Life in Kenya

LIFE IN KENYA – Then and Now

Am I beginning to come out of my shell – or is this just a flash in the pan – Who knows?


to the North Coast branch of the U3A, Perth, WA

in August 2021

Here’s a post from way back in 2016 which broadly covers what I said:

It went well, and I had gratifying feedback. Many thanks to all my well-wishers!

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Smudge was a little man. He inspected his new surroundings curiously and not without suspicion. But he found he had nothing to complain about. This was quite unprecedented, and for a minute he was at a loss.

His room was large, light and airy, and they had even provided him with a door to suit his stature. He looked out onto a rolling green orchard, sloping down to a tinkling stream on the right, and bound on the far side by a forest. It was a pleasant prospect altogether.

This was too good, he thought, there must be a catch somewhere. No doubt he would be worked until he dropped, and no thanks for it either. He was no chicken, he knew all about people and their foibles and it made him sick to be dependent on them. He coughed disagreeably. Then he cocked his head.

Three children were approaching across the orchard. Smudge liked children but was surprised to see only three. They crowded round him, jumping up and down, waving their arms.

‘Oh, aren’t you small!’

‘Isn’t he sweet – and so smart!’

Then the little boy came and stood in front of him. He stood there, gazing right into his face.

‘I like you,’ he said. Just that. Smudge grunted and touched the boy on the shoulder.

When they had gone, Smudge turned his attention to his neighbour, an ugly man twice his size, who, after a first curious glance, took no further notice of him. This annoyed Smudge, although he was well used to being slighted.

‘Just you an’ me, eh?’

‘Yeah – that’s it,’ Copper grunted back.

‘No girls to worry us?’

Mr. Copper’s silence told Smudge all he wished to know.

Work started the next day. ‘Can’t they even wait for a fella to settle in properly?’ Smudge grumbled to his neighbour as he went out.

However, the children were keen to start and were quite nice to him, so he got down to business willingly enough. He enjoyed their attentions. Although he knew he was a fine specimen of a man, it was nice being told this so often.

As time passed it became quite obvious that he was fast becoming ‘Someone of Importance’. Then he began to forget himself and would behave a bit rudely towards them out of sheer boredom.

One day, when he was peacefully eating his meal, and his mouth was full, the boy came bursting in on him. Smudge never liked being disturbed when eating, and without thinking, he turned his back in a menacing way.

It could have been nasty. The boy burst into tears and ran away. Smudge was immediately sorry, but it was too late.

Then a lady arrived.

At the best of times, females were the bane of Smudge’ life. He loved them, and was, deep down, a very friendly soul. But they always ignored him utterly.

He was curious and friendly towards the newcomer, Ms Fandango. He quivered with excited anticipation at meeting her. But, apart from a first cursory glance, his overtures were blatantly ignored. She took an instant liking to Mr. Copper, and Smudge brooded miserably.

However, one day, he had to escort Fandango to an important function while Copper stayed behind. His little heart pulsated with pleasure. When they left home, she was nervous, and he enjoyed soothing her fears. His heart thrilled when she lost him in the crowd and frantically called for him. She really did need him, and was not afraid of admitting it, either. She wasn’t a bad looking lady either.

Then she won a prize, and everybody was overjoyed, including Smudge who offered his sincere congratulations.

‘Oh – thank you.’ She stared over his shoulder, and then she turned her back on him. Smudge seethed with indignation and hurt pride.

Soon afterwards the boy approached and began making preparation for a competition, but Smudge refused to concentrate. When the boy tried to make him do something, Smudge dug his toes in. The onlookers gasped in dismay and the boy broke into tears of frustration.

Alone, later, he brooded miserably. Of all the homes he had been to, this was the happiest; but he had been discarded for lesser sins before, and he feared the worst.

‘I don’t know what’s happened to Smudge,’ he overheard the little boy complain, ‘why doesn’t he want to co-operate anymore?’

