Friday, 30 September 2016

Release Day Excerpt - A Cornish Christmas by Lily Graham

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by Lily Graham
Release Date: 30th September 2016

Nestled in the Cornish village of Cloudsea, sits Sea Cottage – the perfect place for some Christmas magic …

At last Ivy is looking forward to Christmas. She and her husband Stuart have moved to their perfect little cottage by the sea - a haven alongside the rugged cliffs that look out to the Atlantic Ocean. She’s pregnant with their much-longed for first baby and for the first time, since the death of her beloved mother, Ivy feels like things are going to be alright.

But there is trouble ahead. It soon emerges that Stuart has been keeping secrets from Ivy, and suddenly she misses her mum more than ever. 
When Ivy stumbles across a letter from her mother hidden in an old writing desk, secrets from the past come hurtling into the present. But could her mother’s words help Ivy in her time of need? Ivy is about to discover that the future is full of unexpected surprises and Christmas at Sea Cottage promises to be one to remember. 

This Christmas warm your heart and escape to the Cornish coast for an uplifting story of love, secrets and new beginnings that you will remember for many Christmases to come.


by Lily Graham


The Writing Desk

Even now it seemed to wait.

Part of me, a small irrational part, needed it to stay exactly where it was, atop the faded Persian rug, bowing beneath the visceral pulse of her letters and the remembered whisper from the scratch of her pen. The rosewood chair, with its slim turned-out legs, suspended forevermore in hopeful expectation of her return. Like me, I wondered if it couldn’t help but wish that somehow she still could.

I hadn’t had the strength to clear it, nor the will. Neither had Dad and so it remained standing sentry, as it had throughout the years with Mum at the wheel, the heart, the hub of the living room.

If I closed my eyes, I could still hear her hum along to Tchaikovsky – her pre-Christmas music – as she wrapped up presents with strings, ribbons and clear cellophane, into which she’d scatter stardust and moonbeams, or at least so it seemed to my young eyes. Each gift, a gift within a gift.

One of my earliest memories is of me sitting before the fire, rolling a length of thick red yarn for Fat Arnold, our squashed-face Persian, who languished by the warmth, his fur pearly white in the glow. His one eye open while his paw twitched, as if to say he’d play, if only he could find the will. In the soft light Mum sat and laughed, the firelight casting lowlights in her long blonde hair. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, away from the memory of her smile.

Dad wanted me to have it: her old writing desk. I couldn’t bear to think of the living room without it, but he insisted. He’d looked at me, above his round horn-rimmed glasses, perpetual tufts of coarse grey hair poking out mad-hatter style on either side of his head, and said with his faraway philosopher’s smile, ‘Ivy, it would have made her happy, knowing that you had it. . .’ And I knew I’d lost.

Still it had taken me two weeks to get up the nerve. Two weeks and Stuart’s gentle yet insistent prodding. He’d offered to help, to at least clear it for me, and bring it through to our new home so that I wouldn’t have to face it. Wouldn’t have to reopen a scar that was trying its best to heal. He’d meant well. I knew that he would’ve treated her things reverently; he would’ve stacked all her letters, tied them up with string, his long fingers slowly rolling up the lengths of old ribbon and carefully putting them away into a someday box that I could open when I was ready. It was his way, his sweet, considerate Stuart way. But I knew I had to be the one who did it. Like a bittersweet rite of passage, some sad things only you can do yourself. So I gathered up my will, along with the box at my feet and began.

It was both harder and easier than I expected. Seeing her things as she left them should have made the lump in my throat unbearable, it should have been intolerable, but it wasn’t somehow.

I began with the drawer, emptying it of its collection of creamy, loose-leafed paper; fine ribbons; and assorted string, working my way to the heart of the Victorian desk, with its warren of pigeon holes, packed with old letters, patterned envelopes, stamps, watercolour brushes, and tubes of half-finished paint.

But it was the half-finished tasks that made the breath catch in my throat. A hand-painted Christmas card, with Santa’s sleigh and reindeer flying over the chimney tops, poor Rudolph eternally in wait for his little watercolour nose. Mum had always made her own, more magical and whimsical than any you could buy. My fingers shook as I held the card in my hand, my throat tight. Seeing this, it’s little wonder I became a children’s book illustrator. I put it on top of the pile, so that later I could paint in Santa’s missing guiding light.

