Caroline James is an author of popular women's fiction. Her novel The Cruise is an Amazon Top Five Best Seller. She has owned businesses encompassing all aspects of the hospitality industry, a subject that features in her novels. She is based in the UK but has a great fondness for travel and escapes whenever she can.
A public speaker, consultant and food writer, Caroline is a member of the Romantic Novelist’s Association, the SoA and The Society of Women's Writers & Journalists.
In her spare time, Caroline can be found walking with Fred her Westie, or swimming in a local lake.
The Best Boomerville Hotel is now available on all platforms – ebooks, audible and paperback! You can find it in all good bookshops or online and there is a sample of the book in audible too, click here: AUDIBLE
To celebrate the online book tour this week, there is a competition to win a beautiful Bertie Bear in his very own travelling bag.
As The Best Boomerville Hotel’s reviews on Amazon rise, it is lovely to read this latest one, where the reviewer describes the book as the ‘BEST book I’ve read in a long time…’
Thanks to reviewers and readers everywhere who take the trouble to post their thoughts and comments, it means a great deal.
Are you ready for Autumn? The darker evenings and chillier days are perfect for snuggling down and relaxing with a good book.
Promo – This month my novel, Coffee Tea The Caribbean & Me is on offer for 99p/99c as a download on Amazon. This book was Thomson Holidays top read in their inflight magazine, so if you fancy a virtual change of scene and a fun filled, page-turning read, head off to beautiful Barbados with Jo and Hattie and be prepared to hang on tight!
Autumn – I havebeen busy and I am writing the follow up to The Best Boomerville Hotel. Huge thanks to all you wonderful readers who have left such glowing reviews for Boomerville, all of which encourage me to write on.
Audible – I have only just started listening to books on audible. Where have I been – I love it! I can listen to books whilst driving, walking, cooking and so on. I’m currently listening to Kate Atkinson’s novel, Transcription, and am thoroughly enjoying it. I can’t wait to hear Boomerville come to life as an audible book!
Boomerville Bertie is thinking ahead to Christmas and with a competition coming in November, look out for your chance to win this cute little bear. He’ll make a great stocking filler.
Soup – With autumn days, I always think of warming comfort food and here’s my recipe for pumpkin soup with parmesan croutons:
In a large saucepan, gently sauté onions in olive oil until soft, add garlic and ginger and cook for a further couple of minutes. Add cumin powder
Add the pumpkin to the pan, stir into the onion mix and cook for 5 minutes. Pour stock over squash mix and bring to the boil. Cook for 10 – 15 mins until squash is soft. Remove from heat and blitz with a stick blender until smooth. Return to heat and add cream, stir gently until nearly boiling.
Serve in warm bowls with chopped coriander sprinkled on top
You can buy or make croutons – if making cut bread into cubes, place on oven tray (greased with olive oil) sprinkle olive oil over and finely grated parmesan. Roast in oven for 5 – 10 mins till golden brown, turning croutons once.
Happy reading, hope you enjoy perfect autumn days.
I’ve long been a fan of Sandra Danby’s writing and with the publication of her new book, Connectedness, it was a good opportunity to have a chat with the author herself…
Tell me a little about Sandra Danby the person and why you write. I write because I can’t not write. It’s what I love doing… telling a story, finding the right way to tell it, inventing things, shaping it. Any day away from my desk feels like a lost day. I have loved reading from my Janet and John days through Enid Blyton to Mary Stewart, then an English degree followed by +35 years as a journalist. When I had the chance to write fiction seriously I found it difficult to unshackle myself from my journalism training, to loosen up and let my imagination go rather than worry about researching facts and getting everything right. I’m getting there now.
I love the cover of your new book, Connectedness, can you explain why you chose this?
It is lovely, isn’t it? I’m so pleased with my ‘Identity Detective’ series covers, they were designed for me by Jessica Bell who asked incisive questions about characters, imagery, themes, symbols and excerpts before starting work. The tree represents our connections to known and unknown branches of our family, and it is the recurring image of all my book covers. The nodding woman was Jessica’s idea and it is a wonderful way of showing Connectedness is the story of one woman at two different stages of her life; as a twenty-something art student, and as successful artist in her fifties. As mature adults, we are all the sum of our previous life experiences and Justine Tree, the artist in Connectedness, certainly is.
The title is unusual – how did you come up with, Connectedness?
