Marriage: The Final Frontier

A convention of comedy-drama is that the narrative ends with a marriage. See Shakespeare’s As You Like It, Love’s Labour’s LostA Midsummer Night’s DreamTwelfth NightMuch Ado About Nothing and Two Gentlemen of Verona.

And more recently, last Christmas’s Gavin and Stacey Christmas special on the BBC ended with an unanswered proposal.

What will Smithy say? - PressReader

Ha! I bet you thought this post was going to be about Mr Henthorn and me; well, just for fun, here is a photo from our wedding day captured at the moment I realised he had forgotten to organise the ‘signing the register’ music:

Blimey, I don’t look happy do I? I can’t remember what music was supposed to be played, but we signed that certificate in complete silence and it’s been fab ever since.

Being me, is like living in a sitcom, and so it has been a natural process to write the Curmudgeon Avenue series about a house that detests its unlikeable owners.

I am just coming to the end of writing the final instalment of Curmudgeon Avenue ‘A Curmudgeonly Christmas’ which I am hoping to release the week between Christmas and New Year. 2020. (Don’t you agree that the week between Christmas and New Year is a time for curmudgeons to unite?)

Cover reveal:

I am hoping to put this on pre-order soon, but until the week between Christmas and New Year, here is an excerpt:

Chapter 6: He Learnt From The Best, He Learnt From Wantha.

Tuesday morning came around as so often they do in Whitefield. September had robbed the residents of Curmudgeon Avenue of an Indian summer, and thoughts were starting to turn to Halloween, bonfire night, (and dare I say Christmas).

     Wantha Rose was on the warpath yet again. But like a glamorous soap opera actor, she skulked around the street until somebody paid attention to her, keeping her anger just under boiling point.

    ‘Toonan!’ Wantha shouted through her sister’s letterbox. She rang the doorbell. And after a short wait, the door swung open to reveal Small Paul wearing pyjamas and carrying a bottle of anti-bacterial spray and a dishcloth.

     ‘Hiya, Wantha. Toonan’s at work, sorry.’ Small Paul started spraying and wiping the letterbox and doorbell button that Wantha had just touched (which looked a bit rude, to be honest. He should have waited).

     ‘Oh, FFS!’ Wantha was gutted that her sister was not at home. She watched Small Paul polishing his door furniture. Seemingly, he was in the mood for talking (again).

     ‘I’m not sure what time she’ll be home, but if you need anything, Sis,’ (he got that off Toonan). ‘Then, I would love to chat.’

     Wantha glanced towards the front of Genevieve’s delicatessen-cum-cafe, where her husband, Ricky Ricketts was at work. And even though Ricky could not see her from that angle, Wantha made a showy and sassy attempt to enter Toonan and Small Paul’s house.

I know it’s really short, but it was super hard to find a bit I could share, because there is a massive secret about to be revealed on Curmudgeon Avenue.

If you missed it, the book that precedes ‘A Curmudgeonly Christmas’ is free and available via a BookFunnel promotion here:

https://books.bookfunnel.com/funny-fall-reads/yvz8jzuoi9

The next instalment of Curmudgeon Avenue

Happy reading, Samantha xxhttps://www.amazon.com/~/e/B01M4LPH9U

The World Does Not Revolve Around Curmudgeon Avenue (Curmudgeon Avenue #5) Has Been Released Into The Wild! (Available on an E-reader Near You).

Hello Everyone!

Me again! Today I want to talk about my latest book, published today (30th of September)

The World Does Not Revolve Around Curmudgeon Avenue

What is it about?

THE ONE WHERE THE B*TCH RETURNS

Reformed rent burglar Georgina Foote moves back to Whitefield and into number 13 Curmudgeon Avenue. She is desperately seeking Kevin but all she finds is nonsense. Collecting enemies at work and at home, Georgina Foote does not belong here.

Meanwhile, a mass exodus occurs when Wantha Rose, Ricky Ricketts and newbie Krystina moved to Greenmount. They think that the world does not revolve around Curmudgeon Avenue, will they find out that it does?

A denouement of sorts resolves the ghost’s stories when Harold takes up residence in the House of Commons, and Edith reunites with her first husband.

Zandra Bennett’s career takes on a new direction when she unwittingly starts channelling the ghost of Edith in the under-the-stairs space.

