique”
In the run-up to next week’s launch of my ninth Sophie Sayers Cozy Mystery, Driven to Murder, in which Sophie learns to drive, I asked author friends at my publisher Boldwood Books whether they had any funny stories or cautionary tales about their own driving lessons and tests.
Their flood of answers made me wonder whether anyone ever learns to drive without mishap! Huge thanks to Team Boldwood for allowing me share their entertaining anecdotes on my blog today, interspersed with some exclusive excerpts from Driven to Murder.
Continue reading “Driving Lesson Disasters with Sophie Sayers and Friends”
This post about my love of second-hand bookshops was originally written for my publisher, Boldwood Books, to mark the publication of my latest novel, the eighth Sophie Sayers Cozy Mystery, Murder in the Highlands.
Continue reading “In Praise of Second-hand Bookshops”
This post was originally written for my publisher, Boldwood Books, to use on the launch of my eighth Sophie Sayers Cozy Mystery, Murder in the Highlands, in March 2023.
When I first visited the Highlands in 2000 with my new Scottish boyfriend, I couldn’t understand how at the age of 19 he had torn himself away from such a beautiful country to live in England. Although he came from Bannockburn, the site of the famous 1312 battle in Central Scotland at which the Scots thrashed the English, Gordon’s heart was in the Highlands, as the Robert Burns poem goes.