The title came early in the writing process, one day I was playing with words to do with family, relations, , identity, the sense of belonging, connections, and ‘Connectedness’ came into my mind clearly and strongly. The step of making it into the name of Justine’s new art collection came much later when I was re-drafting.
This is the second book in the Identity Detective series. Can you explain what the series is all about?
Rose Haldane reunites the people lost through adoption. The stories you don’t see on television shows. The difficult cases. The people who cannot be found, who are thought lost forever. Each book in the ‘Identity Detective’ series considers the viewpoint of one person trapped in this horrible dilemma. In the first book of the series, Ignoring Gravity, it is Rose’s experience we follow as an adult discovering she was adopted as a baby. Connectedness is the story of a birth mother and her longing to see her baby again. Sweet Joy, the third novel that I’m writing now, will tell the story of a baby abandoned during The Blitz. Each novel is a mystery about adoption reunion, family secrets and romance, lost and found.
It is a clever author who links their books in a series this way. Is the subject matter personal to you? Do you identify with the lead character Rose Haldane or is she like anyone you know?
I’m asked this a lot! I write adoption mysteries but I’m not myself adopted. I was however over-imaginative as a child, the youngest of three with quite a gap before I came along. So I used to imagine exotic parents who were foreign, royal, adventurers, the usual childhood fantasies. As I grew older this developed into a fascination of how we become who we are; is it blood and genes, or upbringing and experience? A mixture of the two? And if you were a cuckoo in the family but not told about it, would you sense it? Rose is a journalist because I was one and I knew her world but though she started off as a mixture of myself and my fellow journalists, she evolved into her own person.
What’s next in the series?
Sweet Joy tells the story of Theresa, an elderly lady who feels she has one last chance to answer the questions of her birth. On the night of November 29, 1940, Twickenham endured a horrendous night of bombing in The Blitz. In the rubble of a bombed house, an ARP warden finds a baby untouched by the devastation. She is healthy and obviously cared for, but she is alone and no adults are found near her and no one claims her.
The locations in Connectedness are beautifully described. Do you have a strong knowledge of Filey (Yorkshire), Málaga (Spain) and London and if so, what are your connections and why did you want to write about these locations?
Yorkshire
Bempton Cliffs
Yes I know each of the locations intimately and hope it shows in my writing. I grew up on the East Yorkshire coast and, though I merged several locations into one and invented Justine’s cliff top home Seaside Cottage, the place is very dear to me. I have lived in and around London since I was eighteen when I travelled south to university while Spain has been my home for the last ten years. We live inland from Málaga in the beautiful countryside around Ronda and are frequent visitors to the city for its art, its food and the beaches. I used many of my experiences as a newcomer in a foreign country to enrich Justine’s arrival in Málaga as a foreign student at art college. Her struggles with ordering coffee, buying bread and attempts to make herself understood are things that happened to me.
Plaza de la Merced
You cover the art world in depth in Connectedness – did this involve a great deal of research?
Picasso Museum Malaga
A fair amount of research and reading but I can’t say it was hard work. I have always loved art but never studied it so I had a very superficial understanding. I gradually built up my knowledge by reading, watching documentaries and visiting exhibitions, by not limiting myself to artists I was familiar with but consciously exploring periods and styles new to me. The Málaga location also provided the connection to Pablo Picasso who was born in the city. He was a childhood inspiration for Justine as she, like the young Picasso, drew the birds she saw around her every day as a child, mostly seabirds and pigeons.
You have received some fabulous reviews for Connectedness – will we be seeing more in this series and when?
Thank you! I am a slow writer so it will be three years or so before we see Sweet Joy. I often wish I could write quicker but I have health issues that make it difficult for me to spend long periods at the computer. So I tend to break up my days, combining writing one novel at the computer and then later in the day taking a break away from my desk while researching the next. So I am currently researching book four in the ‘Identity Detective’ series, currently title-less, which will be set again in Yorkshire.
What’s your favourite and why:
Book. Pride and Prejudice
Tipple Does tea count? I’m tee-total now as alcohol stopped agreeing with me.
Outfit I’m a jeans and t-shirt girl, a scarf around my neck and New Balance trainers on my feet.
Film All the President’s Men. The film that made me aspire to be a journalist. My second choice is another Redford film, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. What a fantastic script by William Goldman.