                    ‘He may get over it, but we’ll have to do something about it if he doesn’t.’ The words sounded ominous to Smudge, who suddenly realised the harm he was doing. He tried to improve his behaviour, but the boy was now frightened of him.

Then, to his surprise, he was given another chance. It was the Open Championship on the final day of the show. Tentatively, he co-operated, although at one point in the proceedings he almost rebelled. Then came his turn to show off.

Resplendent in his gleaming skewbald coat, Smudge trotted forward. With neck arched and tail proudly flowing, he glided round the arena bearing the boy carefully on his back. Faultlessly he performed numerous intricate movements, and then came to a proud halt before the judges. There was no question about the result. The multi-coloured rosette was produced and tied onto Smudge’ bridle and a Challenge Cup presented to the boy.

The crescendo of clapping from the crowd deafened them. It was a memorable moment … and then Smudge forgot himself. Carried away by the glory of the occasion, he lowered his head and gave a buck of triumph; and then another one … and another. The trophy clanged noisily to the ground, its black base rolling separately away. The crowd hushed into a hiccough of silence.

Then through the air the little boy’s voice rang thinly, “Come on Smudge – let’s go!”

With one final buck, and the boy clinging to his mane, Smudge galloped the length and breadth of the arena. He slithered to a stop, fearing the worst. But the boy rolled off laughing tears, and smothered him with pats.

Back home, Fandango’s eyes widened with admiration when she saw his enormous trophy and nickered an adoring welcome over her stable door.

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Christmas with a Difference

Blue Gum Lake

Like many people this year I am tired. I don’t feel like doing new things. I just want to stay quiet, take a breather and sparsely spread my activities among the days so that I have at least one thing to look forward to every 24 hours; keeping in touch with the outside world.

Thankfully the new covid-normal here in West Australia is almost as it was only a year ago. I have yet to wear a mask. I feel so blessed.

In a flurry of near-panic I left the UK on the day my home was sold, arriving in the nick of time before covid lock-down on one of the last one-way business class (economy was sold out) tickets available on the nonstop Dreamliner to Perth. My worldly possessions were contained in three suitcases – in retrospect, a most liberating experience.

Before that, an antique family chest was freighted off bearing hastily de-framed pictures, photos, a few precious crystal glasses and some books. It had a bumpier ride by sea. The package looked intact on arrival but on opening, the chest was splintered and the lid askew. Thankfully the contents were unharmed, and it won’t be too expensive to mend the chest.

My new abode with a little garden is only two blocks away from family in a lovely suburb of Perth on the Swan River. I am learning the hard way which flowers like sun or shade, but my pocket-handkerchief lawn sends me into despair and I’m fighting a losing battle against bugs.

Hitherto I’ve had no interest in plants, but I harvested my first home-grown lettuce leaves the other day and have sampled some juicy lemons. As you can see, the rickety metal arch I inherited is a work in progress; but the reticulation system we are allowed to use twice a week is a godsend.

Tiny Blue Gum lake sometimes fringed with birds lies round the corner. The village where I play tennis on pristine grass courts is a short walk through a nature reserve. My bridge club – fifteen minutes’ drive southwards – is where for the first time in my life I am having lessons; the Aussies are sticklers for keeping to the rules and I can no longer get by on luck or intuition. And at last I’m beginning to feel I belong – with a Certificate as an Equestrian Australia Dressage Judge (bottom rung).

When I have nothing better to do, I collate and edit my ancestors’ copious diaries and memoires.

Saffer Worldwide is a new free on-line magazine initiated by an old “Authonomy” friend. It will, if all goes well, start serialising my first novel, Breath of Africa in the New Year. You can read a taster on the last page of the November issue.

Mine will be a quiet Christmas with family. All are – thankfully – well and gainfully occupied in various places in Australia, Kenya and the UK.

May you all have a peaceful Christmas.