It was only when I made to close the desk that I saw it: a paper triangle peeking out from the metal hinge. It was tightly wedged but, after some wiggling, I pried it loose, only – in a way – to wish I hadn’t.

It was a beautiful, vintage French postcard, like the ones we’d bought when we holidayed there, when I was fifteen and fell in love with everything en français. It had a faded sepia print of the Jardin des Tuileries on the cover, and in elegant Century print it read ‘[Century font writing] Carte Postale’ on the back.

It was blank. Except for two words, two wretchedly perfect little words that caused the tears that had threatened all morning to finally erupt.

Darling Ivy

It was addressed to me. I didn’t know which was worse: the unexpected blow of being called ‘Darling Ivy’ one last time, finding out she’d had this last unexpected gift waiting for me all along, or that she’d never finish it. I suppose it was a combination of all three.

Three velvet-tipped daggers that impaled my heart.

I placed it in the box together with the unfinished Christmas card and sobbed, as I hadn’t allowed myself to for years.

Five years ago, when she passed, I believed that I’d never stop. A friend had told me that ‘time heals all wounds’ and it had taken every ounce of strength not to give her a wound that time would never heal, even though I knew she’d meant well. Time, I knew, couldn’t heal this type of wound. Death is not something you get over. It’s the rip that exposes life in a before and after chasm and all you can do is try to exist as best you can in the after. Time could only really offer a moment when the urge to scream would become a little less.

Another friend of mine, who’d lost his leg and his father in the same day, explained it better. He’d said that it was a loss that every day you manage and some days are better than others. That seemed fair. He’d said that death for him was like the loss of the limb, as even on those good days you were living in the shadow of what you had lost. It wasn’t something you recovered from completely, no matter how many people, yourself included, pretended otherwise. Somehow that helped, and I’d gotten used to living with it, which I suppose was what he meant.

The desk wasn’t heavy. Such a substantial part of my childhood, it felt like it should weigh more than it did, but it didn’t and I managed it easily alone. I picked it up and crossed the living room, through the blue-carpeted passage, pausing only to shift it slightly as I exited the back door towards my car, a mint green Mini Cooper.

Setting the desk down on the cobbled path, I opened up my boot, releasing the back seats so they folded over before setting the desk on top, with a little bit of careful manoeuvring. It felt strange to see it there, smaller than I remembered. I shut the boot and went back inside for the chair and the box where I’d placed all her things; there was never any question of leaving it behind. On my way back, I locked up Dad’s house, a small smile unfurling as I noticed the little wreath he’d placed on the door, like a green shoot through the snow after the longest winter. It hadn’t been Christmas here for many years.

Back to my car, I squeezed the chair in next to the desk and placed the box on the passenger seat before I climbed in and started the engine. As the car warmed, I looked at my reflection in the side mirror and laughed, a sad groaning laugh.

My eyeliner had made tracks all down my face, leaving a thick trail into my ears, and black blobs on either side of my lobes so that I looked like I’d participated in some African ritual, or had survived the mosh pit at some death metal goth fest. With my long dark blonde curls, coral knitted cap and blue eyes, it made me look a little zombiefied.

I wiped my face and ears and grinned despite myself. ‘God, Mum, thanks for that!’ I put the car in gear and backed out of the winding drive, towards the coastal road.


It was hard to believe I was back, after all these years.

London had been exciting, tiring, and trying. And grey, so very grey. Down here, it seemed, was where they keep the light; my senses felt as if they’d been turned up.

For a while, London had been good though, especially after Mum. For what it lacked in hued lustre, it made up for by being alive with people, ideas, and the hustling bustle. It was a different kind of pace. A constant rush. Yet, lately I’d craved the stillness and the quiet. So when The Fudge Files, a children’s fiction series that I co-wrote and illustrated with my best friend Catherine Talty, about a talking English bulldog from Cornwall who solves crimes, became a bestseller, we were finally able to escape to the country.

In his own way, Stuart had wanted the move more than I did; he was one of those strange creatures who’d actually grown up in London, and said that this meant it was high time that he tried something else.

