Author: Laura

I love writing. And stationery. And the smell of new books. I sometimes sing, but mostly, I write. I am a member of the Romantic Novelists' Association, and one eighth of The Romaniacs. It's all about the passion.

I love writing. And stationery. And the smell of new books. I sometimes sing, but mostly, I write. I am a member of the Romantic Novelists' Association, and one eighth of The Romaniacs. It's all about the passion.

Birthdays and Parties.

Today would have been my mother’s birthday. Having lost her earlier this year, I wasn’t sure how I would react. It was strange not to have bought a present and a card, although I still wished her a Happy Birthday.

I stayed up until midnight to do so.

At noon, our family enjoyed a lovely lunch at the place Mum and I used to go, then we strolled on the hot sand, where the children played on the swinging boats and bounced on the trampolines, and finally, to wrap up the day, we visited a local dairy farm where the best ice cream is produced. I had honeycomb. I recall Mum had that when we were last there. Then as now, the weather was beautiful.

I suspect my mother had something to do with that.

Mum was extremely supportive of my writing efforts and was pleased I had found a nuturing and friendly group within which to learn the craft. Something she was happy for me to do was attend the RNA Conference in Penrith.

The Romantic Novelists’ Association Conference 2012 was my first.

I joined six of my fellow Romaniacs, and met writers with whom I’ve previously interacted via the internet or with whom I had become acquainted at one of the RNA parties. The Conference was sociable, friendly and fun, with a great kitchen party on the Friday night.  I’m pleased to say singing was involved.

Study was involved too, with trade panels and workshops on all nature of writerly things, and I made two pitches to top editors. Once home, it took three days to absorb everything that had happened. Now I realise I have to get my head down and finish book two.  Oh. And find an agent.

That will be down to me.

Laura x

Save Our Heroes to Save Our Souls.

I love Dorset. My stories are set around the beautiful towns, villages and coastline. If you have never been, I encourage you to visit, even if it’s raining…

In a move to cut spending and claw back some of the country’s deficit, our Portland Coastguard service is being closed down. What this action tells me is saving money has greater value than human life. Can this be right?

Our Coastguards are true heroes who risk their lives to rescue hundreds of others every year.

I don’t want my stories to tell tales of those lost at sea. I have no desire to write about the lone youth, stranded on a rock who never again will feel the comfort of his mother’s arms. And I don’t want to read headlines that, on a daily basis, shout tragedy. We live by the coast and we acknowledge these terrible and sad accidents happen, so why take away our life savers?

 http://epetitions.direct.gov.uk/petitions/30225

Please sign our petition to keep a very important, life-saving service, even if you’re not a resident of the South West, please consider supporting our cause – it’s a wonderful part of the country to visit and we’d like to know we have the capability to help all those in peril on the sea or stranded in beautiful, but remote spots. Please, please sign so London HAS to take note.
And please share.

Thank you very much.

Laura x

 

Trying Something New.

I have spent the past couple of days trying my hand at developing a synopsis before having written the story. I have not tried this before, but I understand it is common practice amongst many writers.

Currently, I am 60,000 words into the first draft of my work in progress and until last night, I had no clue as to how the story would end. I took my ‘Keep Calm and Eat Chocolate’ notebook, my trusty purple pen and Sarah Duncan’s advice, and started writing a series of  ‘And then’, uncertain where my scribblings would lead.

In a few hours, spread over two days, I noted down what I considered to be the relevant points of the story. I took the synopsis as far as I could – a fraction over half way, but with a need to finish it, I had to decide on how to end the story. I took the radical move of making it up as I went along, resulting in a few pages of rubbish.

And it was rubbish.

But I was getting words onto the sheet.

Yesterday, I reread my notes. They were wishy-washy, there was very little structure, the chronology, like a time machine, was all over the place, and the final part, like me without a map, had no direction whatsoever, but this made me happy. I had a starting point and I knew what improvements had to be made.

This time, I took a different, larger notebook and settled down to transcribe from the smaller pad. I refined the relevant points, put the events in the correct order, discovered exactly who my characters are and what made them that way and…fanfare please…found my ending. I was so pleased, I announced it to Gajitman, who, bless him, stopped racing in the Alps, put down the controller and listened to me.

I have a real sense of where I’m going with this WIP now.

It seems developing the synopsis before writing the story, works. It totally focuses one’s mind, too.

