The Word Cloud

Hi folks,

The Word Cloud community site aims to be the best writer-to-writer critique site anywhere on the web. That means having the best writers, and you are that already, naturally.

But it also means that writers seek critiques in the right way, and that people offering feedback do so politely but with real added value. This topic offers you our tips on how to solicit critiques. The next topic talks about how to offer feedback. We'd love it if you could look at both before leaping in. Thanks in advance!

How to seek a critique - novels and non-fiction

1. Don't post too much text. About 3,000 words is the outer limit for comfortable on-screen reading. You'll get better, more detailed feedback if you can stick within that limit. Obviously if you get into a detailed discussion with other members and they're keen to exchange larger amounts of text, then go for it - but 3,000 words is a good maximum starting point.
2. Be clear about context. If your MS is aiming at a literary audience, it'll need to be differently written from if it's chick-lit, say. Explain in 3-4 sentences what your project is and something about the overall story.
3. Be clear about what you want. Is it your style that concerns you? Is it the way your character emerges? Are you worried about establishing a clear sense of place? Is your pacing OK? Naturally you want to know about everything - but if you do have particular concerns, then letting your readers know will help guide them towards more effective feedback.
4. Be prepared for honesty. Critiques are useless if they're not honest, so do be prepared for some negative feedback (which should, of course, be politely expressed). If you just want reassurance and support then say so! All writers need a cuddle from time to time, but then let feedbackers know that's what you want.
5. Give back. It takes time and commitment to write an effective critique. As a rough guide, we suggest that you should give feedback at least 3-5 times for every time you post work looking for feedback. If you're more generous than that, then you're a very lovely person. Thank you.

How to seek a critique - plots

All the above points are valid, but where plot is concerned, it's hard for feedbackers to comment effectively without reading the entire MS. That means that you need to present your plot in the best possible way for effective feedback. We suggest the following disciplines:

1. Offer a short guide to the overall plot structure. Set your material out in a template along the lines to be found here. That forces YOU to precis your plot in the tightest possible way and gives feedbackers the best possible chance to respond to your work effectively.
2. Use bullet points for chapter by chapter comments. If you want, you should also present (say) a very short summary of your first 5-10 chapters set out in bullet point format. One bullet per chapter, and no more than 50 or 60 words describing each chapter. Focus on the dramatic purpose / movement in each chapter.

These disciplines will help generate the tightest, most helpful feedback possible, but they'll also force you to think about your own plot in a way that'll show up any flabby or digressive material very fast. So you'll genuinely be helping your own cause by presenting your work in this way.

How to seek a critique - poetry / film / TV / radio / stage

All the above points are relevant. Remember to submit an appropriate wodge of material. (Just one poem, if it's a poem). Remember to ask for what you want. Do think about presenting your material in the way that will most help others give feedback. And give back, with the same care and respect that you want for yourself.


Thanks so much - and happy posting!

'Posted on Thursday 22nd January 2009'. 

Please, has anyone any information on WB AGENCY (NEW YORK), good bad or ugly!

Are they on here:

http://www.anotherealm.com/prededitors/pubagent.htm

Emma

My first fiction short story.
Please critique!!!!!!!!!!




I snorted my first line of street meth, at sixteen.

After that, I was gone.

My life consisted of nothing other then meth.

I needed money.

And I made it.

I started selling meth, and that meant my supply was practically endless.

I was introduced to crystal meth, when I was seventeen.

And I fell in love; it was even better than street crank.

Ice was all I had, and all I wanted.

 

 

My name is James Astley.

And I am a meth addict.

 

Walking down the ice cold black, that I had grown used to, as my home, I realized I left my coat on the sheets that were balled up next to my space on the gravel. Colorado was always cold this time of year, especially when you had no heat, and no Home.

 

My home was nothing more than, a blanket with three shirts stuffed on top to resemble a pillow, with head imprints from the night before. I also had a flashlight with no batteries, an old tee shirt stained red from dried blood stains and an old fisher mans cap from the little gas station outside of aspen I had shoplifted. The clothes on my extremely diminished body also added to my list of possessions. I had been sleeping in this park for the past few nights, because my memory couldn’t recall how long exactly I had been here.

Although I barley had any possessions to my name, I could always count on the ice.

I always had a small amount of meth.

Any money I made, shoplifting or stealing, went towards meth.

On meth you don’t need food, you don’t need sleep.

You don’t need anyone or anything.

When your on meth your life seems beautiful, like every experience you ever had floats into your mind and seems even more extravagant then the greatest movie. Every worry, every fear is fleeting, and every thought is lovely, elegant, and beyond perfection. When im on ice I feel impervious to everything, I feel like the greatest athlete, the best-looking model, and even the most amazing actor. I don’t feel like a failure and a loser, and a complete misfit, like I do when I’m my normal sane self. When I’m tweaked I don’t think living in a park and sleeping on the ground is so bad. I don’t feel like being homeless is as bad as it is, I feel like I can somehow struggle by and make it all by myself.

And then you come down.

And everything feels worse.

And everything breaks down.

Hi CJ...

I've sent you an email explaining where to post your story, which I hope makes sense...

Your piece is very 'real' of the type of life people with addictions can sadly expect! Drugs are such a huge problem in this country... When I was small, nobody had heard of such things, but unfortunately it is 'everywhere' now...

Minxie :)

Thank you EMMA. That last post saved my life.

You're welcome, Trzagor. The Preditors and Editors website has saved many a life. Not to mention their bank balance, sanity and heart...

Every now and then I meet a writer who tells me proudly how they've been taken on by an 'agent' or got a 'publishing deal', and it only cost them $x,000, and it's awful to hear. I always think, if only someone had pointed them towards P&E...

Emma

To attract feedback and get a discussion going regarding the question you asked about your work, try what new clouder Eddytip has done. Answered everyone, & not only with thanks, with views that show he is taking notice, and asking more questions if he doesn't understand exactly what a person means.

I've never seen it done so well before and it's working. It's not always easy to judge how much, or how little "jargon" a writer knows; capturing the interest of people giving feedback brings them back for another look.
I don't have much time to do critiques; Eddytip made it not only feel spending my time on his work was worthwhile; I was able, and willing, to clarify a point.

Hi... I'd like to submit an extract from my novel for discussion/critique. The genre is women's literary fiction and I am seeking an agent to represent me. I'd appreciate any comments!

MAY 11th

Zak has settled into our family routine, the dynamic has shifted to accommodate him and my sons’ behaviour improves slightly. Individually they regard him with awe and admiration. He’s cool, obviously as he’s a teenager and wears funky stuff. As a pack however, they still stick to the theory that he’s ‘gay,’ each too scared to reveal their true feelings in front of their brothers. The fact that he goes to Hilstead appals and fascinates them, we don’t know anyone who is at a state school and this is living proof that there is life outside of Havershams. Zak sets off each morning on the bus, of all things. A bus! Everyone we know is driven to school and this bus possibility is intriguing, particularly to William. How does he know where to get off? Who will he sit next to? Wow! The fact that he reappears each evening, having miraculously navigated his way through countless insurmountable obstacles during his day is completely fascinating to my little son.

“How do they know what school they go to if they don’t wear a uniform?” Louis is ready to let him have it with a stream of abuse so I physically put myself between them and divert the onslaught by asking them about last night’s football. Zak calls it ‘soccer’ which sends them into hysterics….. it’s so gay.

“That goal, that screamer by Lamps… that was a sick dog!”

“HA! That’s what you think… loser. What about that header by Essien?”

“Sick dog!”

“No, the sickest dog of all was the tackle Kaka did on Drogs… ” Louis lunges at Will in an imitation of the killer tackle and off they go… the football starts slamming against the wall in the kitchen. I wander off to call Tamsin, I must update her on Zak’s progress.

After five attempts I get through. Five times I dialled Bolivia and found myself embroiled in someone else’s long drawn out Spanish rows. Shouting and feuding don’t need much translating. I listened anxiously for a while, transfixed and wondering why it all sounded so dismally familiar, even in Spanish. Finally, I reach my sister. She picks up on the first ring and shouts ’Que? Que quieres?’ and then continues with her argument, ‘puto inferno, no hay agua en el pueblo!’ She yells at me…. ‘lo que es un desastre, mierda.’

“Hola, querida..” I answer, remembering how wonderful it feels to lose yourself in a foreign language. How powerful.

“Jesus, Jules… sorry. I’m so stressed out at the moment. Our water has been cut off because Xavier’s wife has come back with a toy boy from the next village and his daughter, who is only fifteen is pregnant and they’re accusing this guy….”

What is my sister doing in the middle of this mess? And why is it up to her to sort it out, surely that must be somebody else’s job? But Tamsin has always been like that... the sort of person who starts off doing something simple and uncomplicated which leaves her tangled up in an emotional thornbush. Her conscience gets pricked by all the little thorns as she goes further and further into the thick of it but she keeps right on going. She can’t back out.

“Listen, Zak seems to really like Hilstead… ”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Jules!” She interrupts me sharply, on the defensive. Someone starts screaming loudly, wailing in the background but she carries on. “It’s fine!”

“Great.” I say uncertainly, slightly disconcerted about the disruption. “Umm, Tamsin… are you alright?” I hear muffled shouts and the sound of broken glass. “Anyway, Zak’s great to have around.” I carry on, determined to have my say, “but do you really let him smoke that shit around you?”

“What shit?”

“That skunk stuff, Tamsin!”

“That’s good Bolivian Blue!” She yells. “Everyone smokes it here, it’s harmless!” Three earsplitting explosions make me drop the phone, I scrabble to pick it up and hear my sister shouting. “Fucking hell, Xavier’s got his gun out again. Speak later.”

