My Amazon Author Page

Find my Amazon author page via this link

"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."


SCROLL DOWN THE PAGE TO FIND LINKS TO ALL FOUR BOOKS

Wednesday, 26 November 2014

The Soup Crisis



'Last Tuesday we ran out of soup.  I couldn’t believe it at first.  We always have soup.  Carrot and tomato, lentil, parsnip and potato, banana and peach. 
Just a few of my favourites.
I prefer a starchy soup.  But I don’t care for legumes.  Leguminous soup gives me wind.
They say, soak and boil the beans first and rinse off the starchy residue.  I can’t be arsed, quite frankly.  Can anyone?  I just fling them in the pan.  Sometimes I use a dried legume; on other occasions I might use tinned.
The other day, I read about tins being dangerous.  Not tins in and of themselves, other than the lids, which as we all know are lethal if you’re not vigilant.   It’s the lining, you see.  It affects the contents in some way that I couldn’t really be bothered remembering.
It’s a bit confusing really.  One newspaper expert says that half a can of peaches, for example, provides one of your five a day.  The other half can be flung in the bin, or saved for another day.  Or perhaps given to someone else, if you’re not on your own.  Another newspaper expert says that you shouldn’t eat from tins at all, because the lining of the tin has a harmful effect on your corporeum.
I don’t know what to make of it all, at all.
I like soup.  I like to make soup from tins.  Perhaps I should cut out the middle man and drink tinned soup.
Which brings me to another problem.  Does one eat soup, or does one drink it?
I suppose if one is faced with a plateful of leguminous soup, packed with chunky legumes and such like, one might eat it rather than drink it.

Are eating and drinking the same thing?  Are the words interchangeable?  And if so, is one of the words therefore redundant?  Sort of like the tail of a tadpole, before it transforms into a frog or toad?'

This (the above) is what I saw when I accidentally peered into Geoffrey's brain last Sunday evening while searching, vainly, for a lost pyjama button down the back of the sofa - an endless ream of words that make little sense, unless you happen to be Geoffrey.  And even then, you might give up and have a biscuit.  

Friday, 21 November 2014

The Ivory Gull

The bonny ivory gull (photo from wikipedia)
 http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b04mlvxt That's a link to this morning's Radio Four's Tweet of the Day feature - and I'm blogging it because I'd like to preserve it ( as well as share it with any interested readers - all two of you...).  Today's bird is the ivory gull.  Before last night when someone mentioned it to me on Twitter I hadn't ever heard of the ivory gull;  I'm so glad that I now know of its existence because it is the most beautiful bird - snowy white, a creature of the icy, northern realms - absolutely lovely.  Unfortunately and predictably it's also endangered, due to its habit of feeding on the livers of seals (among other things), which have been contaminated via human pollution.
If I ever get the money I will travel to the icy realms and I will see the beautiful ivory gull, before it disappears...

Thursday, 6 November 2014

Measuring the Thinness (or thickness) of the Line betwixt the Living and the Dead

All Hallow's Eve has been and gone, and we're still here.
November the 5th has been and gone, and we're still here, despite effigies of us both being burnt to a crisp on bonfires on top of the moor, placed on a go-kart and shoved smartly downhill to plummet off the cliffs into the raging sea below.
Next up, the winter Solstice, and Yuletide, with all its merriment,  LED fairy lights, trifle, presents, sherry,  sausage rolls,  and general horror and ghastliness.
Ah well.  The wheel turns, and there is nothing that we can do to stop it - unless we tunnel into the centre of the Earth and interfere with its axis of gravity somehow, by filling it with black pudding or whatever.
Personally,  I find the relentless, grinding, nature of the turning of the Earth a bit passive aggressive in flavour. But that's just me!  And perhaps I'll feel differently tomorrow*.
Last Saturday Geoffrey's DebSoc debated the rights and wrongs of Trick or Treating, which is just about the level I would expect from a club that calls itself 'DebSoc'.
Back at the Rocky Outcrop we were in better form, sitting either side of our customary roaring driftwood fire with steaming mugs of Madeira and platefuls of salty snax, discussing the precise nature and thinness of the line betwixt the living and the dead.
The Tupfinder General had joined us for the evening.  "I'd say it's so thin as to be negligible," he said,  toasting a row of sausages, kebab-style, on the end of his sword-stick.
"You mean there's no discernable difference between us and dead people?"asked Geoffrey through a mouthful of mini cheddars.  "How do we know which side of the line we're on then?"
"We don't,"  I replied.
"And how do we know when we've crossed it?"
"We don't know that either."
"So we three might be dead, and we might not even know?"
"That's about the size of it."
"Wait till I tell them at DebSoc!  I'm bound to win Whinge of the Week with that one!"
"It's hardly a Whinge, though, is it?"  I said doubtfully.
"I'd say it qualifies," said the Tupfinder General, "Depending on how it's phrased. For example, you could say 'why oh why don't we know if, when, or indeed why, for that matter, we're dead?'  That would be a good whinge.  Three whinges in one, if you can be bothered taking the time to deconstruct it.  Sort of like an Aldi three-bird roast, like the one Mrs T-G has had in the freezer for the last four years, beneath the Viennetta, the bag of pre-digested Macedoine, and Aunt Bessie's extra-greasy Yorkshire Puddings."
"Yes!  Or I could try, 'why oh why is the line betwixt the living and the dead so appallingly thin?' "Geoffrey enthused.
"You could even start a campaign to get it thickened,"  said the Tupfinder General, "Sort of like dualling the A9."
"I'll start by putting a Notice up on Val and Dave Nark's Noticeboard at the main Yurt. 'Anyone wanting to get the line betwixt the living and the dead thickened forthwith, please sign your name below or contact Geoffrey direct at The Rocky Outcrop,  3,  The Cliffs,  Hereabouts.'  Thanks T-G!"

*probably not though.

more later.

More - lots and lots more - five volumes more, in fact - from Tuppy, Geoffrey and the Tupfinder General in my e-books - here are links to two of them.   http://www.amazon.co.uk/Sea-Penguin-Fireside-Outcrop-Selections-ebook/dp/B007IKMM7E/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_img_10 http://www.amazon.co.uk/Sea-Penguin-Extractor-Outcrop-Selections-ebook/dp/B007KUXBM2/ref=pd_sim_kinc_1?ie=UTF8&refRID=1FBG4AFEVW3TFRM4B252

'