In typical Stuart fashion, he had these rather grand ideas about becoming a self-sustaining farmer – something akin to Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall – and setting up a smallholding similar to Hugh’s River Cottage. The simple fact of it being Cornwall, not Dorset, was considered inconsequential. Which perhaps it was. I had to smile. Our River Cottage was called Sea Cottage (very original that), yet was every bit as exquisite as its namesake, with a rambling half acre of countryside, alongside rugged cliffs that overlooked the aquamarine waters of the Atlantic Ocean in the gorgeous village of Cloudsea with its mile-long meandering ribbon of whitewashed cottages with window frames and doors in every shade of blue imaginable, perched amid the wild, untamed landscape, seemingly amongst the clouds, tumbling down to the sea. It was the place I always dreamt about when someone asked me where I would choose to live if I could magically supplant myself with a snap of my fingers or be granted a single genie’s wish. Cloudsea. And now. . . now we lived here. It was still hard to believe.

So far our ‘livestock’ consisted of four laying hens, two grey cats named Pepper and Pots, and an English bulldog named Muppet – the living, slobbering and singular inspiration behind Detective Sergeant Fudge (Terrier Division) of The Fudge Files, as created by Catherine, Muppet’s official godmother.

Despite Stuart’s noble intentions, he was finding it difficult to come to terms with the idea of keeping animals as anything besides pets. Personally, I was a little grateful for that. We assuaged our consciences though by ensuring that we supported local organic farms, where we were sure that all the animals were humanely treated.

But what we lacked in livestock, Stuart made up for in vegetation. His potager was his pride and joy and even now, in the heart of winter, he kept a polytunnel greenhouse that kept us in fresh vegetables throughout the year. Or at least that was the plan; we’d only been here since late summer. I couldn’t imagine his excitement come spring.

For me Cornwall was both a fresh start and a homecoming. For the first time ever I had my own art studio up in the attic, with dove grey walls, white wooden floors, and a wall full of shelves brimming with all my art supplies; from fine watercolour paper to piles of brushes and paint in every texture and medium that my art-shop-loving heart could afford. The studio, dominated by the mammoth table, with its slim Queen Anne legs, alongside the twin windows, made it a haven, with its view of the rugged countryside and sea. One where I planned to finish writing and illustrating my first solo children’s book.

Now, with our new home and the news that we’d been waiting seven years to hear, it would all be a new start for us.

I was finally, finally pregnant.

Seven rounds of in vitro fertilisation, which had included 2,553 days, 152 pointless fights, five serious, two mortgages, countless stolen tears in the dead of the night in the downstairs bathroom in our old London flat, my fist wedged in my mouth to stem the sound, and infinite days spent wavering between hope and despair, wondering if we should just give up and stop trying. That day, thankfully, hadn’t come.

And now I was twelve weeks pregnant. I still couldn’t believe it. We hadn’t told Dad yet; I didn’t want to get his hopes up, or tempt fate; we’d played that black card before.

Our hopes. . . well, they’d already soared above the stars.

It was why I so desperately wished Mum were here now. It would have made all of this more bearable. She had a way of making sense of the insensible, of offering hope at the darkest times, when all I wanted to do was run away. I missed how we used to sit up late at night by the fire in the living room, a pot of tea on the floor, while Fat Arnold dozed at our feet and she soothed my troubled fears and worries – the most patient of listeners, the staunchest of friends. Now, with so many failed pregnancies, including two miscarriages, the memory of which was like shrapnel embedded in our hearts, so that our lives had been laced with an expectant tinge of despair, primed for the nightmare to unfold, never daring to hope for the alternative; we were encouraged to hope. It was different, everyone said so, and I needed to trust that this time it would finally happen, that we’d finally have a baby, like the doctors seemed to think we would. Stuart had been wonderful, as had Catherine, but I needed Mum really, and her unshakeable, unbreakable faith.

There are a few times in a woman’s life when she needs her mother. For me, my wedding was one and I was lucky to have her there, if luck was what it was, because it seemed to be sheer and utter determination on her part. It had been so important to her to be there, even though all her doctors had told us to say our goodbyes. I will never know what it cost her to hold on the way she did, but she did and she stayed a further two years after that. In the end, it was perhaps the cruellest part, because when she did go, I’d convinced myself that somehow she’d be able to stay.

But this, this was different. I needed her now, more than ever. As I drove, the unstoppable flow of tears pooling in the hollow of my throat, I wished that we could have banked those two years, those two precious years that she had fought so hard and hung on for, so that she could be here with me now when I needed her the most.