MAY 12th

Michael’s car revs up impatiently at the gates. There’s a two minute delay while they swing open, but it is two minutes too long for him. He races down the drive, churning up the gravel. Music is blasting out and I can see Lilli’s black hair blowing around on the passenger side. Dropping my book, I jump up guiltily. I’ve been caught daydreaming... a.k.a. doing nothing or ‘slacking off’. Michael doesn’t like that. Unorganized thoughts could become subversive. Sometimes, however, I find it necessary to have a bit of peace. I have tried to explain this to him but he regards the concept as hysterical.

My bedroom door jerks open with such force that the door handle embeds itself into the plasterwork of the wall. Allegra stands there with an expression of disgust on her face.

“Mum!” I smile at her and smooth down my skirt, trying to buy some time.

“Lilli - ” I hold up my hand to cut her off.

“I know, I know… but she is a friend of mine so please be civil. Just be polite and - ”

“But you said, don’t you remember? Last time?”

“I know, but I probably exaggerated or something. Misunderstood her.” We eye each other warily. I have a sudden vivid picture of Lilli, Allegra and myself in that Italian restaurant in Wandsworth. Lilli had been drinking steadily, knocking back the wine as though it were water all afternoon. I remember thinking it odd… Lilli had never been a serious drinker, as far as I knew. She had stayed with it, the drinking thing, but only in a sort of half-hearted way but that particular afternoon, she had really needed to drink. Suddenly out of the blue, with no warning, she launched in.

“Daahhleng…” she was stroking Allegra’s hair and wafting wine breath into her face. “Are you a virgin?” I choked, clutched my throat and she slapped me hard on the back.

“Lilli! She’s fourteen… for God’s sake.” I hissed at her, appalled.

“No, reeely… I know such a lovely man for you.” I thought perhaps I imagined that, but my daughter was bright red in the face and Lilli looked as though she was set to continue. Before she could open her mouth again, I had pulled Allegra to her feet.

“W-we need the loo…” I stammered. “W-we’ll pay as well.” Outside, on the pavement, she seemed oblivious to the whole thing and she kissed and fussed over Allegra who was desperate to get away. Back to now however. Why, in fact was she my friend?

“Come on, darling… I’ll protect you.” I giggle at my daughter and the corners of her mouth turn up slightly. Allegra turns to go, but shoots me a pitying look over her shoulder.

“You need to change or something, Mum…I mean look at you…” I glance down and it’s chocolate. Again. Melted and squished to my t shirt. Great. I pull on one of my smart-ish linen tops and run down the long front staircase. My friend is standing there, looking amazing. Lilli has beige linen Capri pants on with a red and white billowy striped low cut top and a denim jacket encrusted with fake emeralds all around the border. Very Montecarlo…. very Continental… not at all North ‘Niffik’. Shopping bags are strewn all around her. Not shopping as in Tesco or Asda either but as in Jo Malone, Harvey Nichols and the Bluebird Deli. Amazing… what’s going on here? Lilli is very warm hearted and generous but it’s usually always with someone else’s money. Some man’s money. Who is funding this expensive visit, I wonder? Jack appears silently by my side.

“Dahhleng boy! So handsome, so beeg!” She swoops down to kiss him, but he sidesteps her and she clutches on to me. I give her a cuddle, laughing. She feels soft, as though she’s put on some weight and her expensive perfume wafts around me.

“He’s twelve now. No more kisses!” Lilli is Jack’s godmother, but not an especially bountiful one. I think she brought him a jar of Marmite the last time we met, for some obscure reason. He eyes her warily.

“No kisses? Aahh… here then.” She opens her black patent Prada wallet and extracts a crisp twenty pound note. My son’s eyes light up and he snatches it. Fast. Out of the corner of his eye, he’s noticed Louis sidling up to me.

“Jack!” I elbow him hard, he mutters his thanks and flees.

“And who ees thees one, handsome and even bigger?” Louis is turning on the charm. He smiles in a smarmy sort of way, knowing that he can pull it off. Another crisp note is handed out and he scuttles off gratefully.

“That’s kind of you, Lilli.” I say.

“No, ees nothing! For you I have these!” She hands me the big Jo Malone bag which feels heavy and smells delicious. I peer into it and see a couple of candles and a three beautifully wrapped boxes. Face cream? Perfume? Wow!

“Thanks! That’s so kind. You didn’t have to… ” We walk through to the back of the house where the late afternoon sunlight is streaming through the double doors at the end of the kitchen. Through the open windows the scent of the rose garden is blowing in. Lilli stops, speechless and surveys the scene. “ Ohhhh… God!” I smile at her. “You lucky, lucky girl!”

Unable to answer her, I pour two large glasses of wine. “Cheers!” She doesn’t pick her glass up, but I drink most of mine in one gulp.

“And Michael? Does he love it here?” She asks me rather bizarrely as she examines the photos of the children scattered around.

“Um, yes…. he does. Of course.” Michael appears suddenly with a big grin on his face. Opening his arms wide, he embraces both of us in a big hug. He smells like cigarettes for some reason. Cigarettes and red wine. What’s he up to?

“Darling girls! We’re going to have a lovely weekend!” He gives us a squeeze and I glance up at him. What an actor. Giggling, Lilli pulls away and looks me up and down in a scrutinizing way.

“Julietta! She look so… so… thin. But still beautiful, no?”

“Mmm.” Michael nods abstractedly. He’s not looking at me anyway. William comes racing in and barges straight into his father who now is trying to open a bottle of wine. “Steady on mate!” Michael shouts as the cork jerks out suddenly. Droplets of red spatter his expensive trousers but, oddly enough, he hasn’t noticed.

“You’re incredibly thick…. you know that, don’t you…” Louis is in hot pursuit, really worked up about something. Michael is ignoring the whole scene that is brewing up, undoubtedly to full escalation. But he is oblivious. It’s amazing just how oblivious he can be. He is drinking and chatting to Lilli.

“Mum!” Will huffs, indignant. “Louis and Jack got a £20 note and they said that I won’t get one because I’m stupid!” I take a slow sip of my wine and then turn to my eldest son.

“Louis. What’s it like to be so kind and understanding to your younger brothers?” He looks at me in utter incomprehension, highly suspicious of where I’m heading. He squints, twisting his lips and half smiling. “No, really…” I continue. “I’d like to know. How do you do it, that brotherly love thing? Is that why you’re so popular with them?” He scowls darkly, knowing that I’ve out manoeuvred him.

“£20 quid, Mum!” Will shouts and finally Michael turns around. He seems completely surprised to find him there.

“Aah! Another one!” Lilli shrieks, moving in on Will and stretching her hand out to stroke his hair. He slaps her away.

“Will!” I grab his arm. “That was a bit, well, rude…”

“You want the money too, no?” She pulls out her big wallet again, and my little son’s eyes brighten. Sensing a result, he sidles up to her sweetly.

“Thank you so much!” I’ve never actually heard him say that. ‘Thanks’, or some sort of grunt of acknowledgement perhaps, but not the whole, full on sentence. That was impressive. Catching my eye, he’s out of there fast.

We chat and gossip for a bit a about some mutual friends and Lilli makes us both laugh with more of her outrageous stories and then I remind them about supper. James, our neighbour is coming to make up the numbers, as well as a couple who live in Blakeney who are both ‘in media’. Michael thought that Lilli might find them more entertaining than the usual school set, but I don’t really know them well.

My cooking was impressive, I have to say. Carpaccio to start, which went well with the champagne that Lilli had generously brought from London. Two bottles of vintage Veuve Cliquot! I don’t know if James had ever had the likes of that before, he certainly seemed impressed and got quite merry even before the main course. He’s a farmer, he farms sugar beet and is divorced with two children at Havershams… Lilli was set to eat him up alive. She turned on the full beam of her charm for the poor man and all he could do was sit there and drink, and listen and admire. I spent most of the evening by the Aga tending to the risotto, which needed constant stirring. Porcini mushrooms went in, white wine, parmesan… I cooked and drank, drank and cooked and observed.

Suzy and Jon had brought four bottles of Cabernet, which were guzzled down in no time…. they were very entertaining, very good value and Michael had quite a lot to say to them. Lilli seemed to be a bit hyper. She seemed slightly on edge but perhaps that was just my impression. She didn’t know anyone, after all and she didn’t drink anything either. Strange, maybe she’s given it up. Probably just as well. James was lapping up all her outrageous stories, and she and Jon had a couple of mutual acquaintances in the art world. However, after my gorgeous tiramisu, Lilli became a bit out of control.

“Soooo, what do you do up here after dinner?” She asked provocatively, flicking back her hair. “Does anyone do coke?” I looked at Michael in surprise, expecting a murderous look from him, but he was just smiling at Lilli indulgently. She was sparkling at everyone.

“Coke?” I giggled nervously. “Umm, no…. ” God, I wish. Suzy and Jon were on the same wavelength but poor James was left staring at her, open mouthed. I refilled his glass quickly and he drained it.

“What about…. you know? That wife swopping theeng? You do that?” James made a sort of choking noise and lowered his head.

“No, Lilli.” Michael was shaking his head with an amused expression on his face. “We don’t do that at all. Now behave yourself…..” Suzy managed to drag the conversation back to some less controversial subject and the evening continued. Not that it hadn’t been fun, but It had gone on late… way too late.

