Fancy a cuppa and a chance to win a Brown Betty teapot?

Although I’ve lived away from the UK for twenty years now (and these past 11 months in Portland, Oregon) I still stick rigidly to my four 0'clock teatime ritual. 

On Facebook recently, author Elizabeth Duncan asked her friends and followers the question, “What is your favorite brand of tea?”

I used to adore Yorkshire Gold but now I find it too strong.  I enjoy PG Tips but that could be because of “Cooeee Mr. Shifter” – a commercial from 1971. Hilarious. 

I love Twinings (especially Lady Grey), I don’t mind Tetley, I loathe Liptons (is that really tea? Seriously?) but my all-time favorite is … French Breakfast Tea by Mariage Freres. 

Quelle horreur! I hear my fellow countrymen and anglophiles cry. But it’s true. I love it. Perhaps it’s the packaging … or even the little muslin bags?

Drinking tea from the correct cup makes a difference, too. 

Tottering-By-Gently

My mother insists that only workmen on building sites or plumbers (I do not share her opinion) drink tea from heavy mugs. Bone china is the only way to go. I’m not a fan of a cup and saucer (the tea gets cold too quickly) so these delicate mugs from Tottering-by-Gently are a perfect compromise. 

But the true test of a good cuppa is in the way it’s made. And if you want to know how … click on this link to my latest newsletter.  You’ll also find details of a free contest for a chance to win a genuine Brown Betty teapot. All you have to do is guess the name of the dog on the book cover of my brand new series that will be coming out in May of 2014 called Murder at Honeychurch Hall. The contest ends December 1. Winners will be contacted by email and announced on Facebook.  

But for now, my little alarm has just gone off. It’s 3.50 PM exactly. In ten minutes I’ll be sitting down with my afternoon cuppa and a McVitites chocolate digestive biscuit. Yum. 

The Sun is Out!

View from our room at Sunriver

Well ... summer is around the corner and I'm beginning to cheer up a little. I had obviously lived in California for far too long. Who would have thought the lack of sunshine would have had such an impact on me. I even bought a SAD light.

But - this past weekend my husband and I went to the Sunriver Resort in Bend, Oregon. It was absolutely gorgeous. We had so much fun whitewater rafting, trail riding, hiking, cycling ... Oregon is such a wonderful place to be—when it's sunny.

But - no more grumbling! I am making a solemn intention from this point forwards to embrace my new life. To "bloom where I'm planted" - something a new friend (and everyone in Portland is so nice!) suggested I do.

However - just so you know what challenges lay ahead, here are 37 Things to Consider Before Moving To Portland.  (And a big thank you to Anna Nicholas who sent me this cool blog from Estately).

Click on this link - and learn! Estately: 37 Things to Consider Before Moving to Portland Oh ... and there is always the TV Show Portlandia...

Adjusting to a New Life

There's a saying "be careful what you wish for" and for the past decade, all I have wanted is to quit my full-time job in Los Angeles and write.

When my husband's job moved us to Portland, Oregon in January, I was over the moon. At last my dream was coming true but somehow, things didn't quite work out how I imagined.

This is what I imagined: Getting up at a decent hour (I used to wake at 4.30 AM to write before work) with a leisurely cup of coffee followed by a few hours of serious writing. Ideas would pour into my mind. I'd type away with a huge, contented smile on my face—possibly working on two or three projects at the same time.

I'd make a healthy lunch and lose 10 pounds because I wasn't tempted by office snacks. Afterwards, I'd take a leisurely walk along the river (it's beautiful here) or perhaps an exercise class. I'd be thin. Toned. Radiant. Gorgeous.

I'd spend another couple of hours at my writing—rattle off a few emails, play on Facebook, phone my mother and the friends I never had time for whilst living in Los Angeles. At 4 PM I'd stop for a traditional cup of English tea and read a book for an hour. After that, I'd cook something absolutely fabulous for supper—possibly French—greet my husband at the door like a 1950's housewife and we'd share our day.

How wrong could I be!!

First of all ...I've discovered that without a rigid structure to my day, all my self-discipline has flown out the window.  When I worked full-time my days were ruled by panic and the fear that I would never turn my books in on time. It was what got me out of bed at 4.30 AM.

Secondly ... I really really miss my work people. Being part of a crazy advertising environment was actually a lot of fun. True, it was insane and very stressful but a true mine of inspiration when it came to devising murder plots and selecting victims.