TO THE OUTSIDE WORLD, ARTIST JUSTINE TREE HAS IT ALL… BUT SHE ALSO HAS A SECRET THAT THREATENS TO DESTROY EVERYTHING
Justine’s art sells around the world, but does anyone truly know her? When her mother dies, she returns to her childhood home in Yorkshire where she decides to confront her past. She asks journalist Rose Haldane to find the baby she gave away when she was an art student, but only when Rose starts to ask difficult questions does Justine truly understand what she must face.
Is Justine strong enough to admit the secrets and lies of her past? To speak aloud the deeds she has hidden for 27 years, the real inspiration for her work that sells for millions of pounds. Could the truth trash her artistic reputation? Does Justine care more about her daughter, or her art? And what will she do if her daughter hates her?
This tale of art, adoption, romance and loss moves between now and the Eighties, from London’s art world to the bleak isolated cliffs of East Yorkshire and the hot orange blossom streets of Málaga, Spain.
A family mystery for fans of Maggie O’Farrell, Lucinda Riley, Tracy Rees and Rachel Hore.
Sandra Danby is a proud Yorkshire woman, tennis nut and tea drinker. She believes a walk on the beach will cure most ills. Unlike Rose Haldane, the identity detective in her two novels, Ignoring Gravity and Connectedness, Sandra is not adopted.
To celebrate the hugely popular TV Show in the UK, Strictly Come Dancing, this autumn on the BBC, Caroline James joins with Apricot Plots authors, to share a ‘dance’ extract from her new novel, The Best Boomerville Hotel. Here we find Bob, having spent too long in the tepee with the mystical Shaman, dancing his socks off in the garden. Much to the dismay of the hotel manager, Hattie…
Hattie found Bob dancing around the meadow. Jo was going to have a fit and Hattie couldn’t let Bob go back to the hotel in this condition. Damn the Shaman and his herbs. She must do something.
‘Oi!’ Hattie called out. ‘Fred Astaire! Get your dancing feet over here.’
‘I’m singing in the rain.’ Bob sang as he twirled over to Hattie.
‘And I’ll be singing in the sin bin if you don’t get your act together.’ Hattie shoved one arm under Bob’s shoulder and tried to head him off and away from the caravan. But Bob was not to be stopped and, pushing Hattie to one side, broke into a repertoire of song and dance from all his favourite shows. Kicking his legs in the air and striding across the meadow, he belted out a medley.
‘And all that jazz!’ Bob sang.
‘You’re in bleedin’ Marland not Chicago.’ Hattie tried to grab Bob but he twirled away.
‘Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.’ Bob held up a finger and Hattie looked around. He clearly thought that he had an audience. ‘Bright copper kettles and warm coloured mittens …’
‘Look, Bob.’ Hattie grabbed his arms. ‘There are no brown paper packages tied up with string and these may all be a collection of your favourite things,’ she waved her arms vaguely, ‘but it’s time to get you safely back to your room.’
Bob shrugged Hattie away and ran to the gate.
Bursting through, he hooked his thumbs around a pair of imaginary braces and line-danced down the garden. ‘Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day.’ Bob arrived at the top of the steps and his chorus reached a climax. ‘I gotta beautiful feelin’ …’
A group of guests enjoying a game of croquet on the lawn, looked up as Bob achieved full throttle. They held mallets and one struck a ball in the direction of the hoop nearest the pond. But the player, distracted by Bob, miss-hit and sent the heavy ball speeding across the path where it hit a stone and bounced up. Hattie heard a whoosh as it sped in Bob’s direction.
In a split second, she pushed Bob out of the way.
Bob heard the players call out and as Hattie lunged, he turned and missed his footing and fell headlong into the pond. Hattie skidded to a halt and gravel flew in all directions, pebble-dashing the guests.
Time seemed to stand still as Bob started to sink into the water.
‘Help him!’ Hattie screamed and everyone dashed to the pond to pull Bob out. He lay motionless, with eyes closed, and Hattie fell to her knees. ‘He needs the kiss of life,’ she cried and began to rip his shirt open to begin chest compressions.
‘Everythin’s goin’ my way!’ Bob woke up and Hattie fell back.
He looked around and smiled at the crowd, then jumped up and began to wipe at his wet clothes. ‘Has it been raining?’
Hattie pulled herself to her feet and stared at Bob. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked. A lump had appeared on Bob’s temple. He must have hit his head when he landed in the pond.
‘Where am I, sweetie?’ Bob looked vague.
Thank God! Hattie took his arm. He had a concussion, which could be put down to the fall and would explain his bizarre behaviour. Hattie knew that Jo would murder her if she thought the Shaman had been overdosing the guests again.