Sunday morning however, there’s no wallowing in bed for me, no nursing my hangover. No way… no such luck. There are all of last night’s dishes to be done for a start, not to mention the endless list of chores, particular to Sundays. Piano practice for four children, flute practice for one….. nits for all five, homework and/or revision for all, laundry, ironing and packing up four kit bags and one P.E. bag. Oh and at least two meals, fairly hearty meals for seven. Possibly, if I’m lucky and do everything fast, there may be a quick read of the papers, but only a short one.

I’m well into the dishes and I’m feeling pretty on top of things, having managed to disconnect the Xbox in a way that the boys can’t work out how to tamper with. They are upstairs, furious but doing their Prep… after a fashion. I can hear some thudding and a random shout or two but otherwise it’s quiet. After a handful of Neurofen I’m beginning to feel fairly optimistic. Lilli comes wafting down in a very pretty pale blue satin nightie at about half past eleven. She looks lovely.

“Aahhh, so super, your leetle dinner…. and your friends! Sooo nice!” She stands there with one hand on her hip and lights a cigarette, looking extremely glamorous. Her nightie is not her usual, sexy style though, it’s a bit more demure and covers a lot more. I smile at her, I can’t help myself. She doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve got my arms immersed in greasy, soapy water, have a faded, shrunken black vest on and hair that is held up in a topknot by a pencil. “What ees for breakfast?” She smiles and tipping up her chin, exhales a neat plume of smoke.

Michael emerges just in time for lunch. He comes up behind me as I’m struggling to get the lamb sorted out, as I’m wrestling with hot boiling things, and puts his arms around me from behind. I jump and burn my wrist on the tray of potatoes. That brings back memories….. he hasn’t done that in ages and he used to do it all the time. He would catch me by surprise, kiss me on the neck and tickle me until we’d both collapse in a fit of giggles and cuddles. Today the arms go round and then… “You need to wash your hair, Juliet. Do you know that you’ve got a pencil in there?”

The children twitch, fidget and fuss all through lunch and Allegra refuses to speak but otherwise it goes well. Michael opens more wine but I daren’t have any or I’ll get in a muddle and I’ve got to keep the show on the road. If I don’t, we’ll all come to a grinding halt. Felicity and I take Lilli on a tour of the garden while Michael has a little siesta and Lilli makes us giggle by tottering around in a pair of very high but beautiful black patent heels. Felicity digs her little elbow into my side.

“Mummy!” She whispers ferociously…“Why don’t you wear shoes like that?” I stare at her in surprise.

“Me? Darling, they’re not really my style… I mean, they’re not….” I start to laugh, picturing myself trying to race around on the school run, tottering about picking stuff up off the floor with six inch heels on. God. It’s bad enough that I wear nighties and tiaras all the time. Really.

I get to grips with the nits and Lilli entertains me as I’m combing with more gossip and intrigue. My children are stunned into silence by this constant stream of chatter in a foreign accent and I drift off, just listening to the lilt of her voice. I’m actually very tired. Michael appears looking relaxed, having just woken up and showered. He’s wearing a pair of dark blue linen trousers that I haven’t seen before and he’s slicked back his hair.

“We’ve got to be heading back to London in an hour.” He says this to Lilli, who is perched on the edge of the bath. I had forgotten that they were going back together.

“But Dad… ” Will jerks away from the nitcomb. “You said we could play tennis.”

“And you promised we could take Smiley Girl for a walk!” Felicity shouts from the corridor.

“Darling children. I can’t! I’m so sorry, but next time…” Michael checks his reflection in the mirror and notices a bit of fuzz on his shirt which he picks off. Then he turns to me. “Juliet, we need to talk before I go.” Sighing, I straighten up and push my hair back. My top is soaked through from the shower attachment so I go to change. Michael follows me into the bedroom.

“Take your top off.” He closes in on me menacingly, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Michael, come on. Be reasonable.” He’s leering at me with an expression on his face that I can’t quite work out. Suddenly he grabs my t shirt with both hands, yanking it up over my head. I shiver and fold my arms across my breasts protectively. Taking two steps backwards, he rakes his eyes over me with a smirk and I shiver again. I feel very vulnerable.

“I’m not happy with Havershams.” He is slick, confident and fully clothed. I am a damp, half naked mess.

“W-w-what do you mean?” He has created this scene deliberately so that I’m at a disadvantage. I reach for my tshirt but, smiling, he holds it up above his head.

“It’s not a good school.”

Good? What does he mean? “Of course it’s good!” How ridiculous. “The children love it….”

“No, Juliet. If I don’t think it’s good, it’s not good. The children would love it anywhere.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I push past him angrily and grab a top from the heap of laundry on the floor. “What are you talking about, Michael. Of course they wouldn’t love it anywhere. They love Havershams. And besides, there are no other schools here, in Norfolk.” This is frightening me.

“Of course there are other schools in Norfolk, there are -”

“Daddy, why are you talking about school?” I am rescued by Fliss, who bursts into the room with Smiley Girl swinging in her carrycot. ”We’re ready for the walk!” I slip away and go downstairs. Why did Michael orchestrate that little scene? He knows perfectly well that there are no other schools here. If he wants them to leave Havershams then we’d have to move somewhere else.

Lilli and I kiss goodbye and I promise to come up to London soon. When? God only knows. I’ve still got all the music practice to get through before tea. The children are hauled down to the front hallway for a line up and they’re sad to see their father disappear again, especially as he’s not sure when he’ll be back.

“Things are busy in London, my darlings.” I say jokingly to them, trying to make them smile, but their expressions don’t change. Lilli kisses them, much to their disgust. When she comes to hug me I feel a little bit of extra weight on her against my skinny hips. I sigh and watch her flick her glossy hair in the sunshine.

“Bye! Go back to your glamorous life then!” I say to her, smiling. Blinking uncertainly, unsure of my tone of voice, she laughs. I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic, it just came out that way.

“Aaahh, but you have your gorgeous Niffik, your beautiful children and your handsome husband.. no?” Is that a question? I watch her pick her way across the gravel. Michael stalks over to the car without saying anything further to me. Goodbye would have been nice

Oh well. I turn around to find Jack frantically shaking up a bottle of coke. He unscrews the top and directs it at Louis, who looks fairly innocent but has obviously done something dreadful to deserve this punishment. A huge spray of fizz and sugar go all over him, all over me and all over the floor.

“JESUS! WHAT THE…” The boys scatter. I’m left with yet another mess to clear up.

A small figure appears by the side of my bed, bright and early.

“Mummy…. I piddled in my bed again..” Felicity looks embarrassed and her little face is anxious, although it’s hard to see as it’s barely light outside. I lean sideways and pull off her wet pyjama bottoms then roll her in with me for a cuddle. I have a bit of a hangover from last night, just a tight feeling behind my eyes and I’m thirsty… my mind immediately starts heading off in a direction I don’t want it to take and I know that I won’t be able to get back to sleep now. I lie there on my back, listening to Fliss’ sighing and snuffly breathing and begin to get bogged down by the situation with Michael. For some reason, possibly guilt, he’s being very evasive with me. He either floods me with calls, aggressively shouting accusations at me without drawing breath or he makes himself totally unavailable, refusing all contact. Either way, it’s a no win situation.

When we first got engaged he would come home with a peony for me every night. I smile at the memory and I’m immediately flooded by the memory of the flower’s heady scent. We lived in a large flat just around the corner from a flower stall on the Fulham road and the owner, who was a friend of mine, would have one all wrapped and ready for him as he strode past. Sometimes it would be a big fat pink one, other times dark red or even white. “For your jewel!” he would always say to Michael, laughing and winking. Michael would rush in, twirl me around and whisper in my ear “my Jules the jewel.” Am I not a jewel anymore now?

I roll over and stroke Felicity’s dark silky hair and drape a bit of it over my face, smelling her sweet smell. After she was born, I remember revelling in her baby girl-ness.... the last of my darling children and a jackpot win at that. Another girl! Michael and I were united in our pleasure and our family had seemed perfect. When she was about six weeks old, Nomura were involved in a big charity event at the Savoy and Michael, ignoring my protestations, insisted that I go with him. I couldn’t ‘let him down’… I was his ‘asset’ and I had to be on display.

Despite the fact that I was still breastfeeding Felicity, I squeezed myself into a little black dress and managed to look fairly decent. Michael was pleased that I’d made the effort. However, as the evening wore on and I became anxious about returning to my baby, he turned increasingly belligerent. I looked fat, I looked tired, I had nothing interesting to say.... amazing! I wonder why? When we got back home, I had apparently ‘wanted it’. My breasts were full and painful but I gave in, exhausted beyond caring. I almost fell asleep during the display, the presentation of the goods but to be fair, he was a bit less rough than usual.

I go downstairs in search of some water and a couple of Paracetemol for my head. Zak’s got to be at Hilstead this morning. Shivering, I pull down on my little nightie but it doesn’t cover up very much so I grab Will’s stripey fleece and put it over, stretching it out. As I catch a glimpse of myself in the full length mirror by the stairs I start to laugh. My hair is sticking up and I have a streak of mascara under one eye. Chocolate, dark chocolate is smeared along my collarbone. Who cares? I flick the radio on and jiggle about defiantly, feeling silly and carefree. I’m disco dancing in the kitchen at bloody five o’clock in the morning... a great start to the day.

Carefree, sadly I am not and money is no laughing and dancing matter at the moment. There are three or four notices from Havershams lying on Michael’s desk, reminders of school fees left unpaid since the Michealmas term. Why hasn’t he paid the school fees? Surely we have enough money to settle the matter? It’s embarrassing, to say the least. We’ve always had enough money for everything. I wonder what he’s playing at. I haven’t checked my housekeeping account lately though, I’m just presuming that he’s been paying the usual amount in every month. So far cash keeps coming out from the hole in the wall. I never check the balance. I just push the buttons for cash, cash and more cash. I’ve got to pay for The Beast, after all…. she’s vital.