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Lily has been telling stories since she was a child, starting with her imaginary rabbit, Stephanus, and their adventures in the enchanted peach tree in her garden, which she envisioned as a magical portal to Enid Blyton’s Faraway Tree. She’s never really got out of the habit of making things up, and still thinks of Stephanus rather fondly.
She lives with her husband and her English bulldog, Fudge, and brings her love for the sea and country-living to her fiction.

Wednesday, 28 September 2016

Blog Tour and Review - Nice Day for a White Wedding by A.L. Michael

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Sometimes, Happy Ever After is where the real trouble begins…

Chelsea Donnolly wasn’t supposed to amount to anything. But if there’s one thing the bad girl from the estate liked better than trouble, it was a challenge. So, to the amusement of her best friends Evie, Mollie and Ruby – and the disbelief of her teachers – this bad girl turned good.

These days, Chelsea is the kind of girl people are proud to know – and, after a surprise trip to Venice, she has a ring on her finger to prove it. But to get there, she’s had to learn to keep her deepest secrets from everyone – even her fiancé. And when wedding preparations threaten to blow her cover, Chelsea can’t help but wonder: in her battle to the top, might she have left the best parts of herself behind?

I really enjoyed this book.  It was quite a light read and even though it is book 2 in a series I didn’t actually notice.  I like this because it means that the story can be enjoyed as a standalone or as the series.  Without reading the first book I can’t say whether I will have missed details and information but I don’t feel like I did on the whole.  

It was an easy story to grasp and I think Chelsea is quite a relatable character for a lot of people.  The way of her childhood being unhappy and wanting more for herself and being able to see the journey through flashbacks of how she got to where she has in life.  I think from the minute she is introduced you just click with her and hope she does well and achieves what she wants.

Chelsea leads 2 lives almost one with her fiancé and the other when she visits her family and you get to see where she came from.  It shows the difference in lifestyles of where she comes from and to and I think this will be very real and relatable for some people.  I liked reading about Chelsea’s brother and the relationship they had.  I wasn’t sure if the ending would be what it was and was so happy that it turned out the way it did.

I loved the whole dysfunctional families on both sides Chelsea and her fiancé and how realistic it is.  Everyone has some kind of the issues that are shown in this book and it’s lovely to see them being addressed and brought to life in a thoroughly enjoyable and easy read.  It makes the situations light and easy to read without taking away the seriousness of the storyline.

I couldn’t put this book down it was wonderful I didn’t want it to finish so I am definitely looking forward to the next book in the series!  This is the first book I have read by this author but I will definitely be reading more.  I think this will definitely be a series that I will be pre-ordering as the new books are released and keeping up to date with.

A.L. Michael is hurtling towards the end of her twenties a little too quickly. She is the author of 'Wine Dark, Sea Blue', 'The Last Word', 'My So Called (Love) Life', 'Driving Home for Christmas', and 'If You Don't Know Me By Now', based upon her experiences as a London barista.
Her new three book series, The House on Camden Square, starts with 'Goodbye Ruby Tuesday' and focuses on three friends as they try to open an arts centre in Camden, in memory of their rock star friend.

She is a Creative Therapeutic Facilitator, currently researching the power of creative writing to be helpful in recovering from eating disorders, and likes running writing workshops that link together the body and the mind. When she's not writing, she likes yoga, trying to bake healthy treats and was a hipster before hipsters were hipster. Well, she likes Chai lattes and owns a Mac.

This giveaway is for an Italian themed goodie bag that Andi is preparing herself which has lots of goodies in it – like processo, biscotti and other italian themed yummies! I think this giveaway will be really popular so please, please, please make sure you include this in your post somewhere!
 a Rafflecopter giveaway

Monday, 26 September 2016

Review and Blog Tour - Christmas Under a Cranberry Sky by Holly Martin

This year spend a wonderful Christmas on Juniper Island, where love can melt even the iciest of hearts…

Piper Chesterfield lives a glamorous life travelling the world and reviewing the finest hotels. She calls nowhere home, she works alone and that’s how she likes it. For long ago Piper decided that to protect her heart she should lock it away.

So when Piper’s next assignment brings her to the newly opened Stardust Lake Hotel for the festive season, the last person she expects to face is Gabe Whitaker, the man who broke her heart so completely she could never love again.

But Piper isn’t the only one who has been frozen in time by heartbreak. Gabe hasn’t forgotten the golden-eyed girl who disappeared from his world without a trace.

