46% Better than Dave by Alastair Puddick Blog Tour

Today is my stop on the blog tour, I have content for my spot, please check out the other stops as we all over different content.




Blurb

A novel of jealousy, muddy shoes and giant barbecues.

Dave Brookman’s new next-door neighbour is ruining his life. Because in a bizarre coincidence, he’s also called Dave Brookman, he’s the same age and he even grew up in the same town. There is one big difference, though. This new Dave is vastly more successful in every way.

As Dave starts questioning everything about himself, suddenly his perfect life seems a lot less than perfect. And what starts as friendly rivalry soon turns into obsessive jealousy and crazy behaviour that could see Dave lose it all. Can he get a grip before it’s too late?




Biography

Alastair Puddick is a writer and editor who has spent the past 20 years writing for a variety of magazines and websites. His work has spanned many different paths, from jetting off to exciting cities across the world to writing about dating advice, data centres, facilities management and the exciting world of flooring. He also once wrote an agony advice column posing as Elvis Presley's ghost.

Alastair still works as a copywriter and lives in Sussex with his wife, Laura, and cat, George. He has written three novels: The Unexpected Vacation of George Thring, Killing Dylan and his newest book, 46% Better Than Dave.

Click HERE to buy your copy

Alastair Puddick Guest Blog Post – My Favourite Character to Write

My favourite character

Rude, curmudgeonly, crass and outrageous, Freddie Winters is my favourite character to write.

I love an antihero in fiction. People of questionable character, who live by a more complicated moral code. Those people brave enough to live life their own way, without apology. Not always living by society’s rules, or strictly within the law. But who still have a good heart and can be called upon to save the day – even if somewhat begrudgingly. Characters like Lisbeth Salander (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo), Dexter Morgan (Darkly Dreaming Dexter), Allan Karlsson (The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared) or The Bookseller with No Name (Mystery Man).

When I first had the idea for Killing Dylan, I knew what story I wanted to tell – the central plot, the key crime and the motivation for doing it. I knew what was happening to whom, and why people were doing what they were doing. The very first draft I wrote was actually written from the point of the view of the titular character. But there was something missing. The story needed an extra edge.

I thought about how other crime books worked, with a dedicated detective, armed with years of experience and success, and a burning desire to uncover the truth. Then I thought, why not spin that on its head? Maybe the central protagonist, who had to solve the crime, could be someone with no experience, very little success, no real clue of what they’re doing and who doesn’t really want to be there in the first place. The idea made me smile, and my antihero, Freddie Winters, was born.

The wrong man for the job

Freddie was partly inspired by the TV show Castle, in which a very famous, successful mystery novelist joins up with the NYPD to enthusiastically solve crimes in his spare time (itself a kind of update of Murder She Wrote). However, rather than a successful novelist, Freddie is not very good (although he can’t see that). He just about manages to carve out a living writing books that nobody buys, and organising his own impromptu book signings. He hates that he isn’t more successful, when all of his peers have gone on to do so much better. He can’t pay his rent. He can barely afford to eat. And he hates the world for it.

Freddie is curmudgeonly and rude. He’s bold and outspoken. He can’t understand why people don’t see how brilliant he is. And his bad attitude often gets him into a lot of trouble.

Living life his own way

I always have a lot of fun writing Freddie Winters. He is completely incorrigible. He says things that he shouldn’t (that nobody should), and he doesn’t apologise for it. He does things his own way – even when that way offends or upsets people (or sometimes because of it), or even breaks a few laws. Despite that, his heart is firmly in the right place, and he can (almost) always be called upon to do the right thing – especially if there’s a bit of money in it for him.

I love how brave Freddie is (even though, technically, he’s a bit of a coward). He’s brash and confident. He doesn’t suffer fools and he’s not afraid to tell people what he really thinks. Most of all, he stands up for what he believes in. He stands up for his friends. And when push comes to shove, he’ll put himself in harm’s way to protect those people he loves.