With no Serafima to help me on my rounds, I wake the children up and they are grumpy. I bang hard on Zak’s door, pounding away until I get a muffled answer. Jack comes down as I’m trying to tidy up the mess I’ve made from the pancakes and he hauls the milk out from the fridge, first yanking the door open then slamming the milk down onto the worktop. Taking a deep breath, I say in an even tone of voice

“Jack.”

“What!” He jumps guiltily, sloshing milk all over the newspaper.

“Hee hee hee!” He giggles sheepishly then amazingly, picks up a torn bit of kitchen roll and floats it on top of the puddle where it lies, sodden. Oh well… it’s an effort, of sorts. Allegra wafts in, smelling lovely but looking for a fight.

“Fuc - bloody hell, Mum” She tosses her hair and I smell her shampoo. “Is Zak coming to school with us this morning?”

“Yeah,” I answer, distracted. “Yes… but he won’t get out. Hilstead starts later than Havershams.” I check my hand to see if there’s anything written there. My mind is sluggish this morning, I feel as if I’m wading through syrup and its taking all my concentration just to get these six children out of the door. They pull all my thoughts apart, unravelling them like a ball of yarn, until I’m left only with little scrappy bits of wool. Michael gets so impatient with me, with the way I forget everything.

Zak appears just at the last minute, just when I’m about to start shouting. He’s wearing denim cut-off baggy shorts, although ‘wearing’ might be a bit of an exaggeration. They are dangling off him, barely hanging on and his orange boxers are puffed out at the top. Jack sniggers. His hair is all swished to one side and I notice that his right ear has three studs in it. He looks handsome but in need of a good wash and his white t shirt is grubby, with the hem unravelling. He scuffs his feet along the floor, red laces still trailing.

“Why is Zak wearing home clothes to school?” Felicity asks in her squeaky little morning voice.

“D’uuuuuhhh… ” Louis draws out the vowels. “Cos he’s going to a state school, dummy”

“State school?”

“Looo-ser” shouts Jack, just out of Zak’s earshot.

“Hey, you shouldn’t say that!” I turn around quickly.

“HA! You say that, mummy...” My mouth is open ready to respond, but nothing comes out. There’s nothing truthful that I can answer to that. Zak shuffles around, dragging his hoody behind him.

“Have you got your bag? Your stuff?” I ask

“What stuff? What bag??” He kicks at a bit of gravel. It suddenly occurs to me that he is nervous and that underneath his cross awkwardness, he’s probably terrified of walking into that school. He has got to face a big new class of hypercritical teenagers all on his own. He also has an American accent and is bound to be picked on, isn’t he? Don’t they bully everyone at these schools? I look at him again slouched by the car. He’s pretty cool… he’s got that New York street-creddy look about him. I get a bit closer to him, sniffing. No, he smells fine.. no skunky smell. I put my arm awkwardly around his shoulders, reaching up a bit as he’s slightly taller than me and he stands there stiffly, submitting very unwillingly to my embrace.

“I hope you’ll be okay today..”

“I’ll be fine.” He’s embarrassed now. Jack and Will look at each other with disgust, Mum trying to cuddle Zak! How gay… I can hear their nasty little minds at work.

Gravel spinning, I arrive at the Prep school and order them all out and out fast. The bell’s gone and they’ve probably already taken the register by now. Will and Fliss trail across the field to the Pre-prep, bags dragging along behind them on the damp grass. This isn’t allowed, the little ones are supposed to be accompanied in to school and deposited safely in their classrooms. However, that also means having to make polite morning chit-chat which can sometimes be done when you’re in the mood. I’ve been getting a lot of sideways looks from a particular group of mums lately, probably due to that conversation I was having loudly under the conker tree two days ago, so I think I’ll stay away. Suddenly there’s a racket behind me and I put the window down.

“Girlfriend!” Ava is running towards me, waving her hands about and shrieking. She looks gorgeous and slightly out of place here in Norfolk. Her hair extensions are really long at the moment, some are blonde, some brown, there are a couple of pink ones mixed in but the blue ones have gone. She’s clattering along in her high heels, wearing those cool jeans she got in London on her last shopping trip. I need to get up to London, I think suddenly, remembering the new flat on Flood street which is very nearly mine. Out of the corner of my eye I notice that Zak is smiling, actually it’s more than smiling… he’s got a huge grin on his face! Wow! What a result.

“Hey gorgeous! I’m taking Zak to Hilstead…”

“I know!” She shrieks, shoving her head through the window. ”I want to check him out!”

“You tart!”

“Hey… Dude, you look cool! Is that the New York thing? Grunge… or hip hop?” Zak is blushing and grinning, this is great. Bless her, she always gets it right! She knows exactly what to say, however inappropriate.

“Honey, you didn’t tell me he was hot!”

“Shut up! He’s sixteen!” I’m laughing and shoving her off, she’s on top of me, half inside the window now and Zak is loving it although he’s gone bright red. I think he can see down her top. We’re getting a lot of filthy looks by now too There’s a group of the quiet mums over by the music block which quite far away but they’ve obviously heard every word we’ve said and they’re all staring at us. They look outraged. What have we done wrong now? We haven’t been swearing... have we? I can’t remember. God… go away. Ava is questioning Zak loudly about girls, suggesting possible chat up lines. She pulls her head out of my window and her sunglasses go flying onto the gravel.

“Watch yourself… he’s underage!” she shouts, just for effect and predictably it works. The quiet mums shake their heads disapprovingly, pulling their toddlers close protectively. Looking like grumpy old grannies, they huff off to their cars. Zak and I look at each other and giggle.

Hilstead High School is only five miles down the road, just past Lyton off the bypass but I get lost. We pass the sign that says “Wildlife park” and keep going around a big curve, down a hill, round another bend until, bizarrely, I see the sign again. We’ve gone round in a big circle. I’m getting anxious now, but I don’t want Zak to know. Why do important places keep disappearing all the time? I pull over for a second, wishing that I smoked. It would seem like a good moment for a cigarette.

“HA!” I snort, not looking at Zak. ”We’ll be there in a sec!” He looks at me a bit uncertainly. I check my reflection in the mirror, trying to buy myself some more time, then I have another go. Finally I see the sprawling 1960’s complex looming up ahead, squat and unattractive and grey. There are some Portakabins attached to one end of the long, uneven structure which make it look lopsided and even uglier than it is. A flashing image flickers across my mind; of Havershams’ beautiful old ivy clad buildings set amongst the playing fields and I feel grateful that my five are safely set up there. I try to picture them here instead but there’s no way I can make that leap of imagination. Streams of kids are swarming around, bags are being swung about and books are falling all over the tarmac. The noise level is high. It’s an absolute riot of shouting and music blaring from mobile phones. Almost all the guys here have these droopy jeans on, some hanging way down low so I breathe a sigh of relief on Zak’s behalf… he’ll fit right in. Most of the girls seem to have little strips of fabric round their bums, probably skirts and he rest have tight skinny jeans on.

Looking at Zak, expecting to find the same horrified expression on his face that there is on mine, I’m stunned to see that he’s grinning. He can’t wait to get out of the car and join in…. God, I think my gaze could possibly turn someone into stone… I am a Medusa. We get out of the car, out of the sanctuary of the car and make our way over to reception and as I push open the swing door, a large group of squealing girls comes swarming out. They are comparing text messages and I hear the words ‘knickers’ and ‘snogging’. I cringe… they look about Allegra’s age… they aren’t allowed phones at Havershams, much less gossip about knickers and snogging. A tall, very fat guy is standing in the corner near a board displaying a lurid collection of abstract self portraits, identifiable as such by the odd eyeball or ear. He’s swaying in time to a beat in his head and chanting “shambosh, shambosh” very loudly to a murky yellow face with the name ‘Zed’ written next to it. Could that be yoga? Yoga’s good, I think encouragingly.

The school secretary appears. She is enormous and dressed in a tight purple dress, buttons straining across her barrel-like midsection.

“Uhm..hello?” I say, smiling pleasantly in her direction.

“Hiya!” She shouts, not at me but at the girl opposite who has a huge amount of make up on and red backcombed hair.

“W-where should we go?” She ignores me. I’m trying to get her to look at me, I want her attention but she’s not bothered. ”Zak is new, he’s in year eleven?” I’m nervous now and feel out of my depth.

“Down the corridor, turn left!” She bellows, finally glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. Off we go, trotting down the corridor with peeling, cracked lino on the floor and a black stripe down the wall, like a tide mark, at waist length. Why is that there? We’re swept down the length of the corridor like fish caught up in a fast stream and finally, with difficulty, we manage to turn left into a classroom. A piercing wail is coming from one of the rooms further down but no one is paying any particular attention. It could be a regular occurrence for all I know but it sounds like a girl giving birth.

A boy is coming towards us with a great big balloon of pink bubble gum billowing out from his mouth. He coughs and the whole mess shoots out onto the floor. I give him a look of utter disgust but Zak doesn’t take any notice. A very large blonde girl with her hair trailing over her shoulders in thinning, ratty bunches is blocking our doorway and she stares at us aggressively. Her massive breasts are popping out of her tight top. Zak shoots past, grinning and I am left behind to try to successfully negotiate my way around them.

“Oi!” She bellows at me as I’m slinking past, anxiously smiling in an ingratiating sort of way. ”You a lezzie then?”