Which comes first for you? The story of the synopsis?

Laura x

Seasons in the Sun

It’s June, it’s raining and it’s summer. And I missed spring.

The beautiful season of renewal and new beginnings bypassed me as I dealt with the loss of my mother – emotionally and physically.

I say dealt, but I’m still shuffling some of those cards. They’ve not all yet made it to the table.

This last fortnight, I have been sorting and clearing my mum’s house and have spent many hours being reminded of times past or discovering little gems of information I never knew. Some of it made me cry, plenty made me smile and one or two things made me exclaim ‘Mum!’. All of it helped me understand more about myself. It turns out, I’m more like my mother than I realised. That’s a good thing.

That’s a wonderful thing.

Life is a little less perfect without Mum in it, but my family and I are focussing on a positive future, whilst learning how to remember the good times with a smile and not a tear.

Here comes the sun.

Laura x

Retro Poetry: The Female Football Player.

Ah. Mavis, A favourite of mine. I enjoyed team games at school, but I wasn’t particularly good at any of them. What I lacked in skill, I made up with enthusiasm. Sadly, enthusiasm doesn’t get the hockey ball in the back of the goal or the rounders ball past first base. Enthusiasm also fails to get one picked for a team. I was invariably the last girl standing and therefore joined a team by default. I would pick Mavis regardless of her impressive sporting skill. I would pick Mavis because I love her courage, determination and sense of hope.

There is always hope.

 

 

 

The Female Football Player.

Our Mavis wasn’t pretty, but she’d one thing in her favour,

Men forgot about her two buck teeth and the way she used a shaver.

 

 They didn’t mind her two crossed eyes, or her broad rimmed N.H. specs,

They could tolerate her dandruff and the falling, flaking flecks.

 

For our Mavis wasn’t pretty, no one noticed on the whole,

For that something in her favour was the way she scored a goal.

Her rolls of fat were quite grotesque and no one dared to weigh her,

She moved like an ox in the penalty box, our Mave, the football player.

 

Playing soccer was somewhat tricky with one eye made of glass

But she never stopped if out it popped and landed in the grass.

 

The opposition split a rib, they thought our Mave defenceless,

But their luck ran out with Mave about and she knocked them downright senseless.

 

She charged towards the other side and they had to run like Hell.

Her dribbling was by far unique and she could slobber just as well.

 

 She proudly wore her colours; they were stripy pink and black,

And on her chest was her address, with her number on the back.

 Although no one fancied Mavis, what thrilled them most of all,

Was not the way that she could slay, but how she handled balls.

 

There was no one quite like Mavis, to show you ball control,

For she’d tease and trick, and then she’d kick and our Mave would score a goal.

Oh! How the men, they loved our Mavis wearing shorts and not a skirt,

But they’d leave like a shot, if Mavis forgot she was not to swap her shirt.

 

Poor Mavis wasn’t pretty; she had an awful rear,

Miss World was not what Mavis got, but ‘Player of the Year.’

 

Written: 16 – 17 August 1987. Midnightish.

 

Retro Poetry: Harold.

A few weekends ago, I cleared out my wardrobe and came across some old friends, which I thought I would share with you.

I wrote lots of poems in my youth and this one was my mum’s favourite, so I’m starting with ‘Harold’.

 

 

 

Harold

Harold wasn’t feeling well

Poor lad, he’d lost his zest,

So he went to see his doctor,

Who sent him for a test.

 

Harold wasn’t feeling well

And if one thing made him worse,

It was the smell of sterile flooring

And a strict, imposing nurse.

 

But Harry wasn’t feeling well,

So he sat outside the clinic,

And he watched as the phlebotomists

Mixed the haematinic.

 

The first man rolled his sleeve up,

And flexed his elbow joint,

Harold wondered why he did it,

But he was soon to get the point.

 

He’d been sitting there for ages;

He had better things to do –

He had a meeting at ten thirty

And another one at two.

 

Poor Harry wasn’t feeling well,

So he started counting sheep,

It distracted him from feeling ill

And it sent him off to sleep.

 

He came around at ten o’clock

And felt better for his rest,

But how long had he waited

For this bloody test?

 

He tapped his fingers slowly,

And studied both his feet,

He picked his dried up elbow

And fiddled with a sweet.

