38 degrees Centigrade is 100 in good old traditional Fahrenheit. This is the not quite the mellow fruitfulness that the English poet Keats wrote about the British Autumn and I’m HOT. Here in South West France is full on Emma Calin style bursting lust. So much fruit, colour and sheer reproductive joy is just spilling and spilling out all around me. I can’t stop it or even hold it back. I’m just making jam, pickles and relish in my kitchen and hot hot love in my office as I boil up the next Passion Patrol story. I pick ripe sweet figs and tomatoes hot hot hot in the sun. It’s passion in the pot and passion on the page. Nature gets you to a point where you just can’t hold back and you just have to let go……..
There I was at the checkout at the Intermarché supermarket at Saint Jean d’Angely close to my home in South West France. I’d bought mussels to make moules marinères and a half decent Muscadet to accompany them.
And, I was humming, then singing along – “give up the booze and the one night stands…” The French guy in front of me turned as I went into the sax solo under my breath. He smiled – he knew the song too. There it was, Jerry Rafferty’s Baker Street blaring out on the supermarket sound system – cutting through forty odd years back to a London teenage bedroom and an unformed mist of life ahead. https://youtu.be/Fo6aKnRnBxM
I could never have imagined that supermarket moment in a different culture and language that lay ahead of me. Only a smell has that same power as a song to zap you back to some place you didn’t even know you’d remembered.
What’s been your Baker Street moment and where does it zap you?
I’m the gorgeous blonde in army boots with the handcuffs.
How often do you get to fulfill your fantasies? Well, OK – don’t tell me! (Isn’t life great when you just up and say what you bloody well want). BUT some fantasies just ain’t going to happen – like being a sexy magician’s assistant…….or maybe just a magician’s sexy assistant. The real shame is that my kids were not there to suffer obligatory embarrassment.
So, having traveled from my home in France to England to impart my hard-bitten worldly wisdom to my adult-lite kids in the UK for a couple of weeks, they wiped joyful tears from their eyes as I set sail back to Chateau Calin for Bastille Day on the Brittany ferry Bretagne. There I was, seated in the bar with Oscar, sipping our third or fourth organic vegan diet mineral waters, when Matt Grindley, the famous comedic magician appealed to the audience for a beautiful blonde female assistant to put him in handcuffs. Who else could he have wanted? He must have read my books. Being a magician he knew I was there!
What a gent he was. He suffered my amateur febrile fumblings to put him in chains, rolled with me on the stage before at last I assisted in his erection – of a tent, from which he escaped to mass applause. The man is a star and a trouper. I must say also that Brittany Ferries work hard to feature some top acts on their crossings. These guys are true pros who bring show biz charisma to the journey. Big Up Matt Grindley
And there’s even more performance to come. From the 18th July for one week all of my Passion Patrol novels are on sale at 99cents/99pence. OK: watch carefully. You take this cloth – you put it over enough money to buy a cup of Starbucks coffee. You pull away the cloth and Voila – Three whole sexy police suspense action Romance books. Just like that. Magic! http://www.smarturl.it/PPSeries
Just wait until I get these heels fitted to my chariot.(photo Independent)
Was Theresa May inspired to call a surprise election by President Erdogan of Turkey when he made his lunge for total power? Will France become a one party nationalist state led by a woman? Will Britain end up the same way? (We’re halfway there).
Guys – it’s not a beauty show – but if you’ve got it…
Oh yes, and a woman takes over at Scotland Yard. It’s all been predicted and now it’s happening.
Checkmate for a Yardbird
Love Bleeds Blue – the thinking woman’s guide to practical lust, sex and politics. Catch the wave before it breaks over your head. At least with a passionate book you’ll drown smiling.
Emma Thinx: There’s nothing pretty about Pollytics.
Being an author I’m genetically perfected to accept setbacks, rejection and disappointment and that’s just making a trip to Walmart. Now and again something happens in life to restore my pre-birth default setting of optimism and belief.
Spending a lot of my life tapping at the screen I’ve gotten through a few digital partners. Male hardware gets a bit shabby but holds up while the micro atoms of the soft porn operating system in their heads end up with psychological viruses and abandoned by the gods who created them. I learned to live with a plain and simple old guy of 95. He was steady enough until they kicked away his walking cane. I left him for dead and took up with Vista. He gave me a wider outlook but one day he crashed. I moved on to Windows 10. He’s tricky, complex and suffers from the blues. I knew there was something going on – he was updating with a younger server somewhere. Behind my back he wiped out my connection and told me I no longer had a valid address. I ditched him. I’m not the kind of girl who can eat off a command prompt menu. If I’d wanted to log in as an administrator I’d have gotten a job at the town hall. The bodies piled up. If I could sell a few more books I could bite that forbidden fruit – an Apple.
Digitally speaking I’m a Ancient Geek. I believe in Zeus and oracles. A voice came to me and whispered “Linux” in my ear. For a while I thought it was a secret formula for Freemasons. The gods told me I could be the new goddess Freya of rebirth and immortality. A Wagner fan like me had to listen. An Amazon woman delivered unto me the gift of life on a stick. I dressed in my goddess overalls of white silk and opened the tomb. One by one I inserted the USB of life into the corpses of my deceased lovers. One by one they rose up. So far there’s no rivalry in my menage a quatre.