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A Whole Year has Passed

So much has happened since my last blog, but now maybe the muse is beginning to return. Almost everything has come true, but not without considerable stress, anxiety, heartbreak and finally unbelievable “luck” – which I prefer to consider as ‘meant to be’.

I arrived in the nick of time before lock-down in Australia, and served my fourteen days of splendid isolation on the upper floor of my son’s home, bird-watching from the balcony and waited on by family, always at the prescribed distance with plenty of hand-washing.  It was a period of winding-down, peace and quiet relaxation. I feel truly blessed.

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A paperbark tree by the Swan River

Today is Mothers’ Day in Australia. I stroll along the Swan River in Perth after a delicious late breakfast with family, then walk to my little villa on the border of a nature reserve ten minutes away.

The sun is shining, and it’s warm outside. But we’re approaching winter, and last night for the first time since moving in three weeks ago, I turned on the heater in my sitting-room. The contraption was noisy, my hearing aids magnifying the sound, so I read instead of watching the telly; and I repositioned my chair in order to catch the warmth, most of which blew over my head, so I had to snuggle under a blanket anyway. The Aussies need to learn a thing or two regarding heating… or maybe it was me not able to figure out how to aim it downwards.

I love my well-designed home with its inevitable quirks and challenges, and I’m looking forward to developing a skill new to me – gardening. I have already successfully transplanted three herbs which are flourishing in a large pot outside my kitchen door. And it’s literally decades since I made drop scones; I’ll have to do something to attract the grandchildren through my doors now that the Covid19 lock-down is gradually easing.

There is so much to think about. Starting from scratch is exciting and challenging, and there’s no hurry. When I’ve got the sitting-room more or less as I want it, I’ll share a picture or two. Meanwhile here is one of the open plan kitchen area. The picture is a photo taken in a Vietnam cemetery by a talented grandson, and the tablecloth came from Zimbabwe many years ago.


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Dear Friends

It is over four months since I last wrote to you, and six weeks since I returned from my visit to family in Australia.

last picnic

Such a rich, special time; experiencing the highs and lows of ordinary family life and often spending hours on end by myself as they went to work or studied. I got to know their dogs well. I spent whole days indoors. In temperatures reaching the high 30’s, the blessings of air-conditioning won over the severity of the scorching heat outside. But I got used even to that.

The warmth of the land, the welcoming optimistic outlook of this vast, young country – despite the frustrations of politics and red tape which happens everywhere – this was where I wanted to be. It was not only the place that attracted me, with its prospect of living in my own space with a bit of nature at my very doorstep.

When one reaches a certain age and cannot go for spritely long walks in the hills and dales, one needs at least to be able to sit on the doorstep and savour the beauties of nature. I do, anyway.

But living here would bring me within reaching distance of the bulk of my precious family. However much one wants not to be a burden, there comes a time when you cannot help it. You want to be as little a burden as possible, by putting yourself within reasonable reach when needed. Not halfway across the world.

So – you’ve guessed it – I’m going to try and emigrate. My chances on “balance of family”, I’m told, are good. The proceeds from my UK flat should get me a final abode with some private space around it – one thing I have sorely missed for the past twenty years.


You haven’t heard from me for a while; you may not for even longer. I have lost the desire – not so much to write, as to batter myself with the stress of marketing. But I will keep my blog and my Newsletter. You may have noticed my presence on social media has dwindled. But I do still jot things into my diary, and my mobile phone takes great pictures.

I am proud of the books I’ve written, and grateful to my lovely publishers for their support and faith in me. I’m gratified that proceeds from my books have made a difference to the charities they support. A couple of them are still in print and for sale on Amazon at a special price for the Easter weekend. A limited number of the others are available as signed copies if you contact me.

Finally thank you for all your feedback, support and friendship. We’ll keep in touch. Tu’onana! (until next time).


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A Happy Christmas!

What a year it’s been! I’ve been trying to settle into a new life on my own. Thought it would be easy, as I’m a loner by nature, but I was in for a shock.

