Sadly, what may have been the last sunny days of summer passed me by while I was in a strange fugue (that I can barely remember) brought about by spending too many hours looking at too many words on the computer screen, and having to place them in apple pie order for publishing. I think I managed it. Hope so – I ain’t goin’ to do it again (sorry, I know where that came from), not immediately anyway (unless you can tell me of any glaring errors! Please no!).

This morning I awoke, not with the feelings of panic or dread that have visited me on occasions recently, but with an innate restlessness, which I recognised straight away. Chris had drawn back the curtains to welcome the day and I opened my eyes to grey, many shades of grey (not fifty, in case you’re wondering – and no, I haven’t read it yet).  The sky was a battleship grey, the sea was a dark slate grey, and on the horizon was a huge battleship the colour of… well, not really, I got a bit carried away – it was an enormous tanker, unladen and high in the water – but it was grey, like everything else outside. Even the trees and the normally bright blue railings on our steps looked grey.

I pulled my bedclothes up around my ears and snuggled up to Chris for warmth. I jumped and pulled away because he had been up for two hours already and his hands were as cold as ice. Feeling a tad guilty for my apparent frigidity, I stretched out my arm and held his cold masculine hand until mine was as cold as his.

“I suppose this is it then?” I asked darkly.

“Reckon so”, Chris answered like a cowboy (he often slips into cowboy talk because he knows I like Clint Eastwood).

“The end of summer…”

“Yep!”

“No more sunny days?”

“Iffen there are, they’ll be a might colder from now on… yes sirree.”

“Well, I can’t go to Australia again this year. They will all be fed up with me after so many visits.”

“Nope, ‘ least them there polar bears will be alrighty though.”

“Yes, I saw that photo of the North Pole. Are we going to have an ice-age now?” I shuddered at the thought.

“Things is always changin’ – jest a pard a nature.”

“I’ve got a funny feeling in my bones,” I began, “if I followed my instincts, right now I would be heading south. Can we go to Spain for the winter, Clint?”

” Sure. I’m a already workin’ on it” Chris closed the window.

“Ugh! It’s too cold to get up.” I snuggled closer again when he got back into bed. “I want to hibernate…”

Chris thought that was a good idea too so we cosied up and hibernated for half an hour longer than usual while the harsh light of grey intruded into our bedroom.

Simply go to amazon.co.uk (books) and type in “the innocent flirt down under” and “enter”; two options will appear – the paperback version (a snip at just £7.06 – based on USD fluctuations – free postage option available) and the kindle ebook version, which is presently FREE until midnight Friday!  If you are already the proud owner of the old original version (with SPECIAL FEATURES) you may be pleased to have the new book for comparison, especially as it has the addition of an epilogue gives a more clearly defined end to the book. Please give reviews if you enjoy the book – the review option comes after the last page. Thank you.

My eyes are tired and strained from all the hours spent during the last week working on re-editing and tweaking my book, “The Innocent Flirt Down Under”, for two different forms of publishing – the paperback version available on demand from amazon.com and the ebook version (updated to match the paperback) available on Kindle ebooks store (also amazon.com). At last I have finished, in time for the free promotion beginning midnight (half an hour from now) and lasting until Friday midnight. I hope you’ll take up the offer and enjoy reading my book. If it’s not too much trouble, and you have enjoyed the book, would you mind writing a review please? The option to review becomes available at the end of ebooks, as you probably know already if you have a Kindle. My former edition had so many special features and photos at the end that I don’t think many people realised the option to review was there. It is much clearer now (hopefully). If you prefer the paperback form and make an order you will find that most countries, including the UK and the USA, offer free postage; and I believe you may review my book online.

Back to my normal blog tomorrow – after a good night’s rest! I hope my poor eyes recover.

When you have read this you might well ask yourself, “Why did Sally tell me this?” Therefore, I’ll tell you from the beginning that this is a subject very close to my heart… in more ways than one (cross my heart), seeing as I’m going to write about bras. Well of all things! Yes, I know.

It isn’t a subject I’ve been pondering on too deeply – it doesn’t keep me awake at night – but I got to thinking about bras this morning when a friend wrote the next line to me in an email – “I have recently washed 2 white bras with pink jeans and now have two pink bras, so I needed to replace them, why am I telling you this??” The odd thing is that I knew very well why she told me – bras are the bane of women’s lives.