 

But Harold wasn’t feeling well,

He was such a lifeless heap,

So he slowly closed his eyes once more

And nodded off to sleep.

 

His number flashed up on the board,

But Harold did not budge,

So the fellow sitting opposite,

Gave him a gentle nudge.

 

But Harold keeled right over,

He’d have got up if he could,

But he got so sick of waiting,

He fell asleep for good.

 

Written: 01.07.87 9-10.30 pm.

‘Lone Wolf’ Winner Announced.

 And the winner is…

Thank you to everyone who entered the competition to win a signed hardback copy of Jodi Picoult’s Lone Wolf.  Over at the Romaniacs HQ, we asked you to tell us which Jodi Picoult book is your favourite and why?

Having read all the entries, our winner was chosen. We thought the honesty of the reasons for liking their chosen book were touching and well explained, as follows;

‘My favourite to date, is Sing You Home. I read the synopsis and was not too sure, but a friend lent it to me when I was going through a difficult time last year. I had suffered a very painful miscarriage, she never thought to tell me what the book was about (?). But by the time I had got to the end of it I felt it had had helped a lot. I already have 2 beautiful boys so I’m very lucky to not experience what Zoe did, but this was our last chance at having another so longed for baby due to a new treatment I had scheduled for my rapidly advancing Multiple Sclerosis. Anyway, the book seemed to echo exactly what I was feeling, and it helped to me express these feelings to my husband, who luckily did understand a little better than Zoe’s husband, but I still found it hard to express to him exactly how I was feeling. I feel I owe this book a huge debt of gratitude, and I know I will always go back and read it from time to time.
 
I think this is the beauty of her books, they are very real? She has an amazing power of empathy.’
 
This is the winning entry from Donna Trinder, Lincs. Many congratulations, Donna, and I’m totally with you on the empathy front. Lone Wolf is winging its way to you.
You can follow Donna at www.donna-lostandfound.blogspot.com
Once again, many thanks to all who entered.
Laura x

The Jodi Picoult Blog

Howling Like The Wolf

This post is being run by Laura E. James and The Romaniacs.

The Jodi Picoult Blog 

American author, Jodi Picoult, is rated within my top three favourite authors. She is unafraid to tackle subjects others might consider taboo, she writes from multi-viewpoint perspectives and she is an intelligent and entertaining lady.

When the day comes and I’m asked ‘Upon which shelf in the book shop would you place your novel?’ my reply will be, ‘Not next to, but somewhere in the region of Jodi Picoult.’

I do not purport to be an expert writer and I certainly do not possess the same flair or delve the same depths as Ms Picoult, but I recently realised to what extent my writing has been influenced by books such as My Sister’s Keeper and Second Glance.

In March, a friend and I drove to Axminster, an hour from Weymouth, for an evening with Jodi Picoult (pronounced Pico). I was beside myself with excitement. I could not believe an internationally acclaimed author would visit the beautiful, but small Devon town. The reason became clear as Ms Picoult explained the research for her current book, Lone Wolf, took place in Combe Martin, North Devon, at The Wolf Centre.

Having listened to a fascinating extract from the book, we were educated with great enthusiasm and knowledge about the workings of a wolf pack. Ms Picoult had clearly spent time with Shaun Ellis at The Wolf Centre and absorbed all his expert information. Her delivery was exciting, humorous and informative. Her grasp of the subject and her ability to impart it to the audience showed the extent to which she is prepared to go in order to write a gripping and accurate story.

This is why her books sell. I believe there are no half measures when it comes to Ms Picoult, an impression that will stay with me and one to which I will adhere when it comes to research and writing my novels.

At an hour in, three volunteers were requested. I am no stranger to being centre stage through my singing exploits, but I hesitated, much to my friend’s surprise. 

‘This is your time,’ she whispered. I was unsure. Then Ms Picoult added, ‘Perhaps someone who sings?’ 

‘Put your hand up,’ my friend instructed, and as if conditioned to stimuli like a Pavlovian puppy, I raised my hand. 

The next time I looked at my friend, it was from the stage. I was a Numbers wolf, the young lady to my immediate left, Alex, was a Beta wolf and next to Ms Picoult was Sarah, the Alpha wolf. 