In an effort to take my eyes off the past, I’d decided to set an objective. I would try and rise one step higher on the British Dressage judges list. I survived the initial one-to-one assessment and was considered a suitable candidate to embark on the prolonged journey of tests.

Next came the mock exam. There was a series of videos to assess – very different from previous experience. I thought I’d got the hang of it, so registered for two technical tests early in January. The first – a multiple choice paper on rules – was easy. But the second….. it wasn’t like me, I was stressed, I couldn’t see properly, I blinked an eye and missed vital clues flashing across the video clips.
What was I doing, trying to upgrade as a dressage judge? Why at my age did I want to put myself through such an ordeal? I’d been fairly content for the past 18 years on the bottom rung and had plenty of demands for my time. The results arrived: I’d passed the first paper with flying colours but failed the second by two marks. A hard lesson learned, especially as my mind was still acting erratically and even if I passed that test on a re-sit, the prospect of facing the final examination of judging while an adjudicator sat alongside filled me with dread. No.
Kenya beckoned. A whole month of escape from winter. It was wonderful setting foot on the tarmac of Nairobi airport for the first time in three whole years. Ten glorious days soaking up the sun on the pristine sands of Diani beach. A special night on the shores of Lake Naivasha, savouring familiar surroundings, spotting familiar birds. Then a taxi ride to Kajuki village in Embu/Meru District for a few days, experiencing how struggling villagers survive so cheerfully while operating their little businesses.

Back in Nairobi I treated myself to a bird walk at the racecourse with Fleur Ngweno. We had a hilarious trip to the Nairobi Game Park, when the roof of Dennis’s new car wouldn’t close in the middle of a thunderstorm. He popped an umbrella over us, which proved quite effective, but we didn’t see many animals. My final days were spent in a special place, Maanzoni, where we laid Roy’s ashes to rest under a thorn bush. Over them, Anthea had commissioned the map of Kenya in heavy slate, inscribed with the words: “Dad, this is your holiday camp…”

Back to earth in Eastbourne. Rounds of bridge, walks, dressage judging, and going through the agonies of editing my new book – Going It Alone – a handbook for those who want to start their own business; Mentoring new business start-ups at People Matter, my local charity, where I’m also Trustee; as well as marking IGCSE exam papers twice a year, a necessary top up to my income.

I started playing tennis again! My sciatica suddenly disappeared when on the suggestion of a physio, I stopped doing my early morning exercises. Amazing. I now rejoice in twice-weekly games with other geriatrics on the astra-turf of my local club. Just two sets, with a rest in between. Whenever the Masters tennis is on the telly, all else is abandoned.
And the climax to 2018: a wonderful five-day visit to Carcassonne, France, where my publishers live. I shared an Airbnb casa with one other author, while everyone else stayed in hotels. We got the better bargain. We enjoyed looking around this lovely place with its medieval city, including a day‘s conference at a lovely hotel in the Citadel. By the time we left, we felt really at home.

And now I’m preparing for another treat – three months in Australia basking in the bosom of my family, spread from west to east. And we’re taking a trip to Tasmania as well.

I must say, it will be nice to get away from all mention of Brexit, as well as the British winter.
Very best wishes this festive season

The best way to keep in touch is by subscribing to my Newsletter HERE!


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The Wilds of Tribal Scotland

Once again, I’m delighted to welcome good friend Nancy Jardin who has exciting news. I can’t wait to get my hands on the latest of her stories set in the wilds of tribal Scotland – even though some of the names are unprounceable, let alone unspellable.  I’m also privileged to have met Nancy in the flesh, and her methodical  approach to promoting her books is an example to us all.

Hello Jane!

It seems a while since I last dropped into your lovely blog but I’m absolutely delighted that during this return visit I can share that Agricola’s Bane, the 4th book in my highly acclaimed historical fiction Celtic Fervour Series (published with Ocelot Press), is now available to Pre-Order from Amazon! Paperback versions will also be available in November from Amazon. The official online EBook launch will take place on the 15th of November 2018, with a physical paperback book launch event on November 22nd at a local Heritage Centre in Aberdeenshire, Scotland.