For a start, it’s so hard to find one that fits perfectly; if they are too big they don’t hold you up (very disappointing, even if the bra cost only £4 in the sales you’ll never wear it!), and if they are too small, they grip you like a vice and cut your breasts (and your back) in two – you will only wear it after you have forgotten about its existence and one day come across it by accident in the back of the drawer! Also, I’ve found that it is quite hard to buy nice white bras nowadays. There are plenty of attractive coloured or patterned ones available but they tend to show through one’s tops unless they match perfectly. Most women like white bras so they can wear them under anything they wear; we prefer pretty bras and avoid the old lady section like the plague… usually, although last week I even cast my eyes in that direction on the off-chance that something pretty might have been hiding there. No way.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a single bra to buy last Saturday because none of the shops I went into had any nice white bras in a 38E, and I have all the polka dots (in various colours), leopard skin prints, roses, zig-zags, buttons and bows that I could possibly want – not that I can wear all of them, of course – some sag a little and look too au naturelle whilst others seem to cut me in half, front and back!

Chris was inordinately pleased when I announced, rather disappointedly, and somewhat annoyed, that I could find not a single bra to buy.

“I would have thought you have quite enough bras already,” he observed.

“Oh, you don’t understand,” I whined, “all I want is nice white bra, that fits and isn’t ugly, to replace the one you ruined when you carelessly put it in the wash with the pink load!”

That shut him up. So now you all know why my friend told me of her plight and also, why I’m telling you this!

My dear old Mum, she’s such a darling, no matter what some of the younger generation may think. I feel rather guilty that in my previous blog post I alluded to her (albeit in a light-hearted fashion) as being just a tiny bit like the Grandma in the old Giles’ Cartoons; in case I gave the wrong impression, I must tell you that my Mum does not wear a big black coat and a black hat with feathers; on the other hand, the grandchildren are just like the naughty children in the cartoons.

Chris and I take Mum shopping almost every Saturday morning and we always have a lovely time; she’s bright, perky, full of fun and not at all irascible. Last Saturday Mum looked at me in my nice white trousers, pink top and sunglasses, and she said, “Sally, you look so young. No-one would believe your age. You don’t look a day over thirty!” Isn’t she sweet? What a kind thing to say. I felt good (na, na, na, na, nah…. as the song goes – love that song!), even though I’m well aware that her sight is not what it was (and even then she used to wear glasses!). In truth, this last week of long days sat at the computer, editing and performing technical procedures for the self-publishing of my book on Amazon.com, has taken its toll on me. Every time I look in the mirror I see the result of too much brain strain and not enough sleep (Chris has had a bad snoring week); I appear tired and haggard.

In fact, I’m considering having a facelift if things don’t perk up, provided, of course, that my books sell well and I become a wealthy woman any time now. I remember a time, many years ago, when my mother was about the same age as I am now… I was living in Woodbury, East Devon, and my old boyfriend (who really was quite old) and I were taking my parents out somewhere for the day. They were divorced but used to go out en famille for the sake of their children; Mum and Dad didn’t argue but there were sometimes some quite interesting conversations.

It was around the time that the British press had reported a suspicion that Margaret Thatcher, who was looking especially young after a holiday, had had a facelift and we were all in the car when Mum suddenly came out with…..

“I wonder if I should have a facelift… like Margaret Thatcher?”

“You don’t need one Mum,” I said, “You are lovely as you are.”

“Oh, I don’t know. What do you think Charles?” she asked Dad.

“I should,” he said, giving me a wink.

Mum didn’t notice (her sight wasn’t that great).

“But… then again….” Mum continued in a dreamy way as if conversing with herself, “why do I need a facelift? Who really cares? Who would I would be doing it for?”

“For the sake of the general public,” Dad said dryly.

If my mother heard the comment, she ignored it. There was a silence in the car that lasted for several miles; and during the silence at least three pairs of eyes looked ahead assiduously, lest a sideways glance at one another should set off uncontrollable laughter.

I’ve seen a lot of things in my time but today… well… my goodness… I could hardly believe my eyes! There I was, cycling happily along with Chris – we had just come off the bridle path, onto the main road at Dawlish Warren (which is our local holiday resort for campers, caravanners and holiday chalet-goers) – and there were not too many people around because most children have gone back to school this week; when I couldn’t help but notice a lady with a small child. The woman wasn’t particularly old, in her fifties or early sixties perhaps, not an age group one would necessarily associate with fashion faux pas, if indeed, one could call what she wore a fashion at all. And yet, she must have bought that outfit from somewhere… but definitely not together.

Now I’m not a great fan of leggings myself, and nor am I a follower of fashion or a trend-setter (I like a comfy pair of shorts on summer days, even if I do have chubby legs), but even so, I have an idea of what does and does not go together. Surely leggings are designed to be worn underneath a longer garment? To be honest, I was so taken aback that I cannot even be certain that the opaque white monstrosities on the woman’s legs were leggings – they might have been white tights! Worse still, she wore a thin white stretchy vest on her top half… and had it tucked into the top of the tights/leggings. The lady would have looked peculiar even if she had been ultra-slim but she was not. Sadly, she must have weighed nearly twenty stones, every ounce of which was on full display (as were her pants and bra, barely veiled under the taut lycra-mix material). She was no shrinking violet either, for her hair was dyed a letter-box red, making her head look like a warning beacon.