The Alpha wolf, we were told, howls, waits for a response, then howls again. Ms Picoult demonstrated. The Beta wolf waits for the Alpha wolf to howl, then joins in, but maintains a howl four times as long as the Alpha wolf. Again, this was ably and tunefully demonstrated by our guest speaker.

The Numbers wolf yelps.

Yes. My job was to sound like a puppy whose tail had been trodden on.

The Numbers wolves make as much noise as possible to create the impression the pack is larger than it actually is. Give Ms Picoult credit; she led the way and yelped.

I yelped.

Turns out, I’d make an excellent Numbers wolf.

If I don’t cut it as a writer, I have a back-up.

Here is the video evidence. Since this was spur of the moment and we didn’t have access to high tech cameras, my friend recorded the following on her mobile phone. The visual clarity isn’t the best, but you can hear me yelp. And it is a great personal reminder of a brilliant evening. Please right click on the following link and open in another window. Jodi Picoult and guests, howling like wolves. 

We were each presented with a beautiful, soft toy wolf, which now sits on my desk. My son calls him Suma, (the wolf, not my desk), which is the name on the label in his ear. (The wolf’s, not my son’s. His label says something completely different.) Suma is the name of the toy collection, but I like that my son named our wolf.

Soon after this excitement, the evening drew to a close, an orderly line was formed and we waited to have our books signed.

That was when the carnage began.

At my request, my friend and I waited until the queue had depleted and popped ourselves at the end. I had bought two books for signing – one for me and one to give away as a prize. My friend, Debbie G, was looking after that copy. 

As we approached the desk, Debbie leading, Ms Picoult’s colleague, standing beside her, suddenly exclaimed ‘Oh! I didn’t catch your name!’ 

My friend appeared a little surprised, but handed over the book for signing and before I could say anything, she replied ‘Debbie.’ 

I swear, the next part happened in slow motion. 

I could see Ms Picoult forming the D and the E in the book – the book I wanted to give away as a prize; the book that couldn’t have anyone else’s name in except Jodi Picoult’s. I stepped from behind my friend and said, ‘I was hoping I could just have your autograph on that copy.’ 

A bewildered international best selling author looked at me. ‘But I’ve already written D,E.’ Her eyebrows furrowed, ploughed and knitted. 

‘Perhaps you could write DEAR.’ I said.

‘Dear who?’ 

‘Dear Laura.’

‘Who’s Laura?’ 

‘I am.’ 

Debbie moved in, realising Ms Picoult had no idea what was going on or why I was hijacking the signing of the book of the woman in front of me. ‘This is Laura. My friend,’ she said, easing the situation. 

Compliant, charming and with extreme patience, Ms Picoult signed the book and returned it to Debbie. It read: Dear Laura. All best, Jodi Picoult.

I handed over my copy.

This is the copy that has Jodi Picoult’s signature in it and nobody else’s name. Mission accomplished. Most parties unscathed.

Since we had come this far, and we hadn’t been forcibly ejected from the building, I decided to pass over a letter, which I had prepared earlier, with some questions in it, hoping Ms Picoult would answer them at some point in the future.

It was probably a naïve and foolish thing to do.

It was a naïve and foolish thing to do, but Ms Picoult and her associate were lovely and said they would see what they could do.

Ms Picoult then thanked me for being her Numbers wolf.

I thanked her for a fun evening.

I suppose I stand a fair chance of being remembered – for all the wrong reasons, I grant you, but remembered all the same.

There is so much more I could write about that event, but the howling is enough for now. If you ever get the chance to attend an evening with Jodi Picoult, I urge you to take it. She is charming, friendly, confident and articulate. We were party to a master class in public speaking and positive self-promotion.

Lovely lady, brilliant story-teller, fierce mother. Much respect, Ms Picoult.

I would be honoured if my books one day occupied the same store as yours.

 

Competition: For the chance to win a signed, hardback copy of Lone Wolf, please click here and scroll to the end of the Romaniac’s Jodi Picoult post. Due to the size and weight of the book, we are able to open the competition to UK entries only.

Good luck.

Laura x

Beg For Rain

Beg For Rain.

Tears are the betrayers of our souls. We can fight and we can turn away, but once they pierce the backs of our eyes, we cannot halt them.

Relentlessly, they come.

Tears have a will of their own. They are strong and will grip our throats and strangle us until we are forced to release them.

Powerfully, they come.

 

Tears will sell our secrets, flaunt our vulnerability and make easy fools of us.

