When I finally had a bit of free time from work earlier this year, I decided to try to fulfil my life long dream. Write a Book. Hopefully people will like it but that was never my primary ambition. I just want to see something I have written in print. In my head every day I would wake up head to my little room and type out my story. A story which is quite well established in my head. I would have little jokes with my hubby and family when I show them pages and they would give me constructive, but oh so nice criticism. Then after a not too long a period, there it would be, all typed up and ready for a home. Jesus holy shit, how wrong I was. Firstly I do not have a little room it has been invaded by a t.v. on the wall and a family who now think it is the best place in the world to hang out. I have now resorted to taking my laptop up to my bedroom and closing the door. Something is definitely wrong here, I am sure I pay the mortgage on this property but here I am crouched on the bed, balancing my laptop on my knees. Not only that but as the evening draws in both boys return to their bedrooms, either side of mine. As I try to concentrate I hear an explosion from the eldest’s room, not a real one obviously or I wouldn’t be here talking to you, but Call of Duty is on full blast. In the youngest’s room a very loud racing game has just set off. So here I am sitting in between World War Three and the Monaco Grand Prix. Fabulous, just what you need to focus the mind. No matter, the little room downstairs is now free, the only drawback being it is attached to the kitchen where my lovely hubby is busy making dinner. If I head down he will be popping in and out asking me to taste things, telling me how mad he is about the latest political thing and basically just being annoying. So I stay in my bedroom, there is also another very good reason for this. I haven’t let a soul read what I have actually written for the book yet, I have turned into some mad woman, who thinks she is protecting a book that contains the meaning of life. “My Precious” For goodness sake Helen, it’s a fictional novel with a bit of rumpy pumpy. Strange thing is I don’t want people close to me reading what I write on the subject of sex, it feels like I am letting them invade something private, stupid I know because it bears no resemblance to my real life. I think I had better get over that last hurdle quick or I will be the proud owner of a book that only I have read…..Love as always Helen xxx