My father was a bigamist. He left my mother unmarried, with two small daughters. She worked in a factory, (the men had returned from the war and the good jobs were given back to them) and we were poor. It taught me to manage money and to be fearful of not having a secure roof over my head. It probably made me rather beady eyed about men, too.
Pause Between Acts
My mother was - understandably - a depressed woman - factory work was no joke and women were paid two thirds of what men earned. My role at home was to make her laugh. I still like to see the funny side of things. It helps.
I was a very fat teenager. When my sister left home - I just ate. I have tremendous sympathy with people who eat for comfort. None of my heroines are stick thin and live on beanshoots - they are made of solid matter (like you and me) and enjoy a decent meal, with wine.
I failed my eleven+ exam twice and went to a Secondary Modern school for dimwits. I was put in a B stream. I didn't mind at all. I read books and enjoyed the lessons I liked.
I was a religious teenager for a time - then a trendy vicar (sandals and a guitar) said Jesus was the first communist. So I joined the young communists for a couple of years. Still have no idea what dialectical materialism is but the boys were good looking at Wimbledon Youth Parliament.
All my novels are based on something that has happened to me. When people ask where I get my ideas from - I either say 'I look in the mirror' - or - if I'm feeling grumpy - I'll say 'I just pop down to Waitrose to buy a few at their ideas counter'.
I used to do travel writing. In one year I went to India, China, and sailed in the boss's suite to Rio. It was a privilege. And there were free first class cruises on the QE2 - lovely old Queen of the Seas - caviar for breakfast and moonlight over the African coast. I've been extraordinarily lucky.
My daughter is a brilliant gardener. When she was little and I tried to get her gardening, she wouldn't. Now she is now dedicated to plants and plantings. When I get stuck with writing a quick potter around the garden loosens the brain again.
In October 2018 I was diagnosed with oesophageal cancer. Getting better has occasioned some truly hilarious moments - I went to hospital to have an endoscopy (camera down the throat) and the nurse insisted I wore violently blue plastic knickers with a hole in the back. She tried to reassure me about wearing these plastic delights by holding them up and sticking her hand through the opening at the back of the knickers and flapping it about. Utterly obscene. Unknown to me she thought I was having a colonoscopy (up the bum).
I'm a fighter in the world. I can't abide people getting away with bad practice. I've sued twice in the County Court - successfully: First my kitchen fitters and then an arrogant, cheating plumber. Just recently I took an airline - who lied about compensation - to a Dispute Resolution organisation - and won. My daughter has always said that on my gravestone she will put
'Gone to see the Manager.'
