Termites! Yikes!

As usual, all my best laid plans to write a regular blog post have flown out of the window ... if only the termites would fly away too! I'd never heard of the wretched things until I moved to California.

This weekend my husband and I are being banished from our home whilst the fumigators come in. I'm not happy. My husband's not happy. Mr. Tig the cat will definitely not be happy but hopefully, when he realizes he's going stay with the amazing Joanne O'Brien from Sittin Kitty, he'll forgive us.

Agatha Christie once had a problem with termites—or rather, an exotic bug that stowed away in her luggage.

According to her wonderful autobiography, it started during one of her travels to the Middle East. She had fallen in love with a gorgeous chest of drawers in Damascas. The chest was inlaid with mother-of-pearl and silver and is exquisite—I've seen it in her bedroom at Greenway in South Devon. ANYWAY - apparently it took nine or ten months to transport the heavy chest to it's new home but when it arrived, Agatha Christie said she'd be woken in the middle of the night by a strange noise "as if large teeth were champing something." Agatha Christie examined the chest, took out the drawers but couldn't find anything. "Yet night after night, after the witching hour of midnight, I could hear crump, crump, crump."

In desperation, she took one of the drawers to a place in London that specialized in tropical wood pests and lo and behold, after three weeks, she was summoned to the shop and proudly presented with "a repulsive cross between a worm and a slug. It was large and white and obscene, and ... obese." And that was the end of that.

I've never heard the termites gnawing away within our walls, nor have I seen any evidence of them. I'm worried about the friendly spiders that I am quite happy living in harmony with but all that will change --along with oceans of bougainvillea that surround our home.

There is an up side. We've splashed out on long weekend in a hotel that is supposed to be seeped in exotic splendor. Unfortunately, after making a non-refundable booking, an online reviewer remarked that  the rooms don't share the same splendor. I quote, "If you like the smell of stale socks ... you're gonna LUV staying here!"

I can't wait.

Scam me Once ...

Gosh. I can't believe it's been over a month since I wrote on my blog. I certainly  haven't been idle. My daughter came to stay for 2 glorious weeks and then I started writing a brand new mystery series for Thomas Dunne/St. Martin's. There has been the usual office drama, too.

However, I felt compelled to blog today because I seem to be a scam magnet. Only last Sunday, as I was filling up my car with petrol, I was attracted by one of those bright canopy tent things pitched on a street corner announcing fabulous 820-1000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheet sets for sale at the unbeatable price of $20 per set!

Cautious as ever (but clearly not that cautious), I chatted to the very cute blond (who asked me if I was a Buddhist) and suggested I touch these super-soft beautiful sheets by J. Sanders. They were soft. Very soft. And yes, I came away $44 dollars lighter - 2 sets plus a service fee - but thinking I had a bargain.

To be honest, I wasn't that surprised to discover later that the sheets were a piece of crap. Sorry - but they were. I pulled them out of the packet to wash them and the instructions said "wash only in cold water" and "do not iron" and jeez .... I could see my hand through the fabric. Arrgh ... so I googled J. Sanders scam and of course I had been fooled. The small print on the packaging said "as soft as Eyptian cotton sheets."

So I'm older and wiser and I have decided to stick to the linen sheets my mother gave me that her mother gave her. Believe it or not, mum's old sheets were not Made in China.

Stiff Upper Lips

I've actually started writing a new mystery series and since it's the early days, I am easily distracted. So ... after I alphabetized my spice cupboard, I started sorting out my iPhoto and came across my wedding photos. One of my favorite snaps is pictured here - my lovely mum (on whom my character Barbara Meadows, the Gipping Gazette receptionist, is loosely based) and our friend Mitch. Isn't that the most spectacular mustache ever? (In England we say "moustache.")

I did a little research on these magnificent specimens and, thanks to Country Life magazine, discovered the following facts. Did you know that in the 1830s and 1840s, British army officers in India began to rebel against the razor? Their dislike of shaving was driven in general terms by the Indian association of whiskers with virility. Apparently ... "The example of their bearded and moustachioed opponents in the First Afghan War and Sikh Wars of the 1840s, however, may have been a more specific catalyst for the change of heart." Basically, Britain didn't do very well out there.

In 1854 the mustache was made compulsory for British soliders in the Bombay army of the East India Company and soon spread into the civilian population. The fashion for facial hair became so popular that the (sadly defunct) Punch magazine asked 1,000 men why they wore mustaches. Only a quarter mentioned their army connections but nearly half grew mustaches because they believed them to be admired by "young ladies." It certainly had the desired effect on my mother.

It was only in 1916 when the King's Regulations permitted the British soldier to shave his upper lip once more.

Incidentally, the term "stiff upper lips" is thought to originate from ... America!