Now fate has reunited them on Juniper island, can the magic of Christmas heal old wounds? And can this enchanting town be the one place Piper can finally call home?

Curl up with this gorgeously romantic tale and let the glistening snow and the roaring fires of Stardust Lake Hotel get you in the festive spirit this Christmas.

Christmas Under a Starlit Sky out soon.

I would like to thank Bookouture for approving me to read this book on NetGalley in exchange for a fair and honest review.

Piper or Pip lives a glamorous life of staying in different hotels at the drop of a hat but her life isn't as perfect as it seems and she is hiding from her past.

When she arrives on the magical Juniper Island to review a hotel she previously stayed in when she was a child her past, her present and her future collide in the shape of Gabe her ex-best friend.

Piper is an easily likeable main character and reading her back story can understand why the did what she did and the mistakes she made.

Gabe is hot and I'm glad to say he is one of Holly's hottest heroes, especially when he is talking to his daughter, even making me cry in part of the story but I won't give away where you will need to read it to find the bit I am talking about.

The magical Juniper Island sounds so perfect and I certainly would love to visit somewhere like this.  It truly is a magical place and Holly's descriptions are fantastic especially of the Northern Lights which makes me want to see them even more now that I have read this book.  It's a perfect Christmas read.

Holly Martin

Holly lives in sunny Bedfordshire in a house with round windows. She studied media at university which led to a very glitzy career as a hotel receptionist followed by a even more glamorous two years working in a bank. The moment that one of her colleagues received the much coveted carriage clock for fifteen years’ service was the moment when she knew she had to escape. She quit her job and returned to university to train to be a teacher. Three years later, she emerged wide eyed and terrified that she now had responsibility for the development of thirty young minds. She taught for four years and then escaped the classroom to teach history workshops, dressing up as a Viking one day and an Egyptian High Priestess the next. But the long journeys around the UK and many hours sat on the M25 gave her a lot of time to plan out her stories and she now writes full time, doing what she loves.

Holly has been writing for 6 years. She was shortlisted for the New Talent Award at the Festival of Romance. Her short story won the Sunlounger competition and was published in the Sunlounger anthology. She won the Carina Valentine’s competition at the Festival of Romance 2013 with her novel The Guestbook. She was shortlisted for Best Romantic Read, Best eBook and Innovation in Romantic Fiction at the Festival of Romance 2014.

Follow her on Twitter @hollymartin00

Friday, 23 September 2016

Review - Take a Chance on Me by Carol Wyer

Take a Chance on Me: A laugh-out-loud feel good romantic comedy by [Wyer, Carol]

A hilarious heart-warming read about friendship, taking chances and finding love, second time round. 

When Charlie’s husband leaves after ten years of marriage, her spirits hit an all-time low. She just isn’t sure how to pick herself up again. So, best friend Mercedes makes it her mission to put a spring back in Charlie’s step with the perfect bucket list. 

As Charlie takes a chance and bungee jumps and belly dances her way through an array of adventures, her love life also begins to look up and she’s soon enjoying a few dates as a newly single woman. She begins to realise that finding romance, might not be so hard, especially when you’ve got someone like journalist Jake who has an adorable little boy and is very easy on the eye. 

But is Jake too good to be true? As Charlie’s challenges on the bucket list get bigger, so do her questions about Jake. Should she continue to hold out for the fairy-tale? Or should she take a chance on Jake and hope for a happy ending? 

A witty romantic read perfect for fans of Carole Matthews and Debbie Johnson. 

What everyone’s saying about Take a Chance on Me: 

'I laughed so much whilst reading this book - its got such a feel good factor!'Claire Loves to Read 

'You will laugh and possibly cry ...a lovely novel that was such a pleasure to read.'What's Better than Books 

'TAKE A CHANCE ON ME is one of those books that burrows into your heart and takes root there.'All Kinds of Books 

'This really is a feel good funalicious book which had me smiling throughout.'The Reading Shed 

'I couldn’t stop reading it and when I had to put it down I was still thinking about it and couldn’t wait to get back to it.'Comet Babe's Books 

''I loved this book. 5 stars! I'm now planning my own bucket list. Inspiring, and fun, with great characters.'Jo Lindsell Books 