We finally get to find out Mrs Ali’s first name, her story and her source of all knowledge.

Wantha and Ricky nearly get married, and we learn why the Rose sisters have such daft names. Their mother, Patchouli is still living the life of luxury, and occasional abseiling with Gil Von Black

Not intended as a cosy read, the characters in this social satire provide an utterly British escape.

Will the nincompoops of Curmudgeon Avenue survive without the street?
The ending is a shocker!

What is the series about?

Curmudgeon Avenue is a social satire comedy drama about a house that doesn’t like its inhabitants.

From Edna, Edith and Harold to Zandra and Gordon Bennett there are plenty of dramas, romances and quarrels.

The characters often come over as preposterous and unlikeable. Yet, they are all entertaining, in their own ways. Plenty of Manchester humour and language in the dialogue.

Readers are saying that the series is like a British sit-com, and one even said it is like a soap opera on speed.

How did I write book five?

Georgina Foote is a supporting character from book one. She had recently split from her husband Kevin, and so had moved home with her mother. But Pauline Foote had grown tired of her daughter, Georgina living with her and arranged for Georgina to rent a room at No.1 Curmudgeon Avenue. One day, she stole the rent and moved out, and we haven’t heard from her since.

IN BOOK FIVE Georgina is back, desperately trying to rekindle her relationship with Kevin. She thinks she is irresistible to men and cannot understand why Kevin is hiding from her… Or who is sending her hate mail.

While Georgina is collecting enemies all across Whitefield, Wantha and Ricky are trying to get married. But in an almost Far From The Madding Crowd style, Wantha turns up at the wrong venue.

SETTING

Curmudgeon Avenue is a fictional street in the actual town of Whitefield, North Manchester. I named the series Curmudgeon Avenue after an incident with a disabled parking space. And I chose Whitefield, because that is the place I always got stuck in traffic on my way home from my old job.

In book 5, Georgina is a psychiatric nurse who works in a community mental health team. Initially, I thought twice about this. But I decided to go with it. As writers, why shouldn’t our characters work in mental health care? It is the same as if Georgina had been a hairdresser. Because of the genre, we don’t get to meet any of the ‘service users’ just the staff, which leads me onto my next point.

I was a psychiatric nurse for twenty years. When I started my training, aged 18, I was told that I would be ‘eaten alive’. This was the early 90s and, even that recently (and unfortunately) attitudes towards mental health patients were terrible.

Obviously, I have created the character Georgina Foote using my own imagination.

You can buy The World Does Not Revolve Around Curmudgeon Avenue HERE

There’s more!

This morning, The World Does Not Revolve Around Curmudgeon Avenue got a 5* rating from Readers’ Favorite (Thank you)


Review
Reviewed by Ankita Shukla for Readers’ Favorite

The World Does Not Revolve Around Curmudgeon Avenue replaces the stars of its previous novels with the Rose sisters (Toonan and Wantha), Georgina Foote, Zandra, and many other side characters (some fresh faces and some familiar ones). Wantha Rose stumbled upon Georgina Foote at Manchester Town Hall, where Wantha was scheduled to marry Ricky Ricketts. When Ricky Ricketts did not show up, the red-faced Wantha made Georgina swear that she would not talk about this day to another soul. However, Georgina Foote broke that promise over Facebook, thus insulting Wantha in her own territory, aka the internet. Georgina Foote, the rent-thief, continued her distasteful deeds, paving her way out of everybody’s hearts — not that she ever was in anybody’s heart — and onto their blacklists. On the paranormal side of the plot, with Edith’s ghostly help, Toonan created her tarot-card reading business. Since Edith was busy reconnecting with the ghost of her first husband behind Harold’s back, her inconsistent availability proved to be the biggest problem for Toonan’s business. The juicy gossips were just the right backdrop for the rib-tickling events.