“Uh… no, sorry.” I don’t quite know what to do. Is that a trick question? Is there a handbook I can buy with the right answers in it? I flick my necklace, my lovely gold cross from Milan. She looks at it and I look at her. Eyeballs roll. Zak shuffles over to sit down at a desk and I want to get the hell out of here but that girl is still there and I’m scared. I want to whimper but I clear my throat and she glares at me and puts her hands on her massive hips.

“What d’you want, lezzie?” A couple of girls around her titter and begin closing in ominously. One jingles her keys in a menacing way.

“Get out of her way NOW, Abbs!” A voice reverberates from the far end of the room and I swing round to see a short, skinny guy who obviously holds all the power in this group. He has wild brown hair and round glasses on and looks a bit like Trotsky. He seems very sure of himself. Slumped against the wall languidly, he looks ready for a good punch up, even with a girl. Small but mighty.

“Get the fuck outta the way!” He shouts again, and she shifts her bulk sulkily to one side, allowing me just enough room to squeeze past. Inhaling her cheap perfume, I make a break for it and recklessly push on through, past the breasts, past the spat out gum. I flee, still clutching my gold cross in my left hand.

May 7th

Felicity was only two when we got Serafima, about a year after we moved to Norfolk, and she was delighted to finally have someone younger than her to boss around and tell off. She would practice her bossy voice on her as he lay half asleep, drowsing in a patch of sunlight on the bathroom rug. Allegra and I would spy on her through the crack in the door, crying with silent laughter as she would give the poor cat a vicious telling off, her little face a mask of indignation. Ser was oblivious to all her fury and would carry on dozing away, eyes half shut with bliss. Sometimes she would be sprawled out, half stuffed into one of Smiley Girl’s dolly dresses but she didn’t seem to mind. Felicity would stamp her foot and shout at her, infuriated by her lack of interest in rowing.

“Wake up! Fuzzy puss….. pay attention… wake UP!” Serafima might roll over or yawn at this point, but nothing more energetic than that.

“Scema… cretina... deficente.” She had picked up some important Italian words from all our past trips to Milan. In fact, she had a whole notebook stuffed full of Italian swear words, either real or made up. Adding on vowels and possibly an ‘a’ at the beginning of the word seemed to suit her best…. ‘a-fat-a’ or ‘a-gay-a’… ‘cat-a.’ Stupid deficient cretin.. Poor Ser-Ser.

I lie in Serafima’s strip of sunlight now, trying to get to grips with my book. A brief whisp of time isn’t going to do it however. I need to concentrate. I want to concentrate on Stalin but I can’t. Little whispers in my head murmur to me, reminding me about cricket bats. Kaganovich, Yagoda and Beria. Lavrenti Beria, my favourite. Lavrenti-i-i-i. Now that would be some name for a cat.

‘Rob, it says in biro on my hand, next to my left thumb and it’s smudged and written over a couple of times. I must call him back, I must speak to him…. My darling Rob. I love him so and he adores me, we have the sort of relationship where we can pick up the strands of the past within seconds. We have a code, a short hand connection to each other. I should have married him, he’s perfect for me in every way except for the fact that he’s gay. He’s half Italian and we met at someone’s party in Chelsea about twenty years ago, and instantly ’fell in love’. It was immediately clear that we would become very close. We found each other attractive, beautiful.. we were perfect foils for one another. He was tall, slim and very androgynous looking, like David Bowie in his ‘Ziggy Stardust’ phase and I looked like his mirror image in every way. Rob would sing to me, laughing… ‘with your long blonde hair and your eyes of blue… ’

We went through parties and drugs like mad, we couldn’t get enough of either and for a while, a long while, it was fun…it was the late eighties and everyone we knew was carrying on like us. Suddenly it all came to an end as it was bound to, and the end, for me, came in the form of Michael. Michael spotted me at one of the parties and wouldn’t let me go. He took a jealous dislike to Rob and resented our shared past. He hated the twin- like connection between us, our nonsense... our made up, part Italian silly words. It was irritating and childish to someone sensible like Michael. He wanted to possess me and he did, he married me and he wanted me to forget all about the Jules of the past. So I did… for quite a long while. Robbie carried on with the drug thing until he finally managed to get himself to The Priory and into the program. I’m proud of him, it must have been bloody hard but he’s completely sober now.

MAY 9th

Over the last few days it has been getting hotter and hotter and I start swimming in the sea. I adore the sea. I love lolling around, seal-like, in the waves, lying just under the surface of the water. My children and most of my friends, apart from Ava think I’m mad because the sea is almost always freezing but it makes me incredibly happy. I feel as though I’m doing something naughty, something illicit. Some officious, interfering person will come along and tell me off. That’s it! Get out! Only children are allowed to swim! Who did I think I was? A big grown-up, having fun like that? It felt deliciously naughty.

Ava and I constantly text each other, checking whether or not we are up for a swim. If we both think that we are, we’ll arrange to meet, sometimes in Sheringham by the lifeboat station or on the shingle bank in Salthouse. We usually forget to bring towels. We’ll run and jump in quickly and bob about like corks, shrieking and laughing and thinking of all our friends back in London who can’t do this on a regular basis.

“This is the life!!” We shout to one another, and it really is.

Today I’ve remembered the towels and we are sitting, shivering on them. They are quite tiny, they are only hand towels. In fact one is only a flannel but I thought they were beach towels. The feeling of getting into that chilly water is fantastic! It’s invigorating and exciting. We’re brave. Look at us… we’re in the North Sea! I always dive in fast and go straight underwater, gasping when I feel the shock of the cold on my skin and opening up my eyes to see the murky bluey-green colour. Then I flip over onto my back and kick my legs hard to warm up. Ava wades in painfully and squeals as every step gets her wetter and wetter. She holds her arms up above the waterline and flaps them, laughing at how funny she imagines she must look. I splash her and she shrieks and flaps even more.

Now with our skin glowing radiantly we drink Ava’s tea and she chucks a piece of shingle across to the groynes for her dog to fetch.

“What does Michael think he’s playing at?” She launches in bluntly. “Is he actually living in London now or what?” I start picking nervously at a spot on my chin.

“Uhhmm... ” I really don’t know where to begin. There’s a lot I could say but very little that I want to at this point. I feel trapped in an odd state of limbo. I’ve switched off and I’m just floating along at present, drifting in and out with the tide and waiting for some sort of resolution to present itself. It’s not my usual way of dealing with situations, but I’m overcome by a huge wave of apathy. I’ll wait and see.

“He’s been in London for what, three months now?”

“Mmmhhm... yeah... ” I carelessly flick some pebbles down the slope and they clatter and roll into the sea. “Well, not all the time, he does come home sometimes.” Why had Michael gone completely berserk over that heap of kit last weekend? It was only the boys’ shin pads and football boots which I’d left by the front door. Okay, it probably had been there all weekend, but so? Two whole days! How could I? What a slutty, selfish thing to do…. did I not realize that he’d almost tripped over it? He could have actually hurt himself! It’s not acceptable behaviour, Juliet. It’s a character defect, Juliet. Fucking hell.

“Well.. you know I love you.” Ava puts her arm around me, hearing the reticence in my monosyllabic replies and not wanting to push further. ”I’m here for you whenever you want to talk. You know that… ”

I love her too. My friends are so supportive and generous. However I feel that a lot of things are difficult to discuss with them, they would find the way that I’m being treated quite appalling. It has been a slow but insidious process… obviously Michael and I had been happy at first. Why and how this has happened is too complicated to explain. How can I explain the erosion of my power? How it was chipped at year after year until it all crumbled away like a chalky cliff tumbling into the sea? Power equals respect and that is what I am devoid of now. I find myself in the position of Michael being in London and feeling relieved to be left alone. I certainly couldn’t let my friends know about the sex thing. Is that normal? I shiver.

“Will you get to Italy this summer then?”

“God… I wish!” Sighing, I lean back on my mini-towel and my skin touches the pebbles, which are warm and smooth. Italy. I normally manage to go back in the summer and spend a couple of weeks with my friends in their various villas up and down the Ligurian coast. This summer, with all these uncertainties, it seems unlikely. My mind switches and I instantly start thinking in Italian again. Drifting off happily, I smile… ‘ciao bella, allora...’ It’s so nice to be called ‘bella’ all the time for a start.

“Jules!” Ava has said something and I haven’t been paying attention. “Is he having an affair?”

“No… no, he’s not.” She is watching me anxiously and I read disbelief on her face. “He’s not the sort who would do that.” I’m not even sure how much I’d care at this point. I sigh, exhausted by these thoughts. Michael has worn me down, pushing and pulling me into a shape that I’m unable to recognize as me. I have become misshapen, and I hate it.

“But you… what do you want?“ The question hangs in the air. Me… me?

I sigh and fiddle with the ties on my bikini. Such a simple question…. such an impossible one to answer. “I-I don’t know.” Ava looks at me, puzzled by my apparent inertia. But that’s not really what it is. I’m like a snake wound up in its coils, winding and coiling up tighter and tighter….just getting ready. When the moment is right, I’ll know what to do. Something will happen, I’m certain of it. Suddenly and inexplicably I feel run through with a flash of energy and I jump up, hauling Ava to her feet.

“Come on, you old bag…. let’s have one more swim!”