A little bit of me

My wife has often said she thinks Freddie Winters is me, if I were brave enough to really say what’s on my mind. I guess there’s a little truth to that. Although the character is not autobiographical, there definitely is a little bit of me in him. Whenever you create a character, their experiences will always be based upon your own – even if you completely subvert things to create someone completely opposite to yourself. And, okay, I’ll admit some of the things Freddie moans about are the same things that get on my nerves, too.

That’s probably why I enjoy writing Freddie so much. I make him say the most outrageous things, have terrible opinions, act in a completely outlandish way and do really mean-spirited, ghastly things – the sort of things that make me gasp and laugh in equal measure. And hopefully they make other people laugh, too.

Freddie Winters is definitely my favourite character to write. So much so, in fact, that I’ve recently started work on his next adventure. I can’t wait to see what outrageous things he gets up to next, and book two in the Freddie Winters series should hopefully be with you soon. And in the meantime, why not check out my other books at alastairpuddick.com

The Wrong Envelope by Liz Treacher

Welcome to the blog blitz for "The Wrong Envelope" by Liz Treacher, this is a blog blitz for #LoveBooksTours.




Blurb for the book

Summer 1920. Two worlds are about to collide.Evie Brunton loves her job. Twice a day, she spins along the narrow lanes of Devon on her bicycle, delivering letters from a heavy post bag. When the flamboyant London artist, Bernard Cavalier, drops like a meteor into her sleepy village, everything changes. Bernard is supposed to be painting for an important exhibition, but the countryside has its own charms, in particular his young post lady…Light and witty, and full of twists and turns, The Wrong Envelope is a charming romantic comedy. It captures the spirit of another age – when letters could change lives.

Buy Link from Amazon.






About the author

Liz is a writer, a Creative Writing teacher and an Art photographer. She lives in the Highlands of Scotland with a view of the sea. Her love of images influences her writing.

Her debut novel, 'The Wrong Envelope', is a romantic comedy, set in 1920 in Devon, England. It tells the story of Bernard, an impulsive artist and Evie, his beautiful post lady. You can watch the trailer on this page, under 'Videos'. Light and witty, and full of twists and turns, 'The Wrong Envelope' captures the spirit of another age - when letters could change lives.

The sequel, 'The Wrong Direction', follows Evie and Bernard to London, and charts their further adventures in Mayfair's high society. Wild parties, flirtatious models, jealous friends - Bernard and Evie must negotiate many twists and turns if they are to hold on to each other.

You can find Liz on her website and Twitter

For my stop I have a wee extract from the book, enjoy!




This extract is about when the post lady, Evie Brunton invites the artist, Bernard Cavalier for dinner with her parents.

Mr Brunton looked pointedly at his watch. ‘I’m sure he’ll be here any minute—’ Evie began. ‘I hope so dear, or the chicken will be overdone,’ said Mrs Brunton, hurrying out to have another look at it.‘I can’t abide lateness in a young man,’ said Mr Brunton.

The doorbell rang and Evie rushed to get it. Bernard was well turned out in a jacket and tie. But in the pocket of his jacket, an enormous spotted hanky, possibly the one that had earlier acted as a germ barrier, fanned out in an over-exuberant way. It seemed so out of place in their dingy porch that she couldn’t bear to look at it. It also made her dress look shabby somehow. ‘Do come in,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ He was holding a bunch of flowers and they hadn’t travelled well. As he stepped into the house, a few heads fell off and landed on the carpet. She led him into the parlour where her father was waiting. ‘Bernard Cavalier,’ said her father, getting up to greet him. He said cavalier, like the adjective. ‘E – A. Caval E – A, like the French knight,’ Evie said quickly. ‘Mr Burnton,’ Bernard smiled, getting his own back. Mrs Brunton emerged from the kitchen, flushed from the range. Bernard gave a low bow. ‘Enchanté, Madame!’ he said and, taking her hand, kissed it in a very gallant manner. Mrs Brunton giggled. Then he held out the wilting posy. ‘Thank you. Wild flowers are my favourite,’ said Mrs Brunton graciously.