Curmudgeon Avenue is a series that puts a never-fading smile on the lips of its readers as the nosey, loud, insensitive, and inappropriate nincompoops go about their ridiculous lives. The result is a hilarious novel that leaves its fans waiting for the next gossip of Curmudgeon Avenue. Although the star cast of the previous novels — Edna, Edith, and Harold — were mostly missing in this novel, “longer than reasonably necessary” and illogical conversations match the expectations of Curmudgeon Avenue series’ readers. Samantha Henthorn excels in introducing side characters in one novel and then putting these characters into the spotlight in the next book of the series. Her strategic act of passing the proverbial baton works flawlessly in just a matter of a couple of chapters. Wantha’s almost-wedding day, dishonorable actions by Georgina Foote, Zandra’s embarrassment about their unmentionable housewarming party were the building blocks of a novel that brimmed with excitement.

Samantha Henthorn has proved to be one of those authors who have a firm grasp of the expectations of their readers. Each novel of the Curmudgeon Avenue series is a testament to her awareness, and The World Does Not Revolve Around Curmudgeon Avenue is no exception to this fact. Humor fans will laugh at the illogical train of thoughts of the characters and gladly join in the gossip of Curmudgeon Avenue. I recommend not only this book but each novel of the Curmudgeon Avenue series to readers who enjoy light comedy.

IN OTHER NEWS!

Today is 30 days since book two of the Curmudgeon Avenue series ‘The Harold and Edith Adventures’ was submitted to ACX, so hopefully, it will be published soon for your listening pleasure.

Narrated by Lindsay McKinnon of Theatre of The Mind Productions

Lindsay has done a grand job again with awesome comic timing.

Lindsay is here on the left pictured at our book launch of book one’s audio at Radcliffe Library (pre-covid).

Buy book one’s audio HERE

Thank you for reading, happy Wednesday, Samantha and Petal cat.

No description available.

You say prosecco, I say Prosecco

Samantha Henthorn talks about whether to write ‘Prosecco’ or ‘prosecco’ in her novels.

Hi Everyone,

I want to talk about something that has been on my mind for a while.

PROSECCO!

If anyone follows me on Twitter or Facebook, you may have noticed that I have… noticed that fizzy wine has started giving me heartburn! Talk about #45yearoldproblems I am gutted! Literally.

That is not what this post is about – I just don’t know whether to capitalise or not when I am writing fiction (it crops up often in Curmudgeon Avenue) and I have been doing some serious research about Prosecco during the past few years.

Photo by Sebastian Coman Photography on Pexels.com

Ha! I have even drank it by the sea according to the above photograph (although on closer inspection that is another brand of fizzy wine).

What I have done, when I say research is every time I am reading a book, and the word Prosecco or prosecco pops up, I make a note of it. by pressing some buttons on my Kindle.

Well, the results have come in (from traditionally published books) I have read on my Kindle, and four are spelt prosecco with a lower case p and eleven are spelt Prosecco.

Interestingly, comedy drama/light humour (the genre I write in) capitalised the P for Prosecco. And literary fiction/crime novels do not. (In the non scientific research I carried out).

Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels.com

Let’s do a google search (google is another one! Google/google)

WELL

Lots of things came up

People also ask

Do you capitalize wines?

Rule 3: When a wine is named after a grape, do not capitalize – unless the grape is named after a place and the wine comes from that place. … Cabernet Sauvignon originated in Bordeaux, and if the wine comes from there, capitalize; cabernet is the name of the grape, not a city, and deserves no capital.

There is a village called Prosecco in Italy, but the fizzy wine is produced (inside and) outside the village. In the past, the grape used to make Prosecco was called both prosecco and Glera. (I got this information by doing an internet search, an article came up by Wine Enthusiast which you can read here)

And from the dictionaries:

Prosecco in British English

(prəˈsɛkəʊ )NOUN (also without capital)

sparkling Italian white wine, usually dry

Collins English Dictionary. Copyright © HarperCollins Publishers

Did you see that above? ALSO WITHOUT CAPITAL – so both are right! Phew!

And let’s look at the Chambers Dictionary that I was advised to buy for my Creative writing degree, hold on, it’s upstairs.

No description available.

Phew! Massive dictionary – I am shattered now!

Tiny writing! It just says ‘prosecco n an Italian sparkling white wine.’

No description available.

I asked my friends. Most of them didn’t care, one said that he had been to Italy and they don’t capitalise the word prosecco. Then he said he was just joking and had made this little anecdote up. I could text my friend who is a school teacher but it’s a Tuesday afternoon and who has the time to answer my nonsense?