MAY 10th

It’s Wednesday, which means that The Beast collects the children from school. She rattles into that car park in her banged up little red car and pulls up alongside the Porshe Cayennes and the Mercs. Wham! The door gets flung open and out she strides, stomping off to wait with everyone, scowling furiously for no particular reason. She’ll stand there with an expression of total outrage on her face, looking like a gargoyle amongst all the other Mums who are sweetly chit chatting. This is what I love about her, she doesn’t give a shit. The children hate it when she does the pickup. They always try to race to the little red car unseen, hoping to bypass the gargoyle but she always identifies them as they slink along, skirting the hedge and then she bellows at them, making everyone stare. Actually although my children may be embarrassed by her, all of their friends think Bet is a legend, some sort of mythological creature risen from the depths of Norfolk.

When I walk in to the house I can hear Felicity, Jack and William on their laptops. Louis is ‘watching’, which is another way of saying bossing them about. They are huddled together playing one of those endless, wretched games which make them shriek and scream with delight as they shoot each other or set each other on fire. Actually, it looks like tonight they are on ‘Club Penguin’ which is quite sweet. Chubby little penguins waddle around making friends and visiting each other’s igloos. The penguins all have nicknames, made up and jealously kept secret by the owners.

“HA! I just hacked onto Johnny and stole all his coins!” Jack, treacherous friend that he is, has just hacked into his password. They spend all their time at that school analysing these penguins, thinking up new nicknames and working out how to hack into each other’s accounts and steal each other’s stuff.

“So... I paid Tom a tenner today for all his igloo furniture…” William hasn’t noticed that I’m standing behind him.

“Where’d you get that tenner then?” He starts, guiltily and grins at me in a silly way, wonky tooth poking out a bit.

“Uhhm… I found it… uh, in my room”

“Liar!” Louis shouts, delighted to have the opportunity to sneak on Will. “You stole it from mum’s wallet… I saw you!”

Jack hasn’t been listening to this at all, he’s far too intent on something. He’s typing away like a lunatic, clickety clack, clickety clack, with his face centimetres from the screen. Suddenly he slams his hand down hard on the table.

“Goat 66, Goat 66! What the hell are you doing at my disco! Get out, you little shit…”

“It’s Slap Diddy!” Felicity is appalled at this false identification, her little face has turned red with rage, little eyebrows pushed together in a scowling fury. “I’m NOT Slap Diddy! I’m Chubba 08, and I’m at the bar!” Her little penguin is drinking sake from a cooler and there are empty sake bottles strewn all over the igloo floor.

“Why is Yo Man Mini on the bloody dance floor?” I bend over Jack’s shoulder and watch this fat little penguin waddling round at what looks like a penguin rave. Disco lights are swirling, music is blaring…. and the penguin is kitted out like a mini drug dealer. Gold chains hang around his chubby black and white neck and he’s got a baseball cap on back to front. Waddle, waddle…. wow, he’s just shoved someone hard and sent them flying, poor little penguin. Oh! Is that a knife??

“Who is Yo Man Mini?” I shout into Jack’s ear. “I don’t like him!” I watch as the gangster baddie causes more havoc on the dance floor, there are innocent roly-poly bodies are strewn everywhere. Jack is leaping about like some sort of ape and crashes heavily into Fliss who is trying to navigate Chubba 08 away from the sake.

“GOD!” She yells, punching Jack hard on the back with her balled up fist. “Now Floopy Doppy is stealing the pitta bread!”

“HA! Gay little pitta bread! ”Well, that does it for Felicity… no one calls her pitta bread gay. She leaps up, knocking her glass of orange squash all over the keyboard of her laptop. I watch in a slightly detached way as the sticky drink spreads into a puddle and drips onto the chair, delaying the moment when I have to react. She’s holding a little pot of Petit Filou yogurt which she tries to whack down onto Jack’s screen, but he sees her arm coming and blocks it, which sends the pot spinning out of her hand and onto the table. Sour smelling drops of yoghurt fly all over the place and I am jolted into action. I hate yoghurt and I can feel it slithering down my arm, warm and gooey. Louis sniggers.

“Anger management, Chubba 08…” His hands are in his pocket and he’s swaying back and forth, as cool as can be. Meanwhile, I’m dealing with the spoils of war… anger, destruction and mess with a screaming child going off in the background like an air raid siren. A headache is developing behind my eyes and my mind latches on to the image of a big, cold glass of wine with some salt and vinegar crisps beside it. Sadly, tonight is not one of my wine and cheese party nights.

Glancing out of the window as I hold the laptop upside down, a stream of squash dripping out of it, I notice Zak sloping past wearing an odd looking flat cap. He’s got a huge coat on with a ripped lining that billows out behind him as he walks. He must be boiling... what’s he up to? Allegra is out there as well. She walks out of the house to meet him, wearing a tiny little red sundress, holding her phone out to him and they go off in the direction of the tennis court. Hhmm… I can’t exactly follow them and eavesdrop, can I? I’ve got enough to deal with here with these four and their stupidity.

I get a call later that evening from Michael. As soon as I see his name come up on my phone, my heart skips a beat. It’s funny how that expression is always used to describe the emotion of love, but fear and dread can cause the same reaction. I feel a tight pressure building up in my chest as I answer.

“Hello?” I sit down heavily on the bottom stair, tea towel and mug still in my hands. ”Um…hi?”

“Juliet, why haven’t you responded to the council about that issue…” He launches straight into a criticism about the way I handled the tax forms and I feel him draining me, suddenly as if a plug has been pulled and I’m being sucked down the bath hole. Swirling, gurgling and spinning down that hole….. He also adopts his usual pompous tone, trying to use clever words where simple ones would do. He drones on about various bits of admin that I did wrong, or didn’t do at all until I feel like screaming so I float off into my default zone. I‘m outside my body, floating far, far away. I start to hum ‘Edelweiss’, it always calms me down. It is my little mantra of peace, but I don’t want Michael to hear me so I hold the phone away from my mouth. His voice still comes booming out at me. Suddenly I interrupt him.

“Lilli’s coming this weekend, Michael….. do you remember?” I say abruptly, cutting him off midway through his rant about money.

“Of course I remember! Do you have any idea how many times you repeat things?” Do I? Perhaps I do, I really can’t think straight sometimes. “I’m bringing her down with me.” He is? “I’m under immense stress right now… you couldn’t possibly understand, Juliet. If you had any idea how difficult this project is at the moment… but you never consider my feelings, do you? Oh this is the ‘poor me’ story. I know this one off by heart. ‘Blossom of snow may you bloom and grow… ’ I’m in Austria now, on stage with the Von Trapp family just before the Nazis move in for the kill and I can’t hear a word he’s saying.

“I don’t have any money…. you have no idea!” How can he not have any money, what a total lie. “Things are going to change for you, Juliet. You do realize…? We must have a little talk.” He’s trying to scare me, I know this tactic well. Michael throws this one in for good measure when he thinks I’m being disrespectful and it always leaves me with a sick feeling in my stomach. I try to ask him fairly specific questions but his tactics change and he goes into full attack.

“Why are you so vague?”

“Why can’t you give me a sensible answer?”

“What the hell is wrong with you….? Have you been drinking again?”

I’m still on stage but the baddie has noticed that the Von Trapps have not returned for their prize and everyone is shouting… panic is breaking out. Nazis are leaping around and whistles are being blown. I’m running out of time.

“The s-s-school fees need to be paid, Michael, whether you like it or not.” I interrupt his steady stream of criticism, speaking as quickly as possible and tripping over my words.

“Are you implying that I’m not looking after my children properly? Are you? What if I don’t like paying school fees? Hhmm?” What the hell is he talking about? No one actually likes paying school fees, but we all do it. The conversation drags on painfully and predictably. Michael begins cross-examining me about the cost of the children’s music lessons and whether or not they enjoy hockey, or netball or rugby.

“It’s not a matter of enjoying it….. they just all do these things, they- ”

”Rubbish!” He shouts, interrupting me and making me lose my train of thought. What is it that’s rubbish? Hockey? “It’s a waste of money!” I decide to change the subject completely as I have no idea what he’s talking about. I’m fed up, I’m sick of ‘Edelweiss’ running endlessly through my head.

“Do you go out a lot in London, Michael?” I ask unexpectedly.

“No.” He snaps quickly. “What are you asking me ridiculous questions for?”

“Well, where do you eat then?” I know he can’t cook.

“God! What does that matter? I just eat.”

“Out.”

“Jesus Christ, Juliet… grow up. I haven’t got time for this.” He slams the phone down, annoyed and rattled. I smile.

MAY 11th

Zak has settled into our family routine, the dynamic has shifted to accommodate him and my sons’ behaviour improves slightly. Individually they regard him with awe and admiration. He’s cool, obviously as he’s a teenager and wears funky stuff. As a pack however, they still stick to the theory that he’s ‘gay,’ each too scared to reveal their true feelings in front of their brothers. The fact that he goes to Hilstead appals and fascinates them, we don’t know anyone who is at a state school and this is living proof that there is life outside of Havershams. Zak sets off each morning on the bus, of all things. A bus! Everyone we know is driven to school and this bus possibility is intriguing, particularly to William. How does he know where to get off? Who will he sit next to? Wow! The fact that he reappears each evening, having miraculously navigated his way through countless insurmountable obstacles during his day is completely fascinating to my little son.

“How do they know what school they go to if they don’t wear a uniform?” Louis is ready to let him have it with a stream of abuse so I physically put myself between them and divert the onslaught by asking them about last night’s football. Zak calls it ‘soccer’ which sends them into hysterics….. it’s so gay.

“That goal, that screamer by Lamps… that was a sick dog!”

“HA! That’s what you think… loser. What about that header by Essien?”

“Sick dog!”

“No, the sickest dog of all was the tackle Kaka did on Drogs… ” Louis lunges at Will in an imitation of the killer tackle and off they go… the football starts slamming against the wall in the kitchen. I wander off to call Tamsin, I must update her on Zak’s progress.