Now that I come to think about it, I recall seeing a photograph in the paper recently of a famous pop star wearing only a pink bra and black see-through tights as she arrived off a plane at Heathrow. That must be it… the “Michelin-Man” style, middle-aged fashionista was emulating her idol – Lady Gaga! Or maybe she has simply gone a bit gaga…

As you have probably guessed, by my recent very short or non-existent blog posts, I’ve been otherwise occupied having a wonderful time with visitors, first friends, and now family – in the form of our number one child, James, and his girlfriend. I was hoping to catch up with you yesterday but instead I went on a Porch family (minus all children – they were away camping) outing to Lustleigh, a pretty village on the edge of Dartmoor. Funnily enough, I rather missed the sound of our little ones playing and tormenting one another (they always remind me of the old “Giles Cartoons” – do you remember the irascible granny in her black coat and hat with feathers, and the children up to their tricks?). However, I’m only mentioning this in passing to account for my absence, sorry. I was going to write about the meaning of a box of nothing, which of course means a great deal or there would be nothing to write about, but a look in my “spam” email box changed my mind…

In a world where selfishness and lack of respect abound isn’t is refreshing to open an email from a doctor (Dr Abbas Mohamed sellam, to be exact – oh, I always trust a doctor!) and find that you are addressed as “Dear respected friend”? He began, “I bring to you a warm, and cordial greetings from Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso. It’s very true that we don’t know each other very well…”  Does it sound familiar? Has he written to you too? I hope not because he wants me to become his business partner and share in the $1,700,000 legacy of “a businessman/politician who died in an auto crash with his wife, and three children” (it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good!). All I have to do is give the good doctor (who works for “the United Bank for Africa PLC, Burkina Faso, West Africa as a Director of operations in the foreign remittance department”) my name, occupation, life history, bank account details, passport details, current photos, address, phone numbers, name of mother, father, granny, children, friends and blog readers… Yes, I was excited, especially as he promised he would “no cheat” me out of 50%.

Luckily, I noticed another email in the same “spam” issue for today; it was entitled, “From Mr Vitor Gaspar – Please, very URGENT!!!!” Only a Mr and not a doctor – still, this chap had a better offer 40% of $9,000,000 (as a result of a “Ghastly auto-motor accident – no heirs or next of kins” – and he is the manager of accounting at Africa Development Bank. Naturally, I must “treat this business with utmost confidentiality…” and send every detail about myself so that my identity may be stolen.

Now don’t be concerned, I didn’t gasp at Mr Grasper’s proposal – he won’t be Vitorious – and I didn’t buy into Dr Abbacus Sellam’s tally of accounts; I simply laughed because it’s the way he tells ‘m.

And here are some photos of Lustleigh….

This is what I found awaiting me in the lounge this morning…..

The following arrived in my “forwards” this morning…..

ALERTS TO THREATS IN 2013 EUROPE

From JOHN CLEESE

The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent events in Syria and have therefore raised their security level from “Miffed” to “Peeved.” Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to “Irritated” or even “A Bit Cross.” The English have not been “A Bit Cross” since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies nearly ran out. Terrorists have been re-categorized from “Tiresome” to “A Bloody Nuisance.” The last time the British issued a “Bloody Nuisance” warning level was in 1588, when threatened by the Spanish Armada.

The Scots have raised their threat level from “Pissed Off” to “Let’s get the Bastards.” They don’t have any other levels. This is the reason they have been used on the front line of the British army for the last 300 years.

The French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from “Run” to “Hide.” The only two higher levels in France are “Collaborate” and “Surrender.” The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France ‘s white flag factory, effectively paralyzing the country’s military capability.

Italy has increased the alert level from “Shout Loudly and Excitedly” to “Elaborate Military Posturing.” Two more levels remain: “Ineffective Combat Operations” and “Change Sides.”

The Germans have increased their alert state from “Disdainful Arrogance” to “Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs.” They also have two higher levels: “Invade a Neighbour” and “Lose.”

Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual; the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels ..

The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy. These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.

Australia, meanwhile, has raised its security level from “No worries” to “She’ll be right, Mate.” Two more escalation levels remain: “Crikey! I think we’ll need to cancel the barbie this weekend!” and “The barbie is cancelled.” So far no situation has ever warranted use of the last final escalation level.

And as a final thought – Greece is collapsing, the Iranians are getting aggressive, and Rome is in disarray. Welcome back to 430 BC.

Life is too short…