Agricola’s Bane continues the tales of my Celtic warrior clan from the Brigante hillfort of Garrigill (modern day Cumbria/Yorkshire border). As before in the earlier books of my series, my aim is always to tell the story of what happens to my relatively ordinary tribal folk who have been uprooted by the Ancient Roman invaders. My Garrigill clan’s refugee status persists since the Ancient Romans still dominate the landscape of the Taexali northern lands (Aberdeenshire), the Garrigill clan’s tough trek northwards in Book 3 sadly not leading to the freedom from the Roman yoke that they had hoped for.

Agricola’s Bane features second-generation Enya of Garrigill. The location is Caledon territory (Cairngorm Mountains, Aberdeenshire) where most of the tribal warriors, who have survived a recent battle, now take refuge. However, circumstances force some of them to venture forth from their relative safety at Ceann Druimin, the roundhouse village of Chief Lulach. Going anywhere near the Roman legions means risking a stabbing death under a Roman gladius but Enya and her warrior companions find the traitorous Vacomagi tribe can also be just as dangerous.

Roman General Agricola discovers that conquest of the Caledonian tribes isn’t as easy as he expected. The local warriors are very adept at guerrilla warfare and they behave in ways that both confuse and irritate him, much like his capricious Emperor Domitian. Time is running out for Agricola since he’s already on his seventh summer campaign season but he still wants to achieve so much more during his domination of Britannia.

Although my second generation Garrigill clan members are in their early to mid-teens, well-old-enough to be a trained warrior back in late first century A.D., Enya’s father and her uncles – Lorcan and Brennus – still have a small part to play in Agricola’s Bane as do the other female clan members of earlier books.

A reader new to the series can read Agricola’s Bane as a stand-alone novel, though they would most likely enjoy it even much more if they have read Books 1-3 of the series.



AD 84 Northern Roman Britain

Nith of Tarras aids Enya of Garrigill in the search for her kin, missing after the disastrous battle at Beinn na Ciche fought between the Caledon warriors and the mighty Legions of the Rome. Enya soon has a heartrending choice to make – should she tread Vacomagi territory that’s swarming with Roman auxiliaries to find her brother? Or head south in search of her cousin who has most likely been taken captive by the soldiers of Agricola? 

General Gnaeus Iulius Agricola – Commander of the Britannic Legions and Governor of Britannia – is determined to claim more barbarian territory for the Roman Empire, indeed plans to invade the whole island but finds not all decisions are his to make. It increasingly seems that the goddess, Fortuna, does not favour him.
The adventures of the Garrigill clan continue…

You can buy Agricola’s Bane via this Amazon Pre-Order Universal Link.


Nancy Jardine writes contemporary mysteries; historical fiction and time-travel historical adventure. Her current historical focus is Roman Scotland, an engrossing pre-history era because her research depends highly on keeping abreast of recent archaeological findings.

A member of the Romantic Novelists Association, the Scottish Association of Writers, the Federation of Writers Scotland and the Historical Novel Society, her work has achieved finalist status in UK competitions.

She lives in Aberdeenshire, Scotland, with her husband but life is never quiet or boring since her young grandchildren are her next-door neighbours. She regularly child minds them, those days being cherished and laughter filled.