After five attempts I get through. Five times I dialled Bolivia and found myself embroiled in someone else’s long drawn out Spanish rows. Shouting and feuding don’t need much translating. I listened anxiously for a while, transfixed and wondering why it all sounded so dismally familiar, even in Spanish. Finally, I reach my sister. She picks up on the first ring and shouts ’Que? Que quieres?’ and then continues with her argument, ‘puto inferno, no hay agua en el pueblo!’ She yells at me…. ‘lo que es un desastre, mierda.’

“Hola, querida..” I answer, remembering how wonderful it feels to lose yourself in a foreign language. How powerful.

“Jesus, Jules… sorry. I’m so stressed out at the moment. Our water has been cut off because Xavier’s wife has come back with a toy boy from the next village and his daughter, who is only fifteen is pregnant and they’re accusing this guy….”

What is my sister doing in the middle of this mess? And why is it up to her to sort it out, surely that must be somebody else’s job? But Tamsin has always been like that... the sort of person who starts off doing something simple and uncomplicated which leaves her tangled up in an emotional thornbush. Her conscience gets pricked by all the little thorns as she goes further and further into the thick of it but she keeps right on going. She can’t back out.

“Listen, Zak seems to really like Hilstead… ”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Jules!” She interrupts me sharply, on the defensive. Someone starts screaming loudly, wailing in the background but she carries on. “It’s fine!”

“Great.” I say uncertainly, slightly disconcerted about the disruption. “Umm, Tamsin… are you alright?” I hear muffled shouts and the sound of broken glass. “Anyway, Zak’s great to have around.” I carry on, determined to have my say, “but do you really let him smoke that shit around you?”

“What shit?”

“That skunk stuff, Tamsin!”

“That’s good Bolivian Blue!” She yells. “Everyone smokes it here, it’s harmless!” Three earsplitting explosions make me drop the phone, I scrabble to pick it up and hear my sister shouting. “Fucking hell, Xavier’s got his gun out again. Speak later.”

MAY 12th

Michael’s car revs up impatiently at the gates. There’s a two minute delay while they swing open, but it is two minutes too long for him. He races down the drive, churning up the gravel. Music is blasting out and I can see Lilli’s black hair blowing around on the passenger side. Dropping my book, I jump up guiltily. I’ve been caught daydreaming... a.k.a. doing nothing or ‘slacking off’. Michael doesn’t like that. Unorganized thoughts could become subversive. Sometimes, however, I find it necessary to have a bit of peace. I have tried to explain this to him but he regards the concept as hysterical.

My bedroom door jerks open with such force that the door handle embeds itself into the plasterwork of the wall. Allegra stands there with an expression of disgust on her face.

“Mum!” I smile at her and smooth down my skirt, trying to buy some time.

“Lilli - ” I hold up my hand to cut her off.

“I know, I know… but she is a friend of mine so please be civil. Just be polite and - ”

“But you said, don’t you remember? Last time?”

“I know, but I probably exaggerated or something. Misunderstood her.” We eye each other warily. I have a sudden vivid picture of Lilli, Allegra and myself in that Italian restaurant in Wandsworth. Lilli had been drinking steadily, knocking back the wine as though it were water all afternoon. I remember thinking it odd… Lilli had never been a serious drinker, as far as I knew. She had stayed with it, the drinking thing, but only in a sort of half-hearted way but that particular afternoon, she had really needed to drink. Suddenly out of the blue, with no warning, she launched in.

“Daahhleng…” she was stroking Allegra’s hair and wafting wine breath into her face. “Are you a virgin?” I choked, clutched my throat and she slapped me hard on the back.

“Lilli! She’s fourteen… for God’s sake.” I hissed at her, appalled.

“No, reeely… I know such a lovely man for you.” I thought perhaps I imagined that, but my daughter was bright red in the face and Lilli looked as though she was set to continue. Before she could open her mouth again, I had pulled Allegra to her feet.

“W-we need the loo…” I stammered. “W-we’ll pay as well.” Outside, on the pavement, she seemed oblivious to the whole thing and she kissed and fussed over Allegra who was desperate to get away. Back to now however. Why, in fact was she my friend?

“Come on, darling… I’ll protect you.” I giggle at my daughter and the corners of her mouth turn up slightly. Allegra turns to go, but shoots me a pitying look over her shoulder.

“You need to change or something, Mum…I mean look at you…” I glance down and it’s chocolate. Again. Melted and squished to my t shirt. Great. I pull on one of my smart-ish linen tops and run down the long front staircase. My friend is standing there, looking amazing. Lilli has beige linen Capri pants on with a red and white billowy striped low cut top and a denim jacket encrusted with fake emeralds all around the border. Very Montecarlo…. very Continental… not at all North ‘Niffik’. Shopping bags are strewn all around her. Not shopping as in Tesco or Asda either but as in Jo Malone, Harvey Nichols and the Bluebird Deli. Amazing… what’s going on here? Lilli is very warm hearted and generous but it’s usually always with someone else’s money. Some man’s money. Who is funding this expensive visit, I wonder? Jack appears silently by my side.

“Dahhleng boy! So handsome, so beeg!” She swoops down to kiss him, but he sidesteps her and she clutches on to me. I give her a cuddle, laughing. She feels soft, as though she’s put on some weight and her expensive perfume wafts around me.

“He’s twelve now. No more kisses!” Lilli is Jack’s godmother, but not an especially bountiful one. I think she brought him a jar of Marmite the last time we met, for some obscure reason. He eyes her warily.

“No kisses? Aahh… here then.” She opens her black patent Prada wallet and extracts a crisp twenty pound note. My son’s eyes light up and he snatches it. Fast. Out of the corner of his eye, he’s noticed Louis sidling up to me.

“Jack!” I elbow him hard, he mutters his thanks and flees.

“And who ees thees one, handsome and even bigger?” Louis is turning on the charm. He smiles in a smarmy sort of way, knowing that he can pull it off. Another crisp note is handed out and he scuttles off gratefully.

“That’s kind of you, Lilli.” I say.

“No, ees nothing! For you I have these!” She hands me the big Jo Malone bag which feels heavy and smells delicious. I peer into it and see a couple of candles and a three beautifully wrapped boxes. Face cream? Perfume? Wow!

“Thanks! That’s so kind. You didn’t have to… ” We walk through to the back of the house where the late afternoon sunlight is streaming through the double doors at the end of the kitchen. Through the open windows the scent of the rose garden is blowing in. Lilli stops, speechless and surveys the scene. “ Ohhhh… God!” I smile at her. “You lucky, lucky girl!”

Unable to answer her, I pour two large glasses of wine. “Cheers!” She doesn’t pick her glass up, but I drink most of mine in one gulp.

“And Michael? Does he love it here?” She asks me rather bizarrely as she examines the photos of the children scattered around.

“Um, yes…. he does. Of course.” Michael appears suddenly with a big grin on his face. Opening his arms wide, he embraces both of us in a big hug. He smells like cigarettes for some reason. Cigarettes and red wine. What’s he up to?

“Darling girls! We’re going to have a lovely weekend!” He gives us a squeeze and I glance up at him. What an actor. Giggling, Lilli pulls away and looks me up and down in a scrutinizing way.

“Julietta! She look so… so… thin. But still beautiful, no?”

“Mmm.” Michael nods abstractedly. He’s not looking at me anyway. William comes racing in and barges straight into his father who now is trying to open a bottle of wine. “Steady on mate!” Michael shouts as the cork jerks out suddenly. Droplets of red spatter his expensive trousers but, oddly enough, he hasn’t noticed.

“You’re incredibly thick…. you know that, don’t you…” Louis is in hot pursuit, really worked up about something. Michael is ignoring the whole scene that is brewing up, undoubtedly to full escalation. But he is oblivious. It’s amazing just how oblivious he can be. He is drinking and chatting to Lilli.

“Mum!” Will huffs, indignant. “Louis and Jack got a £20 note and they said that I won’t get one because I’m stupid!” I take a slow sip of my wine and then turn to my eldest son.

“Louis. What’s it like to be so kind and understanding to your younger brothers?” He looks at me in utter incomprehension, highly suspicious of where I’m heading. He squints, twisting his lips and half smiling. “No, really…” I continue. “I’d like to know. How do you do it, that brotherly love thing? Is that why you’re so popular with them?” He scowls darkly, knowing that I’ve out manoeuvred him.

“£20 quid, Mum!” Will shouts and finally Michael turns around. He seems completely surprised to find him there.

“Aah! Another one!” Lilli shrieks, moving in on Will and stretching her hand out to stroke his hair. He slaps her away.

“Will!” I grab his arm. “That was a bit, well, rude…”

“You want the money too, no?” She pulls out her big wallet again, and my little son’s eyes brighten. Sensing a result, he sidles up to her sweetly.

“Thank you so much!” I’ve never actually heard him say that. ‘Thanks’, or some sort of grunt of acknowledgement perhaps, but not the whole, full on sentence. That was impressive. Catching my eye, he’s out of there fast.

We chat and gossip for a bit a about some mutual friends and Lilli makes us both laugh with more of her outrageous stories and then I remind them about supper. James, our neighbour is coming to make up the numbers, as well as a couple who live in Blakeney who are both ‘in media’. Michael thought that Lilli might find them more entertaining than the usual school set, but I don’t really know them well.