‘He’s fine,’ Hattie told the anxious bystanders, ‘just a little incident which can easily be sorted out.’ She grabbed Bob’s arm and led him away. ‘Finish your game and we’ll all go and get ready for dinner. There’s hot toddy in the bar if anyone fancies a drink.’
The croquet players held up their mallets and formed a salute as Hattie and Bob staggered into the hotel.
Hattie looked back and sighed. Another bleedin’ day at Boomerville!
Head over to APRICOT PLOTS for more dance extracts from the
I’m so excited to share the news about Apricot Plots. In the summer, at the Romantic Novelist’s conference, I chatted with fellow authors Morton S Gray,Angela Barton and Carol Thomas. Like-minded, we thought it would be good to form a group as a place for discussion and motivation, both for ourselves as writers and the wonderful readers who follow us.
As writers, our general theme is romance but we all branch off into comedy, crime, mystery and history and appeal to many readers. Apricot Plots will highlight our news, offers, competitions and give-a-ways and we hope, become a place for those interested in reading and writing to engage and enjoy our work.
It was always my dream to write a book but one that I never imagined would come true.
Educated at an all girl’s grammar, I hated school. The teachers terrified me and it was a very unhappy time. The only classes I enjoyed were English and cookery. My working life took a different direction from the one my parents planned and instead of going into the family business I started work in a hotel, where life in the hospitality industry fascinated me. I loved the environment, being around food and creativity was inspiring; it was a revolving door with new faces each day. Another dream was formed – to own my own hotel.
Fast forward many years.
I got my beautiful hotel. A country house in the Lake District. In fact, I got many things including a wonderful time in the hospitality industry working with some of the best chefs in the business. Food was my life. But there was still that nagging dream to publish a book but the unanswered question was – could I write? A story had been in my head for years, based around an hotel. One day, I had an epiphany. Write and keep writing until I had a manuscript. I stole hours from a manic schedule and wrote Coffee Tea the Gypsy & MeIt a year. But my elation soon evaporated as it became impossible to find a publisher and the rejection slips piled high. In desperation I learnt how to self-publish and astonishingly the book went to number three in women’s fiction on Amazon. Five books on, my new book, The Best Boomerville Hotel is published my lovely Ruby Fiction and I am writing the next.
I never thought that my recipe writing years would turn to writing romance and that my dream would come true. But they did.
The next morning there was an excited buzz in the Rose Room, where residents gathered for breakfast. Bright sunshine burst through the French windows, latticing light across tables as staff moved around, topping up cups and taking orders. Guests munched on muesli and whispered over plates of crispy bacon and lightly poached eggs.
Lucinda reached for a jar of gooseberry marmalade. A smug smile crept across her lips as she spread the thick sweet substance over her toast. She broke a piece and popped it into her mouth.
At last, she had her own class!
Today, she would endeavour to bring creativity into the lives of a group of guests who would be inspired by her talent. She thought back to the day that she read the advert for Boomerville in her local paper. She’d been blinded by the vision that this was her path, the route to her future and a journey that she had to make. Lucinda had no money and scraped a living by teaching and selling the occasional painting. She lived in a shared house with a handful of other eccentric creatives on the outskirts of London and led a bohemian life, but as the years progressed she knew that she needed some form of security as she got older. Boomerville had come like a bolt out of the blue, a sign that she must follow and, acting on instinct, Lucinda filled in the booking form, reserved a seat on a train and began to pack.
Now, as she sat in the dining room, she thought about her finances. Her money was running out. She urgently needed a job or a wealthy lover.
Lucinda smiled to herself as she finished her breakfast and tossed her napkin to one side. She’d been working on her options since her arrival a couple of weeks ago and had high hopes for both. Today would accelerate her mission. A pop-up art class had been announced for that afternoon and Lucinda was to be the tutor.
As she made her way out of the room, she glanced at the other diners and knew that those lucky enough to have booked a place were wondering what the subject matter would be and whether Lucinda was a suitable instructor.
Barabrith is a traditional Welsh fruit loaf and on a recent trip to Wales, the first thing I did was head to a bakery to buy one.
There are many versions of Barabrith. Recipes are handed down from one generation to the next with a few tweaks along the way. Every family has their own method. Traditionally eaten on St David’s Day or Christmas Day, it is delicious sliced thickly and spread with creamy butter. My mother would eat it warm with custard or even toasted for breakfast. Filled with spices and dried fruit, the cake-like mixture has a lovely texture and smells delicious as it bakes in the oven.