So, with all this said, why don’t

They come?

 

Tears.

Bless-ed tears.

Let them rain down and wash me away.

Let the water sanitise, let their salt sterilise and

Let me be clean.

 

Please come.

 

Laura.

 

 

An Explanation of Absence.

An Explanation of Absence

3/25/2012 12:07:41 AM 

It is with the deepest sadness and a daughter’s love that I write this post.

On Wednesday, March 21st 2012, I witnessed an act of great courage.

Whilst in hospital, following an operation to replace an elbow joint, a series of unexpected and tragic events propelled my mother to a place from which she knew she could not return and she made the brave decision to call an end to her treatment.

The wonderful lady who passed on to me a love of books and an appreciation for the written word, left this world, with grace and dignity.

There are many things I would like to write, but Mum was a woman who treasured her privacy.

 

If you ask me how old she was, I will say not old enough.

If you ask if she was frightened, I will tell you she had no fear.

If you ask if it was a shock, I will nod, but say she knew it was her time.

 

She was a tiny woman with a huge capacity for compassion.

And even with her failing heart, she loved unconditionally.

She was my counsel, my keeper of secrets and my friend.

She was my mum.

 

And I loved her.

 

 Laura x

 

Comments:

Bluestockingmum:

3/26/2012 3:48:48 PM

Ahhh, a Mother’s love…

Dear Laura

I echo what everyone’s written here. And what a wonderful tribute to your wonderful mum.

I was right; you are a chip off the old block! How alike you both sound. You were blessed to have each other, I’m sure, and she will have admired her brave, beautiful daughter equally.

You know at times like these, we sometimes fail to see when someone dies, it isn’t the end. Your mum lives on in you; the values she instilled, the loves she shared, and your indomitable spirit that she nurtured – THIS will be her legacy, and your mum will live on as you teach those values and strengths to your own children…

Keep writing, expressing yourself as you do with such heart and depth and I bet you anything your mum will be watching over you, marvelling at her wonderful daughter and willing you to find the success you deserve.

Whatever happens in your life from this point forward, Laura, know you were always loved and you truly loved your lovely mum.

Nothing and no-one will ever take away and I bet she’s right there, sitting on your shoulder, watching over you and her grand children forever.

xxx

When I read this, Debbie, I cried all over again, but what wise and comforting words. Thank you. I’m waiting for the little white feather… xx

 

Jennie Bohnet:

3/26/2012 3:08:24 PM

Mother Love.

So sorry to hear about your loss. You’ve written a wonderful tribute to your mum. Look after yourself at this sad and difficult time.

Thank you, Jennie. It’s been an odd couple of weeks – very up and down, but I am grateful I had the opportunity to share good news with her before she became ill. x

 

Anita Chapman:

3/26/2012 11:02:58 AM

Your mum.

Laura, I’m so sorry to hear of the loss of your mum. Your post is so beautifully written and such a wonderful tribute to her. I know how difficult it is to lose a mother and my thoughts are with you. Lots of love, Anita X

Thank you, Anita. I’ve been blessed for forty five years. We were very close and I shall miss her. I can’t see that changing. xx

 

Phillipa Ashley:

3/26/2012 9:13:28 AM

Your Mum.

Laura, I am so sorry for the loss of your beloved mum. You must have given her a lot of happiness and joy.

That’s a very kind thing to say, Phillipa. Thank you. x

 

Sue Moorcoft:

3/26/2012 7:54:29 AM

You and your mum.

Much love, Laura. Losing someone you love is so hard. xxx

Thank you for your support, Sue. xx

 

Lyn (ManicScribbler@blogspot.co.uk):

3/25/2012 6:19:54 PM

Mothers.

Oh my gosh, Laura, I can barely see the screen, my eyes are so misted up. My heartfelt condolences to you. I do understand your loss, having gone through this pain myself.

But you have acknowledged the legacy your mother left you and which will always live on in you. Already – and so soon – you’ve managed to use that to inspire others. You are your mother’s daughter, and there’s not a single doubt that her frail heart would be bursting with pride for you. Keep writing. For her. Keep making her proud.

Lyn

Lyn, it’s very kind of you to take the time to visit, read and leave such a sincere message. It gives me strength. Thank you.

 

Stephanie Keyes:

3/25/2012 2:37:02 PM

Thinking Of You.