My cooking was impressive, I have to say. Carpaccio to start, which went well with the champagne that Lilli had generously brought from London. Two bottles of vintage Veuve Cliquot! I don’t know if James had ever had the likes of that before, he certainly seemed impressed and got quite merry even before the main course. He’s a farmer, he farms sugar beet and is divorced with two children at Havershams… Lilli was set to eat him up alive. She turned on the full beam of her charm for the poor man and all he could do was sit there and drink, and listen and admire. I spent most of the evening by the Aga tending to the risotto, which needed constant stirring. Porcini mushrooms went in, white wine, parmesan… I cooked and drank, drank and cooked and observed.

Suzy and Jon had brought four bottles of Cabernet, which were guzzled down in no time…. they were very entertaining, very good value and Michael had quite a lot to say to them. Lilli seemed to be a bit hyper. She seemed slightly on edge but perhaps that was just my impression. She didn’t know anyone, after all and she didn’t drink anything either. Strange, maybe she’s given it up. Probably just as well. James was lapping up all her outrageous stories, and she and Jon had a couple of mutual acquaintances in the art world. However, after my gorgeous tiramisu, Lilli became a bit out of control.

“Soooo, what do you do up here after dinner?” She asked provocatively, flicking back her hair. “Does anyone do coke?” I looked at Michael in surprise, expecting a murderous look from him, but he was just smiling at Lilli indulgently. She was sparkling at everyone.

“Coke?” I giggled nervously. “Umm, no…. ” God, I wish. Suzy and Jon were on the same wavelength but poor James was left staring at her, open mouthed. I refilled his glass quickly and he drained it.

“What about…. you know? That wife swopping theeng? You do that?” James made a sort of choking noise and lowered his head.

“No, Lilli.” Michael was shaking his head with an amused expression on his face. “We don’t do that at all. Now behave yourself…..” Suzy managed to drag the conversation back to some less controversial subject and the evening continued. Not that it hadn’t been fun, but It had gone on late… way too late.

Sunday morning however, there’s no wallowing in bed for me, no nursing my hangover. No way… no such luck. There are all of last night’s dishes to be done for a start, not to mention the endless list of chores, particular to Sundays. Piano practice for four children, flute practice for one….. nits for all five, homework and/or revision for all, laundry, ironing and packing up four kit bags and one P.E. bag. Oh and at least two meals, fairly hearty meals for seven. Possibly, if I’m lucky and do everything fast, there may be a quick read of the papers, but only a short one.

I’m well into the dishes and I’m feeling pretty on top of things, having managed to disconnect the Xbox in a way that the boys can’t work out how to tamper with. They are upstairs, furious but doing their Prep… after a fashion. I can hear some thudding and a random shout or two but otherwise it’s quiet. After a handful of Neurofen I’m beginning to feel fairly optimistic. Lilli comes wafting down in a very pretty pale blue satin nightie at about half past eleven. She looks lovely.

“Aahhh, so super, your leetle dinner…. and your friends! Sooo nice!” She stands there with one hand on her hip and lights a cigarette, looking extremely glamorous. Her nightie is not her usual, sexy style though, it’s a bit more demure and covers a lot more. I smile at her, I can’t help myself. She doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve got my arms immersed in greasy, soapy water, have a faded, shrunken black vest on and hair that is held up in a topknot by a pencil. “What ees for breakfast?” She smiles and tipping up her chin, exhales a neat plume of smoke.

Michael emerges just in time for lunch. He comes up behind me as I’m struggling to get the lamb sorted out, as I’m wrestling with hot boiling things, and puts his arms around me from behind. I jump and burn my wrist on the tray of potatoes. That brings back memories….. he hasn’t done that in ages and he used to do it all the time. He would catch me by surprise, kiss me on the neck and tickle me until we’d both collapse in a fit of giggles and cuddles. Today the arms go round and then… “You need to wash your hair, Juliet. Do you know that you’ve got a pencil in there?”

The children twitch, fidget and fuss all through lunch and Allegra refuses to speak but otherwise it goes well. Michael opens more wine but I daren’t have any or I’ll get in a muddle and I’ve got to keep the show on the road. If I don’t, we’ll all come to a grinding halt. Felicity and I take Lilli on a tour of the garden while Michael has a little siesta and Lilli makes us giggle by tottering around in a pair of very high but beautiful black patent heels. Felicity digs her little elbow into my side.

“Mummy!” She whispers ferociously…“Why don’t you wear shoes like that?” I stare at her in surprise.

“Me? Darling, they’re not really my style… I mean, they’re not….” I start to laugh, picturing myself trying to race around on the school run, tottering about picking stuff up off the floor with six inch heels on. God. It’s bad enough that I wear nighties and tiaras all the time. Really.

I get to grips with the nits and Lilli entertains me as I’m combing with more gossip and intrigue. My children are stunned into silence by this constant stream of chatter in a foreign accent and I drift off, just listening to the lilt of her voice. I’m actually very tired. Michael appears looking relaxed, having just woken up and showered. He’s wearing a pair of dark blue linen trousers that I haven’t seen before and he’s slicked back his hair.

“We’ve got to be heading back to London in an hour.” He says this to Lilli, who is perched on the edge of the bath. I had forgotten that they were going back together.

“But Dad… ” Will jerks away from the nitcomb. “You said we could play tennis.”

“And you promised we could take Smiley Girl for a walk!” Felicity shouts from the corridor.

“Darling children. I can’t! I’m so sorry, but next time…” Michael checks his reflection in the mirror and notices a bit of fuzz on his shirt which he picks off. Then he turns to me. “Juliet, we need to talk before I go.” Sighing, I straighten up and push my hair back. My top is soaked through from the shower attachment so I go to change. Michael follows me into the bedroom.

“Take your top off.” He closes in on me menacingly, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Michael, come on. Be reasonable.” He’s leering at me with an expression on his face that I can’t quite work out. Suddenly he grabs my t shirt with both hands, yanking it up over my head. I shiver and fold my arms across my breasts protectively. Taking two steps backwards, he rakes his eyes over me with a smirk and I shiver again. I feel very vulnerable.

“I’m not happy with Havershams.” He is slick, confident and fully clothed. I am a damp, half naked mess.

“W-w-what do you mean?” He has created this scene deliberately so that I’m at a disadvantage. I reach for my tshirt but, smiling, he holds it up above his head.

“It’s not a good school.”

Good? What does he mean? “Of course it’s good!” How ridiculous. “The children love it….”

“No, Juliet. If I don’t think it’s good, it’s not good. The children would love it anywhere.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I push past him angrily and grab a top from the heap of laundry on the floor. “What are you talking about, Michael. Of course they wouldn’t love it anywhere. They love Havershams. And besides, there are no other schools here, in Norfolk.” This is frightening me.

“Of course there are other schools in Norfolk, there are -”

“Daddy, why are you talking about school?” I am rescued by Fliss, who bursts into the room with Smiley Girl swinging in her carrycot. ”We’re ready for the walk!” I slip away and go downstairs. Why did Michael orchestrate that little scene? He knows perfectly well that there are no other schools here. If he wants them to leave Havershams then we’d have to move somewhere else.

Lilli and I kiss goodbye and I promise to come up to London soon. When? God only knows. I’ve still got all the music practice to get through before tea. The children are hauled down to the front hallway for a line up and they’re sad to see their father disappear again, especially as he’s not sure when he’ll be back.

“Things are busy in London, my darlings.” I say jokingly to them, trying to make them smile, but their expressions don’t change. Lilli kisses them, much to their disgust. When she comes to hug me I feel a little bit of extra weight on her against my skinny hips. I sigh and watch her flick her glossy hair in the sunshine.

“Bye! Go back to your glamorous life then!” I say to her, smiling. Blinking uncertainly, unsure of my tone of voice, she laughs. I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic, it just came out that way.

“Aaahh, but you have your gorgeous Niffik, your beautiful children and your handsome husband.. no?” Is that a question? I watch her pick her way across the gravel. Michael stalks over to the car without saying anything further to me. Goodbye would have been nice

Oh well. I turn around to find Jack frantically shaking up a bottle of coke. He unscrews the top and directs it at Louis, who looks fairly innocent but has obviously done something dreadful to deserve this punishment. A huge spray of fizz and sugar go all over him, all over me and all over the floor.

“JESUS! WHAT THE…” The boys scatter. I’m left with yet another mess to clear up.

Sorry, a whole lot of text got tagged on at the end of that.....just read to 'JESUS, WHAT THE...'

Hey, you might be better off starting a new critique of your own. Go to forum, critiques and create topic. I'll have a read through later :)

Welcome ric - and how unusual to spell your name without a capital letter at the beginning. I grew up in Newbury where my humble parents were merchants selling a pressed meat product in tins, composed of a delicious mixture of chopped pok and ham. I wonder, perhaps, if you are a vendor of the same?

Athelstone, I do believe you are on to something there. I have heard that agent cruspero enjoys a spam sandwich himself, dropping crumbs onto his keyboard as he writes about expulsions from the bowels of the male bovine.

Thanks for the links to your favourite websites ric. Strangely, they all go to the same page.

As an ex-Internet marketer I can assure you that Google will give you no link juice for the three links you just posted on our forum.

Never tasted chopped Pok before. Or even unchopped.

What a shining wit.

I think he's gone, Ath. He didn't strike me as a whining shit though.

P'raps not.

Hi, whoever reads this,
the link given in the first post here (and I quote)

1. Offer a short guide to the overall plot structure. Set your material out in a template along the lines to be found here. That forces YOU to precis your plot in the tightest possible way and gives feedbackers the best possible chance to respond to your work effectively.
2. Use bullet points for chapter by chapter comments. If

Goes to the dreaded 404

Is there a link that works as that template looks very useful to me

Thanks in advance

Rob