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

So, there you have it. Some say Prosecco, some say prosecco. And that’s OK! Apologies if I have made you thirsty on a school night.

Cheers, and see you next time, Samantha xx

PS here is my Curmudgeon Avenue Series

Poems From the Vault #2

Hi Everyone,

As promised, I have looked for (and found) poems that I wrote ages ago. Last week was poems from my Creative Writing module, this week one poem that I wrote at the library course I did and one reworking of an old poem that was submitted for my degree.

Eyeliner

The hallway frames the front door of my home.

Guarding me from well-wishers, I need to be alone.

Seasons, styles or Saturdays, there is always eyeliner,

bold black wings from cut price to designer.

I woke the other day, robbed of my right hand

sudden stolen senses, are hard to understand.

War paint frames my face, I’m ready for the world.

Without eyeliner,  I look a different girl.

Blurred vision, a thousand texts becoming unbearable.

In her best posh voice, she tells me I ‘look terrible’

Healing, time and patience all falls into place

I’m faking being well, with eyeliner on my face.

Samantha Henthorn © 2015

photo of venus eyeliner pencil set
Photo by ud835udc15ud835udc1eud835udc27ud835udc2eud835udc2c ud835udc07ud835udc03 ud835udc0cud835udc1aud835udc24ud835udc1e- ud835udc2eud835udc29 & ud835udc0fud835udc1eud835udc2bud835udc1fud835udc2eud835udc26ud835udc1e on Pexels.com

I’m sorry I didn’t come to your funeral.

The long-distance made it impossible.

Your sister’s phone call echoed strangely,

reminding me of you – I almost knew.

I’m sorry I didn’t go to your funeral. 

Happy days and happy memories,

time dissolved the Christmas card list.

Robins, feathers, bereavement tokens,

I wonder if you know the reason;

how sorry I am I didn’t go to your funeral.  

I don’t know why the above has come out in small writing- I copy/pasted it from a word document.

Happy Wednesday everyone! Samantha xx

I wrote these books! https://t.co/aqJFqYlGWl?a

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What we did during lockdown (1)

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Poems From the Vault.

Enough time has passed since the end of my creative writing module so that I can publish some of my degree poems – even though I’m not a poet.

No Through Road

British summertime, always fine in the mid-1980s.

We dragged our feet for miles in the sweltering heat-

a family day out for a Guardian reader.

Not much fun for us, at seven, eight and fifteen.

We halted at a shut gate, obscured by a house.

A dead-end, no through road, my Mum was vexed.

Dad’s rambling book past its sell-by date.

 

A girl sits behind glass like a Pink and Pretty Barbie.

A privileged reflection, same blue eyes, same blond hair,

different opportunities – but at least I was outside.

I smiled and waved at her but she just stared at me,

looking down her nose at my catalogue clothes.

That scene has disappeared now, of

British village life, beauty and dead ends.

A glimpse of the ideal; the grass that’s always greener.

Pink and Pretty Barbie, how did your life turn out?

closed green wooden gate
Photo by Athena on Pexels.com

 

Drama in Pyjamas

 

Remember those insomnia filled nights?

Always something on my mind.

You held me close in cotton, naked

thighs would conspire without you.

My night time leg protectors,

now too old to be any use.

 

Your waistband is frayed and too tight anyway.

Holes in the ankles from when the dog was small.

A bleach-splash stain that sort of blended in.

I hear leopard print is in fashion again.

A favourite since the first time round,

with your never changing spots.

 

Sleeping in pyjamas

became housework in pyjamas,

graduated to gardening in pyjamas.

I almost went shopping

(that’s why I need a new pair).

 

We had some good times,

but now I don’t fit you

and you do not fit me;

tricky to choose something new.

Questioning attachments and familiarity.

Intimate to an unwelcome degree.

Drama in pyjamas please let go of me.

woman feet legs girl
Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

As you may know, I am studying for a BA in Creative Writing. This is taking ages because I am doing it part-time (got to pace myself!)

Here is a photo of me pacing myself (not).

person laying on sand
Photo by Rebeca Gonu00e7alves on Pexels.com

More poetry next week (if I haven’t deleted them)

Happy Wednesday, Samantha xx

I wrote these books! https://t.co/aqJFqYlGWl?amp=1

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