An extract from my book......
I must warn the faint hearted that my book contains torrid sex scenes, as the main character bed hops her way around Berkshire. Clearly as I've been married for the past 14 years, the research has been problematic and reliant on memory, but I guess historical 'bodice ripping' writers have the same problems. I mean how many times have you had your bodice ripped off?
This is an extract from an early chapter, when the main character goes shopping. I'm very good at researching the shopping scenes. This bit just contains the pre-shopping scene in a public toilet in Egham. [I have to get my inspiration from somewhere and I visited this loo several times to get the angles right.]
Oh yes, my book also contains bad language. That's not such a problem as I have just finished working with a group of people, who suffered from collective 'Tourettes Syndrome', so they were a marvellous source of rude words and depravity. [In other words good authentic research material.]
Actually there's no sex in this extract, so please feel free to read someone else's log if you feel I've teased you with a false promise of a knee trembling moment. There's not a lot of sex in the rest of the book either!
As Annie finally made her way towards Egham High Street, she regretted not going to the loo before she had left the house. She conceded that there was no way could she trot around Tesco’s without having a wee and with a heavy heart decided she would have to use the loo, to the left under the covered walk way.
There was a sign indicating the gents' toilets were locked, so she was almost grateful for the smell of stale piss and cheap pine disinfectant, as she entered the ‘ladies'. At least it was open and ready for use. These loos would never win any ‘best public convenience award’.
She settled for the cubicle at the end as it was the widest and pushed the door open with her right foot. She closed it behind her, in the same way, as she had an aversion to touching public toilet door handles. She then noticed that the hook on the back of the door had been broken off.
She would rather have her mother- in- law stay a whole weekend than put her handbag on the floor, so she held it on top of her head, whist she rolled her skirt up and struggled with her knickers. This was a complicated manoeuvre but worth the effort. She wouldn't liked to have been photographed in this position.
She then squatted over the loo seat with her bum thrust backwards and studied the graffiti just above the empty toilet paper dispenser. Some one had written ‘Tracy is a slag’. Underneath someone else [presumably Tracy] had written ‘Fuck off bitch’ Only they had taken two attempts at the word 'bitch' because they had put a 'y' in the middle of their first effort and then crossed it through. How charming.
What was the point in teaching some people to read and write if they just grew up to write on toilet walls and forge the odd signature or two when making fraudulent benefits claims. She knew that was a bit judgmental but she sometimes felt outraged at what people wrote on walls. She almost had fond memories of the first graffiti she had ever read and remembered it to this day. It had read 'If you sprinkle whilst you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie'. That was clearly the golden age of graffiti.
Annie left the cubicle and studied her frown in the broken mirror as she washed her hands in icy water. She noticed someone had written 'Darren is a fucking wanker' above the hot air dryer. He probably was.