'Wonderfully written and so moving'Tishy Lou's Blogspot 

'I adored the characters in this book ...I found myself smiling a lot'Twin Spin 

'Such a good read - I would highly recommend this book!'Brightly Shining Love 

'Wonderful and witty and heartfelt. I did not want this book to end, and savoured every word.Cannot wait to read more by this amazing author.' Renita D'Silva 

'A hilarious story'The Book Shelf 

'Made me laugh out loud!'Steph Loz Book Blog 

Praise for Carol Wyer: 

‘I laughed, I laughed a lot … you will be guaranteed to remember it … my feel good book of 2016 so far!’ The Writing Garnet 

‘Brilliant and freaking cool … The ending, OMG it was HILARIOUS. Everyone should definitely read this!’ Book Reviews by Jan 

'Totally didn't see the way this book was going … witty, funny and a great pick me up.’ Mum Reinvented Blog 

'Fabulously and fantastically fun...Superbly funny - a pleasure and a joy to read. The perfect pick-me-up book.'Becca's Books 

'If you're looking for a total escape from life's routine with a few belly laughs along the way and a real feel-good experience throughout, do try this one!' Being Ann Reading 

'Life Swap is such great fun and hugely entertaining with an amazing twist at the end that I didn't see coming at all.' The Book Magnet 

'I'm no stranger to this author's work. She is always very funny, witty and writes a cracking story. Her books come with a guarantee: that they will amuse, entertain, delight and have you raring for more'Cath 'n' Kindle Book reviews 

'This made me laugh out loud ...lots of tender and emotional times too.' StefLoz Book Reviews. 

'A novel infused with warm humour' British Comedy Guide 

This book was previously published as Three Little Birds 

I would like to thank author Bookouture for sending me a copy of this book in exchange for a fair and honest review.

We meet Charlotte or Charlie as she prefers to be known at her friends Mercedes New Year’s Eve party, still struggling with her daughter’s death 5 years early and her marriage break up she is not living but existing from day to day.  We also find out that Charlie’s ex-husband has moved on and is about to become a father again, all this on what would have been Charlie’s daughters Eighteenth birthday.

After a few too many wines Mercedes, Charlie’s best friend talks her in to writing a list of the things theywould love to be able to do their ‘carpe diem’ list, Charlie promptly falls asleep on the settee and forgets about the list.

Mercedes being the best friend that she is reminds Charlie of the list and here starts the journey of friendship and discovery.  I liked Charlie as the main character she is easily likeable and wants to see the good in everyone.  I really liked Mercedes and her husband, they are great characters and to find love after Mercedes has been through so much is perfect.

Enter Jake the reporter, they accidently meet on a couple of occasions and the funniest is when Charlie is crawling around on the floor pretending to be a pig, it really is great part of this book and so funny.

Both Charlie and Mercedes discover so much about themselves along the way, I loved the idea of an Art café and that the book highlights hospital radios.

For me though the hero and star of this book is Bert the parrot, he really is great and you could write bookjust set around him and his owner.  Who would have thought I would have said the hero of a book is a parrot?

The challenges are great and add an extra bit to the book, from a roller coaster to diving with sharks and knitting a onesie, there is also Mercedes entering a TV show similar to Come Dine with Me, there is also a twist to the story that I did spot but it does add that little bit extra to what is a fun read from Carol again.

I hope we get to see more of Bert the parrot!

Carol E Wyer is an ex-teacher and linguist who lives in rural Staffordshire. Having written a series of educational yet amusing books for children, she turned her attention to the adult market in 2010 when her son flew from the nest. Her best-selling novels have won several awards for humour and much attention from the media. Since then, she has appeared on over thirty BBC radio stations, several international radio stations, NBC television and BBC Breakfast television discussing age-related subjects such as ‘Irritable Male Syndrome’. Her writing style has been described frequently by the media as 'witty' or 'humorous' and has even been compared to the acerbic wit of Jeremy Clarkson and the humour of Robin Williams. Carol has written articles for and featured in several national women’s magazines including Take A BreakChoiceWoman’s Weekly and Woman's Own who also wrote about her journey to becoming a best-selling author. Last year, she took a crash course in stand-up comedy and has performed her comedy talk Smile While You Still Have Teeth to sell-out audiences in Lichfield, The Black Country and will be on main stage the Isle of Wight Literary Festival in October along with big name celebrities, Alan Titchmarsh, Katie Price, Sheila Hancock and novelist Katie Fford.