Thirdly ... it rains. Okay - as I am typing this, it is day 3 of sun which is apparently really unusual. Yes, I'm British and I should be used to the weather by now, but after twenty years in sunny California it's very hard staring at a gray sky day in—day out. Apparently, Portlandians (and do check that series out because Portland is exactly like the show) say that summer officially begins on July 5. I have to find the funny though because last year when my husband and I were gripped by the American TV version of The Killing, I would say "Good God. I can't imagine living somewhere so dreary where it rains all the time! I'd kill myself." And here we are ... months later living exactly where it rains all the time. Of course, I miss my little feline friend, Mr. Tig so I suspect that hasn't helped.

And as for exercise. Honestly. Up until yesterday I would have said I didn't care but we just enrolled in "Full-Tilt Spin" classes at Firebrand. I'll say one thing for Portland, it's pretty innovative. It's probably a good thing because the food in Portland is amazing.


Oh! And I missed out a vital fact that although I have essentially given up full-time work in high-rise office, I'm still available "remotely" 24-7 to my Los Angeles boss ... and believe me, he takes advantage of that ... and I don't mind! I'm starved of conversation.

But grumbling apart, I know I'm lucky and as my mother would say, "only you can change your attitude." So ... that's what I'm going to do. Right after I've eaten the last slice of chocolate cake.


If anyone would like to share their moving-to-a-new-city story with me, I'd love to hear it!

Rainbow Bridge

It's been nearly three weeks since my darling Mr. Tig passed over to the Rainbow Bridge. I guess he never really adjusted to life in Portland, Oregon although - two years ago - he came close to leaving us so I try to think of having those extra two years with as a wonderful gift.

Nothing prepares you for the loss of a beloved pet but what has absolutely touched my heart is the amazing support from other animal lovers through countless emails, Facebook messages and phone calls.

Mr. Tig started his journey with me when I moved to California. He was a rescue cat and it was only by chance that my daughter Sarah and I saw him that boiling hot Saturday on Ventura Boulevard in Studio City, California. We weren't looking to adopt a cat but there was something about him that made us change our minds. Mr. Tig's cage was on top of a little Spaniel and every few minutes, he'd push his paw through the grill and tap the Spaniel on the head and then, retreat and hide. It drove the poor dog crazy because he couldn't figure out what was happening ... so we took Mr. Tig home.

His name wasn't always Mr. Tig. The rescue society named him Flipper because he could turn somersaults... but we thought that a little unmanly so we called him Tiggy. It was only when the wonderful Ben Scuglia, pet psychic extraordinaire said Tiggy disliked that name and wanted to be called Mister Tig that we did as we were told.

Mr. Tig stayed with me when my daughter returned to England to go to college; he comforted me through the loss of my Dad ... and he fought for my affections when I first met Jason who became my husband (and Mr. Tig won Jason over, too). And finally, he stayed with us for the 1,000 mile drive to Oregon, making sure that all was well before saying goodbye.

And a huge thank you to Susan Van Hyning and Carolyn Hart for telling me all about Rainbow Bridge.

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. 
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. 
There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. 
There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable. 
All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. 
The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster. 
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart. 

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together.... 

Author unknown... 

Till we meet again ... R.I.P. my dearest boy - April 24, 1996 to March 25, 2013.

Mr. Tig Moves to Portland

It is no secret that I am obsessed with my cat, Mr. Tig. With his 17^th birthday fast approaching, he and I have been through a lot together. In fact, when I first met my husband Jason (who is really a dog person) Mr. Tig was very put out and was determined to sabotage my blossoming relationship. But that is a whole other story that ended with Jason giving me an ultimatum along the lines of, "it's me or the cat." Suffice it to say, I still have both in my life. Jason and Mr. Tig bonded (eventually) and these days, they can be found watching hockey together or just hanging out doing guy-things.

But I digress. When my husband got a promotion and was transferred to the Portland office a few weeks ago, my wonderful boss agreed that I could work "remotely" from home leaving me more time to write. It's early days but so far so good. My biggest challenge seems to be finding a structure to my day. I was far more productive when I had less time! 

Mr. Tig's challenge is to adapt to his new surroundings. —especially the weather. If he had been human, I suspect he would be a surfer, say “dude” a lot and drive a Wrangler. Now he has swapped the Californian sunshine for English-type weather (I feel right at home) – dreary gray skies where, when the sun does come out, it’s optimistically called a “sun break.”  It’s the land of vampires up here for sure (The Twilight series was filmed locally) but I’m told that when Spring finally comes it is gorgeous.  The countryside is stunning, the food in Portland is beyond delicious and there are a gazillion coffee shops all roasting their own beans. And of course there is a strong writing community along with the world famous Powells of Portland, the biggest bookstore in the world.

