Ooh, two posts today - this one is even book-related! For the first time, I have seen myself described as an ‘international author’, on the Modern Women’s Fiction website. I was feeling a little down about the lack of publicity for Karma, and this made me smile. Thanks for that (and I, too, like the word ‘auhorship’)!

Why was I feeling down? Well, just read a fab (actually, I’ll go as far as saying fab-er-ooni) book by a lady called Rae Earl. It’s called ‘My Fat Mad Teenage Diary’. I couldn’t stop reading it (despite being in the bath and wrinkling like a Shar Pei) even though it brought back repressed memories of my school days! I’d looked up the book on the internet, as I knew Rae from another forum, and it has rave reviews/write-ups everywhere, and justifiably so. There are no shortage of stockists in both the real and the virtual world. Was I jealous? Hell, yes (didn’t I promise honesty on this blog?) I just wish I could do more to promote Karma, but I’ve come to realise that there’s a limit to what one person can do. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not admitting defeat, just stating what, to everyone else, was bloomin’ obvious! Anyway, I would recommend ‘My Fat Mad Teenage Diary’ to anyone who grew up in the 70s/80s and can face reminiscing about those times. Or to anyone who likes to read in the bath and doesn’t mind resembling a Shar Pei!

Speaking of uncomfortable memories of school, courtesy of Facebook, there’s a get-together of my former classmates at Christmas. Hope mine goes more successfully than Paige’s…

Oh-so-tired and nothing but a buffet breakfast was going to lure me from my bed. Usually like to get up and chill (or warm?) in the jacuzzi but on Sunday there was a rather…amorous…young couple in there. She sat on his knee, kissing and carressing him, whilst sitting beside a young boy and his dad. I found it a little distasteful (as did a couple of other patrons, according to the changing room gossip). Put me right off, I can tell you!

Had to catch the train at 2pm, but felt terrible that I hadn’t brought any gifts back, so decided to go to Covent Garden (as we’d seen a bus that went that way). First stop was Starbucks, and then we wandered the streets, looking for something to spend our money on. Gordon restrained me from blowing all my cash (and credit) in Godiva, and I decided to find Miss Sixty (as I’d noted it was on one of my many maps). Traipsed the streets for as long as our schedule would allow, but couldn’t see a Miss, Sixty or otherwise! By this time, my blister had developed its own blister (due to inappropriate footwear, rather than excessive walking), and we headed back to the hotel to check out.

Had already paid bill on arrival, so just expected to pay for an exorbitant couple of (small) bottles of cider. Was amazed to get a bill for thirty quid! On further inspection, found we’d been accidentally charged £20 for a data cable we’d borrowed from (and returned to) the Concierge! Still made the cider almost £10, but ho-hum, heading home. Got a black cab to the station, as my little legs wouldn’t carry me a step further. He was the first real cockney I’d come across on the trip, and he was really friendly. He informed us that he’d taken some people to the O2 on Saturday night and the journey there and back had cost less than half what we had paid. I was furious, but had suspected as much. The cabbie was also annoyed as things like this give tourists the wrong idea about London. A strongly worded letter was sent to the Group Head Office the day after we returned…goodness knows when we’ll get a response, due to the postal strikes (but I did get an email to say they were ‘looking in to it’). The journey home was uneventful, and we got a great welcome from the dogs.

Against my better judgment, I’ve added a couple of photos to the ‘embarrassing photos’ section of my Gallery.

So, a day later than expected and still nothing to do with books (normal service will be resumed shortly), here’s more about my London trip.

Given my tendency to exhaustion, anxiety and subsequently, panic, I try to organise everything well. Knowing I knew London like the back of someone else’s hand, I decided my best bet was to utilise the hotel’s car service (which they assured me was cheaper than a cab, anyway). Cheap is relative, and it was definitely not cheap in my book! We gave ourselves an additional 30 minutes to accommodate traffic jams, etc, and promptly left the hotel at 4pm. Alarm bells began to ring when the driver said, “Do you have a map of the o2?” “Yes,” I said, as I’m just that organised. He studied it intently as we queued to go over Tower Bridge and then suddenly turned the car around and headed in the opposite direction! He took us everywhere and frequent checks to our watches told us that we were cutting it close, time-wise. I texted Gordon to say: He hasn’t got clue where he’s goin’. Gordon didn’t need to text back to tell me what he was thinking… 5pm (puck off, or whatever they call it - maybe I misheard, and the person I asked thought it was a silly question???) passed us by whilst we waited at the millionth red traffic light.

After a journey that took more time than a family game of Monopoly, we arrived at The O2 20 minutes AFTER the game had started. As for the game, I’m not a fan of hockey (NHL opener: Anaheim Ducks v LA Kings) but I did enjoy the atmosphere, the huge hot dogs, the intermittent Linkin Park music, and the zamboni machines! Afterwards was like one of my worst nightmares: 20,000 fans all leaving the arena through one exit! Then, our driver (who was meant to pick us up at 8pm) didn’t arrive until 8.45pm. I was at the if-he’s-not-here-in-5-minutes-I’ll-cry stage, when he arrived. Surprise, surprise: the return journey took about 25 minutes. We were not happy bunnies! 5* hotel does not denote 5* car service, apparently. Insult was added to injury the following day, but more about that tomorrow…

Slept like a baby: woke up several times during the night. After a full english breakfast, we had a saunter to St Katharine’s Dock, where I’d noticed a Starbucks yesterday. My caffeine levels replenished, we had a slow walk across Tower Bridge in the sunshine, and made our way to the London Dungeon. To be honest, the most scary thing initially was the price, but I was able to use one of the many vouchers I’d saved for the trip.

The queue, both outside and in, was long, but once we got inside, things moved at quite a pace. For someone who’s a little claustrophobic, I can’t say I enjoyed being trapped in the Labyrinth of Mirrors (imagine the horror, being forced to repeatedly look at yourself in the mirror, after very little sleep…scary!) Then came the trial, olde worlde style. A woman from our group was called to the dock for dancing naked in the streets. Despite admitting to being an Irish witch, she was let off. Then a young Welsh boy from the group was charged with peeing in the river and polluting the town’s water supply. Despite his disgusting crime, the ‘judge’ let him off. Then…you’ve guessed it…I was called forward (”the lady with all the hair”). As I stood in the dock, the Bailiff asked my name and where I came from. As soon as I said, “Newcastle,” the ‘judge’ said, “I’ve heard all about you Newcastle girls…” and pronounced me guilty of being a Geordie and sentenced me to death, along with the rest of the group for associating with me! We were all to hang from the neck until dead for my crime. I seemed to be memorable to the ‘cast’ of the Dungeon for some reason, as they remembered my name throughout. This posed a problem when I wanted to chicken out of the last ride - I headed to the ‘Freedom’ sign, but was ushered away by the Court Bailiff. The final ride, Extremis, was a shocker and it made me worry even more about my abseil next year (though, hopefully, it won’t involve falling, as Extremis did…)

One word of advice, a mini skirt is not appropriate for the London Dungeon…or any Dungeon, I should imagine. Read Day Two (B) tomorrow and find out about the Road to Hell…