You can find her at these places:

Blog:  Website:   Facebook: &

email:  Twitter

Amazon Author page


Many thanks, Jane, for giving me the opportunity to visit you again. – Nancy

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Exquisite Sounds

Carcassonne – The End

Thurs. 27/9. Our day of departure. We weren’t due to fly out of Toulouse until late that night. After a lie in, and discovering we could leave our luggage in the casa until the afternoon, we wandered back across the footbridge to the Citadel. The slope was easier to handle than the steep steps, and it was good to find ourselves back in familiar surroundings as we emerged from the Porte d’Aude into the square bordered by the Hotel de la Cite and the Basilique Saint-Nazaire.

artworkI wanted to buy some postcards, and there were convenient public toilets nearby. The Theatre was closed, so we entered the Basilique and sat at the back of the empty church. Four Russian singers, dressed in sombre black, were performing, unsmilingly, against the background of the stained glass windows. Exquisite sound filled the building. A prayerful chant – the Kyrie Eleison – followed by Ave Maria solo in falsetto voce which made my spine tingle. We stayed to meditate for a few minutes, then emerged into the bright sunlight for a walk anti-clockwise round the little city. Cobbled streets, many eating places, intriguing touristy gift shops. The French are versatile in the variety of their trinkets. I restrained myself. I was here for the experience, not for the shopping. But I did buy a couple of keyrings for my daughter back home.

We passed by the two ancient wells and in no time were at the Porte Narbonnaise. We sidestepped the queues of tourists waiting to enter the Chateau and the inner ramparts; we’d been there for our wine-tasting.  We bought ice-creams at a highly recommended shop and sat on a low wall facing the Basilique, savouring our cornets. A gathering of people were trooping into the church so we followed, taking front pews this time. Carrie-Ann delved into her bag for her mobile, and she gasped. Her purse with the mobile was not there. She spilled the contents of the bag over the pew between us. Nothing.

“I must have left it on the wall; maybe someone picked it up and gave it in at a nearby shop.”

“You go and look for it,” I said. “I’ll keep an eye on your bag.”

The quartetThe gigantic stained-glass windows rose above me. The Russian quartet gathered in the front pew opposite. The church was almost full. Carrie-Ann had not returned. The man took their stand in a stolid line facing the congregation. Carrie-Ann came back, a broad grin on her face.

“You found it?”

She nodded. “Someone had handed it in to the nearby shop.”

“Thank God!”

Heavenly voices chanted in Latin and once more the Ave Maria filled the building. The men retired to the pews after a short appeal to the audience to buy their CD. I watched them. Not even when the tourists bought CDs, did they smile. We stayed on for ten minutes to listen again, this time to different pieces.

Not a quiver of emotion passed over their faces.

“They must be quite bored doing this all day, every day, every ten minutes – or maybe they’re immersed in the spirit of their performance…?”

We were hungry.

“Let’s give that pizza restaurant a chance,” I said. “The one which turned us away on Tuesday.”

We felt we belonged, as we easily found the place and ordered a pizza to share between us. The waiter was lethargic, and when it came to issueing the bill, he seemed reluctant. The pizza did not rise to the standard of Katy’s one in the Bastide the day before. Neither of us felt like tipping him.

It was time to go down the hill again, collect our luggage and trundle it to the station. On the way out of the Port d’Aude we saw the little train-shuttle crawling at snail’s pace down the rough pathway. I’d thought of taking it earlier, to save my weary legs, but was glad we’d decided to walk instead.

I needed to post my cards to the family, so Carrie-Ann used her mobile to guide me expertly to the post office. But the battery gave up as we headed towards the train station. She knew the way, she said, and I followed her blindly as we tramped an extra mile round three sides of a square…

Oh well – we caught an earlier train than planned and were in good time to take the shuttle to Toulouse airport. A seasoned traveller now, I checked my case into the handsfree bag drop, no problem, and we had a smooth flight home.

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“Diverse” Settings For Two Reasons

A warm welcome to my long-standing friend, Roland Clarke. We have much in common, and if you share a love of horses with us, you’re in for a treat! You can read my review of Roland’s Spiral of Hooves on the Amazon UK link below.

I must begin by thanking Jane for having me on her blog – or maybe I invited myself like an imposing friend.