Laura,

I am so sorry that you have to go through this. I lost my dad in May after a six year battle with cancer, so I know it’s never easy to lose someone we love. However, I do know this. They watch over us and keep us safe. She will always be with you. 🙂

I’m sorry to hear about your dad; I imagine it is still very raw for you. We are approaching the seventh anniversary of the loss of my lovely step-dad. Cancer took him in just over a year. When Mum went, I realised I wasn’t a proper grown-up, despite being married with children, and having a house and a job. I relied on her advice and experience to guide me through tough times. On Thursday, I grew up. xxx

 

Wendy Standley:

3/25/2012 12:44:54 PM

Your Mum.

I am so sorry to hear your news. I have tears in my eyes whilst reading. You wrote such lovely words. Thinking of you and your family. xxx

That’s very kind, Wendy. Our lives are changing. Things around here will be very different. xx

 

Debs Carr:

3/25/2012 12:25:34 PM

Your Loss.

Your beautiful tribute made me cry. Your mother sounds so strong and much loved.

I’m so sorry for your loss.x

Thank you, Debs. xx

 

Ellie James:

3/25/2012 12:07:41 PM

Absence.

I was crying all of Wednesday night after arriving home from a friends but I feel alright right now, it comes in waves of emotions. Sometimes I will cry myself to sleep other nights I fall asleep naturally.

Love you Mum Xxx

We have each other, Ellie. Your Gran was extremely proud of you and your brother, as your dad and I are. It will hurt, but we’ll keep talking and remembering and as a family we shall get through. Love you, Number 1 xxx

 

EmmaPass:

3/25/2012 9:55:36 AM

Absence.

Laura, I’m so sorry. Thank you for sharing such a wonderful tribute – your mum sounds like a truly amazing lady. Sending you loads of hugs. Xxx

Thank you, Emma. Mum was pretty cool. xx

 

Jane Risdon:

3/25/2012 8:07:26 AM

A Daughter’s Love.

Laura, so moving and so uplifting too. My condolences on your Mother’s passing and my admiration for your demeanor and obvious love for her.

Thank you. x

 

Rebecca:

3/25/2012 6:29:49 AM

Your mum.

I cried reading your beautiful tribute to your mother. So moving.

And in response to your reply to Effie – you already are, dear heart, you already are.

Much love and hugs to you at this very sad time. Take care.

R xxx

You have a kind soul, Rebecca. Thank you. xxx

 

Kyla:

3/25/2012 5:04:42 AM

Love.

Laura, I wish I could write something profound that would make things easier but I can’t, but I do know your loss and I do know that your Mum must have been increadibly proud of you and that there is no doubt that her last days were the best they could have been in the circumstances because of you and your love, much love and respect xxxxx

Thank you, Kyla. xxx

 

Jen Fishler:

3/25/2012 3:38:25 AM

Your Mom. Mine.

I am weeping. I don’t even know you, but I am weeping.

I am also sitting beside my mom’s bed, in my guestroom.

She has congenital heart failure. Some days, like today,

she is so weak, this tiny little woman…but she gives

me so much…

I have brought her to live with me.

I am treasuring this time.

And I sincerely wish I could give you a hug.

Jen

Hi Jen. Thank you for taking the time to comment and for your kind sentiments. I was my mother’s carer for nearly seven years and I do not regret a single moment we spent together, even those times when we disagreed about something.

Enjoy your time together. Have no regrets.

 

Celia Anderson:

3/25/2012 2:50:00 AM

Beloved Mum.

Woke up in the middle of the night and just wondered how you were, Laura. So glad you could write this; it’s a fantastic tribute. I know your mum must have already been proud of you for all sorts of things, but one day she’ll be even prouder, in whatever lovely place she’s now resting. You have a great future as a writer.

Much love

Celia xxx

Celia – you’re very kind and your heart is as big as a mountain. Bigger. Much love to you. xx

 

effiemerryl@btinternet.com:

3/25/2012 12:22:44 AM

Absence.

Oh Laura. I am so sorry for your loss. You have my deepest sympathy and great feelings of friendship. I know that sudden loss and it’s horrible but your post is a lovely tribute to your mum.

Take care, remember her, be kind to yourself.

XX

Thank you, Effie. I hope I can conduct myself with the same grace and dignity as Mum. xx