…. I absolutely love it here and I do hope that Mr. Tig will adjust eventually. 

Mr. Tig

 Our holistic vet Lisa Hoberg  says that moving a cat—especially an old cat—is very stressful. To help him along I purchased a Sol Box from Pawsitive Lighting that is specifically made for animals. It made a huge difference to his mood. 

I still venture down to Los Angeles once a month for work but in the meantime, Mr. Tig and I share the Sol Box light and listen to a CD called  "Songs of Garden Birds."  I've never been able to listen to music as I write but the sound of birds in the background is quite lovely and along with the special light, reminds me of a perfect English summer day. All that is missing is a jug of Pimms No. 1. 

NEWS: The first book in my new series will be published by Thomas Dunne/St. Martin’s Press next Spring.  If you’d like to be added to my mailing list for updates on this as well as the Vicky Hill Mysteries (yes another one of those brewing too,) send me an email to Hannah@hannahdennison.com with Mailing List in the subject line. 

The Challenges of the English Language

Even though I'm English, there are still words I struggle to pronounce correctly. Nothing is ever what it seems and pronouncing certain names phonetically doesn't help much either. Here are some examples:

Althorp = all-trupp. 

Beauchamps = beecham

Berkley = barclay

Cockburn = co-burn

Derby = darby

Hertfordshire = hart-fordsheer

Leicester Square = lester square

Magdalen = maudelen

Pall Mall = pal mal

Saint John = sin jun

Thames = tems

I have often thought how confusing it must be to learn the English language and can't think of a better example than the following poem from Dutchman,  G. Noise Trenite.

Dearest creature in creation,
Study English pronunciation.

I will teach you in my verse

Sounds like corpse, corps, horse, and worse.

I will keep you, Suzy, busy,

Make your head with heat grow dizzy.

Tear in eye, your dress will tear.

So shall I! Oh hear my prayer.

Just compare heart, beard, and heard,

Dies and diet, lord and word,

Sword and sward, retain and Britain.(

Mind the latter, how it’s written.)

Now I surely will not plague you

With such words as plaque and ague.

But be careful how you speak:

Say break and steak, but bleak and streak;

Cloven, oven, how and low,

Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.

Hear me say, devoid of trickery,

Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore,

Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles,

Exiles, similes, and reviles;

Scholar, vicar, and cigar,Solar, mica, war and far;

One, anemone, Balmoral,Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel;

Gertrude, German, wind and mind,

Scene, Melpomene, mankind.

Billet does not rhyme with ballet,

Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.

Blood and flood are not like food,

Nor is mould like should and would.

Viscous, viscount, load and broad,

Toward, to forward, to reward.

And your pronunciation’s OK

When you correctly say croquet,

Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,

Friend and fiend, alive and live.

Ivy, privy, famous; clamour

And enamour rhyme with hammer.

River, rival, tomb, bomb, comb,

Doll and roll and some and home.

Stranger does not rhyme with anger,

Neither does devour with clangour.

Souls but foul, haunt but aunt,

Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant,

Shoes, goes, does. Now first say finger,

And then singer, ginger, linger,

Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge and gauge,

Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age.

Query does not rhyme with very,

Nor does fury sound like bury.

Dost, lost, post and doth, cloth, loth.

Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath.

Though the differences seem little,

We say actual but victual.

Refer does not rhyme with deafer.

Fe0ffer does, and zephyr, heifer.

Mint, pint, senate and sedate;

Dull, bull, and George ate late.

Scenic, Arabic, Pacific,Science, conscience, scientific.

Liberty, library, heave and heaven,

Rachel, ache, moustache, eleven.

We say hallowed, but allowed,

People, leopard, towed, but vowed.

Mark the differences, moreover,

Between mover, cover, clover;

Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,

Chalice, but police and lice;

Camel, constable, unstable,

Principle, disciple, label.

Petal, panel, and canal,

Wait, surprise, plait, promise, pal.

Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,

Senator, spectator, mayor.

Tour, but our and succour, four.

Gas, alas, and Arkansas.

Sea, idea, Korea, area,

Psalm, Maria, but malaria.

Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean.

Doctrine, turpentine, marine.

Compare alien with Italian,

Dandelion and battalion.

Sally with ally, yea, ye,

Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, and key.

Say aver, but ever, fever,

Neither, leisure, skein, deceiver.

Heron, granary, canary.

Crevice and device and aerie.

Face, but preface, not efface.

Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.