Evie quickly took them from her mother. ‘They look as though they need a drink,’ she said, keen to escape, even for a few moments. She ran into the kitchen, steamy from the vegetables boiling on the stove, opened a window and leaned her forehead against it. This was going to be a nightmare. When she came back through, Bernard was talking loudly, waving a glass of sherry around as he spoke. ‘I didn’t actually see active service,’ he was saying, ‘you see, luckily for me war ended while I was still in training.’ ‘I see,’ said Mr Brunton. ‘It feels awkward sometimes,’ confessed Bernard. ‘What, not getting maimed, gassed or killed?’ asked Mr Brunton helpfully. ‘I suppose I feel as if I didn’t really do my bit.’ ‘Well, I suppose you didn’t. Is dinner ready, dear?’

They moved from the parlour into the dining room. As they made the short silent walk from one room to the other, Bernard spied a piano across the hallway. ‘Do you play?’ he asked Mrs Brunton. ‘A little,’ said Mrs Brunton and she giggled again. The table was set with their best china and cutlery. Evie thought it looked very old-fashioned. Bernard sat opposite her and beside Mrs Brunton. As one, the Bruntons released their napkins from their rings, unfolded them and put them on their laps. Bernard ignored his. Between the grapefruit starter and the roast chicken, it rolled sadly onto the floor. The conversation improved over dinner: Mrs Brunton asked about London and Bernard was full of stories about people he knew and she had heard of. Evie picked at her chicken wing. Despite snubbing his napkin, Bernard had decent table manners. He managed to polish off his chicken, peas and roast potatoes without talking with his mouth full, spitting or elbowing Evie’s mother. This was silently noted by all three Bruntons. After the main course, Evie sprang up, cleared the plates and brought in the jam roly-poly.

The pudding was not one of Mrs Brunton’s best. The sponge had dried up, taking most of the jam with it, and the whole thing tasted rather rubbery. The covering of custard did little to disguise the disappointment of what lay beneath. Bernard gallantly pushed his helping around the plate and Mrs Brunton noticed. ‘I’m sorry about the pudding,’ she mumbled. ‘Mais Madame,’ replied Bernard, reverting to the French of earlier, ‘Votre cuisine est magnifique!’ ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’ Mr Brunton spoke fluent French. ‘I feel a song coming on!’ cried Bernard. As Evie choked on the last of her roly-poly, he jumped up and nimbly hopped over to the piano room opposite, leaving the door open. He settled himself on the piano stool and started to compose a ballad for his hostess.

The grapefruit was divine, the chicken was sublime, So who cares if the dessert is just a little tough? Yes, just a little rough, at least it’s not as dry as a desert. The reluctant audience could hear Bernard loud and clear, but they could only catch glimpses of him smiling at them as he swayed backwards and forwards, coming in and out of view from behind the doorframe, singing his heart out. Mrs Brunton looked confused and embarrassed; an expressionless Mr Brunton took the opportunity to stretch his neck, backwards and forwards, this way and that. Evie thought she might die of excruciation, wished she could, but she would first murder Bernard.

Turner by Jonathan De Montfort

Today is my stop on the blog tour for "Turner" by Jonathan De Montfort, this is a #LoveBooksGroupTour.



About the Book

One Family. Two Brothers. One Big Decision. “We Are the Light Join Us”. Turner is a rich, dark, layered text that slowly draws you in before taking you on a roller-coaster ride of emotions in a story about what it means to be human, pure love and the sacrifices people make to preserve those things. Hero, a young boy joining a new school, discovers he has a unique ability. One he finds that he shares with his mysterious, enigmatic older brother James. Upon this realisation, the brothers’ bond is cemented as they embark on a complex emotional journey together, honing their skills and developing their understanding of what this new found ability can bring for them both. However, upon his eighteenth birthday, Hero learns that with his new ability comes a choice and whenever he makes a decision there are serious consequences. The story contrasts the parallel lives of the brothers as Hero decides to “Join the Light” whilst James takes an entirely different path and disappears . . . Will they ever be reunited?