7120_102388529776541_4135091_nSetting plays a key role in not only my writing as I met Jane wearing a different hat. Back in 2005, I was co-organiser of Borde Hill Horse Trials held at my family home which I’ve always felt was the right setting for horse events. Jane was part of our amazing team as one of the experienced dressage judges. Most eventing shows that I ever attended as a professional equestrian journalist and photographer were in glorious locations – the pinnacle being Badminton.

Nobody was surprised then when my debut novel, Spiral of Hooves used many of these locations, including Borde Hill and Badminton, for its mystery set against the eventing world I knew. There is a draft sequel written, set in France and the USA, that adds endurance events to the line-up – and Idaho where I now live is central.

SnowdonHowever, my writing focus is back where my wife and I lived last – Snowdonia. My mind and heart are there now. There will be some horses, although outnumbered by the sheep that are everywhere in North Wales.

Snowdon Shadows is a police procedural series that roams over much of the picturesque scenery that draws so many tourists to North Wales, from the mountains of Snowdonia to the beaches along the Llyn Peninsula.

What would have been Book 1, Fates Maelstrom was originally set on Dartmoor – until my wife and I moved to Harlech with its castle, and a view from our house of Snowdon. It didn’t take me long to create Craig-y-Niwl, a fictional village in the heart of Snowdonia, inspired by the villages we encountered as we explored the area.

Sadly, due to health and other factors, we left Wales in 2016 so my wife’s family in Boise, Idaho could help us. But that Snowdon view is above my desk and my characters need me back in Wales. Their interaction with settings beyond Craig-y-Niwl add texture and, sometimes, motivation. I have scenes on beaches, in castle ruins, pubs and restaurants that demand realistic details.

Some places I remember, but I always do additional research online using a variety of searches like Google Maps which I find opens other sources. For instance, for a short story that will be part of Fevered – the new Book 1- I used some standing stones at Porthmadog that we used to drive past. Using Google Maps, I could revisit the scene with views from the road and within the circle.

Sometimes, Google Maps will give landmarks with website links, although more often it’s more a case of doing a search on a place name. Yes, I admit that Wikipedia is often a starting point, but it can be a gateway. Photos have proved invaluable and allow me to visit parts of North Wales that I missed, and ideas occur that I can apply to my settings.

Confession: I never reached the top of Snowdon even though it is wheelchair accessible.

However, The Village below Snowdon in our view was one of our first destinations. To date, Portmeirion hasn’t featured in my series but that could be rectified. ‘Almost like a world on its own.’

When it comes to finding the right words to create a sense of setting, I strive to sketch enough details to create pictures in a reader’s head, and if the reader knows the place then I aim to evoke their memories. Whether that works remains to be seen when the first book emerges from Snowdon’s shadow.

Oh. I used the word ‘diverse’ for two reasons. First, the locations themselves are varied. Second, my series tackles ‘diversity’ issues. Is it wrong to make my MC a queer detective? It doesn’t change how she reacts to her surroundings – to that glorious Snowdonia vista.

To learn more about me visit:  

My website:



Spiral of Hooves is available at Amazon including USAUK


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New Book Release – Jane Bwye – “Going It Alone: A Beginner’s Guide To Starting Your Own Business” (Non-Fiction)

It’s people like David who make the world go round…. thank you for “having me”!

toofulltowrite (I've started so I'll finish)

Hey there friends, it’s Author Interview time again.

I interviewed Jane Bwye a while back about her exciting Romance novels set in Africa and she has now come to back to us regarding a new Non-Fiction book that she has just published that is sure to take the business world by storm.

Before we cover that though, here is the link to our original Author Interview, where you can find out more about her African Historical Romance novels.

Author Interview – Jane Bwye – “Breath of Africa”, “Grass Shoots” & “I Lift Up My Eyes” (Historical Fiction/Romance)

And now let’s get chatting to Jane about her new business book and how her useful advice could help you with your business ventures.

Thanks for reading and as always have a good time 🙂

Hi there Jane, a sincere pleasure to have you back here with us again to chat about your…

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