In days gone by when villagers did their weekly cook in the collective village oven, any leftover dough would be baked with dried fruit to produce delicious sweet bread. Originally lard was used as a shortening, whey as a liquid and yeast as a rising agent giving a dough-like texture. With rising agents becoming popular and added to flour, Barabrith today is made with self-raising flour making the final offering more like a cake. I like to soak the fruit in Earl Gray tea as the acid in the tea reacts with the fruit and gives a lovely flavour.
Bara brith can be found in many forms all over the world. Wherever Welsh settlers went they took the recipe with them. In Argentina, Welsh teahouses in the Chubut province still serve Torta Negra or Black Cake, as Barabrith is known. In the Welsh language, ‘Bara’ means bread and ‘brith’ translates as speckled. If one says, ‘I’ve over spiced the bara brith,’ it means you’ve done something to excess. Every cafe in Wales serves the Welsh favourite and it is an easy recipe to adapt to your own taste. I like to add a spoonful of dark marmalade to the raw ingredients for extra flavour.
The Barabrith I bought on my recent trip was disappointing. It was dry and crumbly. Here’s my recipe which I hope is moist and tasty. The Barabrith keeps well in an airtight container and improves after a day or two – if you can keep it that long!
RECIPE
Ingredients
450g mixed dried fruit
1 large egg beaten
250g brown sugar
300ml black tea
2 tsp cinnamon and mixed spice
450g self-raising flour
Method
Preheat the oven to 170C/325F/Gas 3
Soak the fruit and sugar in strained tea and leave overnight. Next day, line a 900g loaf tin with baking parchment. Mix all the other ingredients into the fruit mixture and beat well. Pour into the loaf tin and bake for approximately one and a half hours.
If you enjoyed The Best Boomerville Hotel enjoy a slice of the follow-up. Here’s an excerpt when Hattie is re-acquainted with Harry…
Sergeant Harry Knowles liked to think of himself as a chameleon when it came to policing his patch. A man who blended in with his surroundings. This had its good points and served him well as a shadowy observer of situations, swooping in when least expected to utter the phrase he liked the most, ‘You’re nicked!’ Not that he had much opportunity to use the words, for very little happened when Harry was on duty and this he put down to good law enforcement by himself and fellow officers.
Some would say that Westmarland was a sleepy place, where not much happened, other than chasing visitors for speeding fines or litter-dropping on the pristine streets of the tourist towns and villages of the county. Others, like Harry, who’d recently been promoted, found a crime around every corner and made it their duty to report and investigate each lost kitten and the many stolen bikes.
But that morning, the station at Marland was a quiet as a tomb.
Harry paced around the reception area and straightened posters on a notice board then wandered over to the main desk to tidy scattered pens and miscellaneous memos. He glanced over to the corner of the room where Constable Derek Jones sat with his feet perched on a stool, sipping from a large mug of tea. The local paper was spread out before him and he studied the crossword. The constable was in shirt-sleeves, the buttons of his uniform shirt straining over a paunch. Podgy fingers reached for a biscuit from a half-consumed pack and he dunked absentmindedly as he contemplated clues.
‘Pinging call as they search for food around Bassenthwaite,’ the constable called out. ‘Eight letters, third letter, Z.’
‘Buzzards,’ Harry replied and stared out of the window.
It had been a glorious day and now in late afternoon, the streets of Marland were filled with holiday-makers who’d descended for the Easter break. Families bustled about before the shops closed, stocking up on burgers for their Sunday barbeques and local fudge as a take-home treat. Harry sighed as he watched the world go by. He was bored and longed for some action, something to set the streets alight and prove his worth in his new position. Anything to liven up his day.
Suddenly, the front door was flung open and a woman bustled into the station. Hot and harassed, she swept up to the front desk and drummed her fingers on the counter. ‘Anyone home?’ Hattie called out.
Derek whipped his feet off the stool and ambled to his feet, ‘What can we do for you, Madam?’ he said as he straightened his tie and wiped crumbs from his mouth.
‘You can make me a brew and shove those biscuits over here,’ Hattie said. ‘Is Harry the Helmet at home?’
‘Hello Hattie,’ Harry called out, wishing that Hattie wouldn’t be so familiar. ‘What can we do for you on this lovely sunny day.’
‘I want to have a word,’ she glanced at Derek. ‘Haven’t you got something to do? Crime won’t crack itself, Constable.’
