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"A Scottish Wind in the Willows on high end skunk."

"I enjoy Kate's stories..."
"A fun and spooky read..."

"The characters are so involving and
loveable that you do want them to really exist. It does read like you've
stumbled across someone's long lost diary from and alternate timeline/universe.
I quickly got into the story and loved every second of reading it...
total gem of a read by an author who deserves a lot more recognition."


Sunday, 1 June 2014

An Excerpt from one of my e-books

'My conversation with the becoming-ever-smellier egg had become rather one-sided, as it continued its inevitable decline.
“I’m metamorphosing,” it explained, during one of its lucid moments. “Don’t be alarmed.”
“I’m not,” I soothed, reaching for another pipe of Tuppence’s latest find from the smugglers’ tunnels – a very soothing blend of extra-soothing Random Herbal Mix, made from a random mix of soothingly-blended extra-soothing herbs.
And for once, it was true.  I wasn’t in the least alarmed.  What surprised me more, was that I wasn’t feeling even slightly defensive; usually I would snap back at anyone who dared to suggest that I might be “alarmed”.  What kind of person did they think I was?  Soft?  Not me!  And who were they, to patronise and suggest and presume, anyway, when they were at home?  Nobody at all, that’s who.
“How marvellous life is,” I mused, as I inhaled a soothing lungful, and gazed out to the far horizon as the sun began its nightly descent into the blackness of the nether world.
Yes, Hereabouts we don’t believe in the tired old spinning globe theory of earthly existence.  No.  Why should we?  We believe that the world is flat, and that the sun moves from one edge of the flatness to the other, and has a little break at night, just as we do, unless we’re out on the rob, of course.    And that’s as it should be. 
After all, if we lived on a round planet, what would happen to the people on the bottom end?  They’d fall off!  No, it’s flat, and we live on the top, and the sun’s suspended on a string, sort of like a spider, and it rests in the darkness below in its cunningly woven web until it’s time for us to wake up and have our breakfast.  Which reminds me – I’m absolutely starving.
“Uncle Tuppy!”
Suddenly I was being shaken and shouted at, and cold water flung in my face.  The pipe was snatched from my trembling hands and thrown I know not where.  But mark my words, I’ll find out.
Seemingly, I’d inhaled too deeply, and had become somewhat “over-soothed”.
My nephew, Tuppence, had arrived with a super-sized shopping trolley filled to the gunwales with “munny” after flogging his wares to the rats “Overthere”, to find me raving in my pyjamas.

As I came to, I sat up and shouted “Where’s the egg?  Has it metamorphosed yet?”,  whereupon I had another jug of icy water (at least I think it was water)  flung over me.'

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