Menage a trois – it’s getting crowded in here
I feel like a queen of the noble Ubuntu tribe, not knowing which warrior to caress. I’m writing this is on an old Dell Optiplex GX520 who became incontinent about two years ago. (Far left with small Cyclops green eye). One night he staggered out for an XP and couldn’t get his program to respond.
The secret of life revealed
I know, I know, all those hunky sexy tech types already knew about this stuff – but I didn’t. It’s free and it’s there to help you.
Emma Thinx: If it seems too good to be true it’ll be running Linux.
The champagne smashed into the bow. A vessel riveted together with 104,000 words slipped away to begin its life away from me. Even the Queen was in tears but only because of the onion in her after-party Cheddar sandwich. What do you mean Fake News? You just don’t believe I’d give Her Majesty a cheese sandwich do you?
Much of history is the concoction and revelation of fake news. The English Popish Plot of 1678, the arson of the Reichstag in 1933 and the 2011 European Union ruling on straight bananas spring to my mind. Not only was much of these stories untrue, they were also influential. And there my friends is where Love Bleed Blue offers its tiny voice in the debate. The above video features my police consultant, the English poet Oscar Sparrow. He seems plausible enough to me! He’s what I call a deadpan of mass deception.
It’s only going to cost you 99 cents/99p to grab your copy AND until April 24th you can click the link in the back to claim your sweepstake chance to win a 7 inch Kindle Fire tablet. It’s out there guys! Now it’s over to you.
Emma Thinx: Walk towards the light, don’t throw a shadow on the future.
It’s invitations across the nations. The great novel sits on its slipway. I’ve been out greasing the rails. Odd rough looking types are wandering about with sledge hammers – They’re either the guys who knock out the last wedges or Amazon one star trolls. We’ll soon know.
Please please be there to win prizes, hold my digital digits, shore up the crumbling Leggo castle of my ego or even burrow down into the creative process to know why the hell writers put themselves through this angst.
Dear friends, lusty patriots of imagination land, refined intellectuals, decadent lovers of romantic frenzies and lacy suspenders of disbelief – you are welcomed to my hot hearth for this historic moment. The book is an oversexed duck-billed platypus thrashing in a golden Jacuzzi of satirical minestrone. There’s something for everyone. Well, maybe not quite everyone….I don’t like the look of a couple of those sledge hammer guys.
President and Royals pose with the French Olympic fencing team. Photo credit express.co.uk.
Suddenly everyone is pushing buttons. Theresa May has hit the big Brexit button. World out there – ready or not here we come; or go; or sort of wander about. So far I’ve not been taken as a hostage by the French government in case we don’t pay the 60 billion euros exit paperwork handling fee. (Pesky lawyers). Not sure who pays my fare if I get deported.
Why worry? I’m about to press the launch button on Love Bleeds Blue and if everything goes as planned the royalties would soon get me out of jail.
In the meantime I wrote a modest feature for Impkater magazine. I felt rather humbled to be in such a publication. They’ve got some real scholars and experts I can tell you. I don’t know what to think until I’ve read these guys. Anyway William and Kate – yes the royals – were doing a pre-Brexit Britfest in France. Republican or Royalist you can’t help loving all the glitter and pomp. The French did away with their chance to have shows like this so William and Kate are just showing them what they’ll miss if they’re unfriendly to us. If they don’t give us back our ball they sure won’t be getting any glass slippers from us. AND we’re perfectly capable of making our own cheese to go with Californian wine so my suffering would be manageable.
French Royal Crest. (Wikimedia)
Very often French people whisper to me that they want to bring back the Royals and do away with politicians all together. Now – remember where you heard it first…….Come on now – you didn’t expect Donald or Brexit did you?
Emma Thinx: Good neighbours make good fences. Bad neighbours make good fencers.
Who ever would have thought that my legs would get me to China wearing those shoes? This is just so exciting as Knockout – book 1 in the Passion Patrol series goes live in China. Passion Patrol 2 is in the wings getting ready to launch. I was half hoping that I would get a mention at the National People’s Congress which has just been held in Beijing but I guess they had other important stuff to deal with. I’m just hoping those readers will enjoy the Szechuan hot sauce of Anna and Freddie.
Emma Thinx: Love is the original free trade agreement.
Some part of me is always in Paris. I know she’s a shabby arrogant bitch who would shrug off my impudent fan mail but I just can’t stop writing them. I could tell her she’s just a heap of stones arranged around a muddy river. I could tell her she’s not as French as I am, that her cool gaze was international and more security cordon than cordon bleu. And she would shrug and rain on me, lifting her skirt above the red and grey reflecting cobbles to show a tease of petticoat.
So, for a while I gave up the fan mail. This time I did a whole novel. I know she won’t care.She won’t read it. She’ll sell it secondhand for fifty cents on a Sunday market stall on la rive gauche. I walk in the tear stained footprints of the wasted and decadent greats. I hum along to the metro jazz and long to soften her lips of stone. A woman should not feel this way – but Paris – I love you so so much.
Don’t tell me she’s male. No – Paris knows more of love than any man! Tell me I’m wrong guys – please.
Emma Thinx: In a language with genders go for the plural. Get the max.