‘Step into my office,’ Harry said, ‘two teas, when you’ve a moment, Derek.’ He guided Hattie along a dingy corridor and into a small room, where he pulled out a chair and sat Hattie down beside a rickety table. Pulling a chair up for himself, Harry rubbed his hands together, perhaps Hattie had something interesting for him to get his teeth into?
‘So, you’re back.’ Harry said.
‘State the bleedin’ obvious,’ Hattie replied, ‘hardly needs a copper to suss that out.’
Harry looked at Hattie. She was still attractive and vivacious with lovely ginger curls. Her ample chest bounced as she babbled.
Derek appeared with tea and biscuits, laid out on a china plate. As the door closed behind him, Hattie began.
‘My house has been trashed and I want you to find the good-for-nothings who did it.’
Harry whipped out a notebook and licked the end of a pencil. ‘I thought you’d rented it out?’
‘I did.’
‘It’s a civil matter then.’ He closed his notebook.
‘Aye, it probably is and my own fault for not putting it with an agent but what I am concerned about is a puppy.’
‘A puppy?’ Harry asked.
‘Half-starved and as good as dead when me and Alf found it in my old shed.’
‘Animal cruelty, a job for the RSPCA.’
‘No, Harry, it’s a job for you.’ Hattie was adamant. ‘The vet says the puppy will live if properly looked after. He’s got it on a drip and anti-biotics and is hopeful it will recover. We found it just in time but I want whoever is responsible for murdering an animal and trashing my house, to be prosecuted. Criminal damage, animal cruelty, whatever you can throw at them. I’ll give you what details I have of the tenants.’
‘They’ll all be false,’ Harry said, doubtful that the tenants would ever be traced. ‘Very well, but before you start, tell me what you are up to now, where are you going to live?’
‘I’m going back to Boomerville,’ Hattie said. ‘Jo seems to think the place can’t run without me and I’ll find a bed there while my place is being put back together.’
‘Boomerville busy, is it?’ Harry sat back and stretched his legs.
‘Booming I hear, you should pay us a call sometime, come and teach the old ’uns a bit of road safety or how to stay safe at home,’ Hattie grinned, ‘I can set up a course.’
‘I’d like that.’ Harry returned the smile, he’d jump at the chance of a few hours at Boomerville, anything to break the monotony here. There was always a pot of tea and a warm welcome, if Hattie was in the mood. ‘Jo keeping well?’ he asked.
‘She’s grand and will be glad to have me back.’ Hattie stood. ‘I’ll be on my way. I need to find a new home for the puppy but I’ve no doubt Jo will have room for another, she’s daft when it comes to dogs.’
‘She’ll have it running about the place in no time,’ Harry replied as he followed Hattie through the station where Derek, now occupied, was busy cracking crime. ‘Don’t forget to have a word about me running a course there.’
‘Aye, I will. You know where to find me,’ Hattie nodded to both. ‘I’ll be back at Boomerville.’
It is lovely, isn’t it? I’m so pleased with my ‘Identity Detective’ series covers, they were designed for me by Jessica Bell who asked incisive questions about characters, imagery, themes, symbols and excerpts before starting work. The tree represents our connections to known and unknown branches of our family, and it is the recurring image of all my book covers. The nodding woman was Jessica’s idea and it is a wonderful way of showing Connectedness is the story of one woman at two different stages of her life; as a twenty-something art student, and as successful artist in her fifties. As mature adults, we are all the sum of our previous life experiences and Justine Tree, the artist in Connectedness, certainly is.
‘You’re in bleedin’ Marland not Chicago.’ Hattie tried to grab Bob but he twirled away.
danced down the garden. ‘Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day.’ Bob arrived at the top of the steps and his chorus reached a climax. ‘I gotta beautiful feelin’ …’
Thank God! Hattie took his arm. He had a concussion, which could be put down to the fall and would explain his bizarre behaviour. Hattie knew that Jo would murder her if she thought the Shaman had been overdosing the guests again.
In days gone by when villagers did their weekly cook in the collective village oven, any leftover dough would be baked with dried fruit to produce delicious sweet bread. Originally lard was used as a shortening, whey as a liquid and yeast as a rising agent giving a dough-like texture. With rising agents becoming popular and added to flour, Barabrith today is made with self-raising flour making the final offering more like a cake. I like to soak the fruit in Earl Gray tea as the acid in the tea reacts with the fruit and gives a lovely flavour.
Caroline James Author 