Large, but target, gin, give, verging,

Ought, out, joust and scour, scourging.

Ear, but earn and wear and tear

Do not rhyme with here but ere.

Seven is right, but so is even,

Hyphen, roughen, nephew Stephen,

Monkey, donkey, Turk and jerk,

Ask, grasp, wasp, and cork and work.

Pronunciation (think of Psyche!)

Is a paling stout and spikey?

Won’t it make you lose your wits,

Writing groats and saying grits?

It’s a dark abyss or tunnel:

Strewn with stones, stowed, solace, gunwale,

Islington and Isle of Wight,Housewife, verdict and indict.

Finally, which rhymes with enough,

Though, through, plough, or dough, or cough?

Hiccough has the sound of cup.

My advice is to give up!!!

I am so grateful I never had to learn the ropes!

In Flanders Fields

It was the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month that marked the signing of the Armistice on November 1918. The guns on the Western Front fell silent after more than four years of continuous warfare. More than one million men and women from Britain and the Commonwealth died in World War One between 1914 and 1918.

My grandfather was thirty years old when he fought in the trenches. He was invalided out in 1916 stone-deaf and suffering from shell-shock that meant he would never work again. With eight children to feed it was up to my grandmother to hold the family together.


I never met him. Since my mother was the youngest of eight, Grandad died years before I was born but I think of him often—and always on Remembrance Day or Veteran's Day as it's known in the USA.

Queen Elizabeth II lays the first wreath of poppies at the Cenotaph in Whitehall for all those men and women who have died in warfare. But wreaths are also laid around the country at War Memorials on village greens and in town squares.


It's often asked why the red poppy became the symbol of remembrance.


Flanders—the western part of Belgium—saw the most concentrated and bloodiest fighting in the First World War. There was complete devastation. Buildings, roads, trees and natural life simply disappeared. Where once there were homes and farms there was now a sea of mud. Only one other living thing survived. The poppy. It seemed to bring life, hope, color and reassurance to those still fighting.


John McCrae, a doctor serving with the Canadian Armed Forces wrote this well-known poem.

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place: and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved, and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch: be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep,

Though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

The Comfort of a Good Book

My mother was nine years old when she was evacuated from London to escape the bombs in World War Two. As the youngest of eight, Mum was sent away without her siblings. She was gone for four whole years during which time her father only visited a handful of times and her mother not at all. 

In those days, getting to Surrey from London—which now takes about an hour by train—was incredibly difficult. Apart from the fact that my grandfather fought on the Western Front in The Great War and was severely shell-shocked, neither of my grandparents could drive and besides, petrol was strictly rationed. 

During my trip to the UK this summer I was lucky enough to combine a book tour and spend time with my mother. The two of us traveled around England. It was a wonderful trip—especially when my daughter was able to join us for the odd weekend. Girls on tour! But most of all, it was the first time as an adult I could really question mum about her life as a wartime evacuee. 

She stayed with three different families—one woman, "Olive" was particularly unkind to her (mental note to self, potential murder victim) and Mum was incredibly lonely. My grandparents did not have a telephone and although they wrote to her, letters were slow in arriving. 

I asked Mum how she survived and she said by reading a book called "The Twins To The Rescue." 

 On returning to the USA I set out to track down a copy of that book and was thrilled when Abbey Antiquarian Books came up trumps. The wonders of the Internet!

The first thing I did was read the book myself.

Published around 1937, author Joyce Bruce tells the story of twins who are sent to stay with a distant relative in a manor house far away from home because their parents are going abroad for six months. It was easy to understand why the book struck such a chord for her.  

Abbey Antiquarian Books said they are "Purveyors of nostalgia." I began to think about the books I loved when I was age 9. Enid Blyton's "The Famous Five, Michael Bond's "Paddington Bear," and my all-time favorite, "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe," (oddly enough I only read that book at the time, not the others in the Chronicles of Narnia) by C.S. Lewis. 

I also started thinking about times when reading a book brought me great comfort during difficult times. Books have helped me escape from reality when I’ve suffered through many a broken heart, a divorce, bereavement, unbearable anxiety and just plain nerves whilst waiting to interview for a new job. But I’m sure none can equal the fear of a nine-year old sleeping in a strange bed so far from home over seventy years ago.

 

“The Twins to The Rescue” was published with Girl Guides in mind (at a cost of 3s 6d). Throughout the story the twins are governed by Girl Guide Law No.8.

“A Guide smiles and sings under all difficulties.”

And my darling Mum still smiles and sings under all difficulties to this day.