The book is available in paperback, hardback and ebook, to get from Amazon - click HERE

About the author



Jonathan de Montfort may not have had a conventional route into being an author, but his first novel “Turner” demonstrates his passion and commitment to the craft of writing, having taken four and a half years to write it! He already has ideas for a series of “Turner” novels and is committed to writing a new novel by 2020.

Starting his professional life trading the US500, he went on to work as a hedge fund manager. His experience in this area was the inspiration for a more innovative route into publishing and the birth of De Montfort Literature in 2018. Offering a new alternative route to the traditional agents and publishers, publishing has entered a new era. De Montfort Literature is a division of De Montfort Capital, a successful hedge fund with a passion for literature.

Recognising there is a dearth of good, new novelists, they decided to take what we know about hedge fund management and apply it to literature and the creation of a new generation of best-selling novelists. Turner is the first book to be released from DML, an engaging and challenging novel of love and sibling rivalry that is guaranteed to provoke both interest and outrage.

You can find Jonathan on Twitter

For my stop I have a wee content spot, enjoy.

Hero looked up at the digital clock in the centre of the trading floor: 6:15. The perfect time to stop. Just enough time to get to the gym and change. Sam had left some time earlier, saying he needed to warm up to have any chance at all, but the floor had become eerily quiet. He collected his kit bag and made his way towards the elevators. There was no one in the lobby, either.

Where the hell is everybody?

The sound of the lift doors sliding open reverberated, startling him. His skin bristled at the sight of the empty cabin. What the hell was going on? The lifts were normally bursting at the seams at this time of day. The soles of his shoes echoed on the floor with each step as he stepped into the lift and pressed B. The gears whirred into life, the motor emitting a constant hum as he descended.

He went to shift his kit to the other hand, but it wasn’t there. I could’ve sworn I picked it up. He looked down by his feet. It wasn’t there.

And then he smiled forlornly at what he saw instead. Of course. His suit had turned white. In his hand was a razor-sharp sword. They always come for you when you’re alone. His stomach imploded as the whirring gears were replaced by a low-pitched murmur of a thousand voices.

Brace yourself, bruv.

The walls of the lift seemed to be mirrors facing each other, disappearing backwards into an infinite fractal darkness. His heart accelerated as the darkness enveloped him, dragging him through the back wall of the lift.

Runaway by Claire MacLeary Blog Tour

Today is my stop on the blog tour for Runaway by Claire MacLeary, I am closing the tour, if you missed the previous stops please check them out as we all offer different content, this is a #LoveBooksGroup tour.





Blurb

The third book in the awards-listed Harcus & Laird series

When Aberdeen housewife Debbie Milne abruptly vanishes without trace, leaving behind her two young children, husband Scott is too distraught to sit out the police's 72-hour window and await developments. He turns to local detective agency Harcus & Laird.

Put off by previous "domestic" cases, Maggie Laird isn't keen, but is cajoled by partner Wilma Harcus into a covert operation. Together they comb through meagre scraps of information, eventually trawling the city's women's refuges and homeless squats, in spite of the deadly danger.

Then a woman's body is discovered in a Dundee builder's skip. With the clock ticking and the police struggling to make identification, the race is on. Claire MacLeary fashions a surprising, gritty, fast-paced tale with the warmth and wisdom of ‘women of a certain age'.

Buy Link

https://amzn.to/2MToBoq

Twitter Handles

@SarabandBooks
@ClaireMacLeary
@LoveBooksGroup
#LoveBooksGroupTours

For my stop I have the back story from the author, check it out and enjoy.

HARCUS & LAIRD - THE BACK STORY

When first I set out to write a crime novel, researching what was out there seemed the obvious place to start. Having read a wide range of British, Scandinavian, French and Italian thrillers, it appeared the protagonists fell into two main categories: hardened detectives and highly skilled forensic scientists. Tartan Noir, in the main, was populated by policemen with drink and/or relationship problems. Hugely successful though many of these books are, I determined my best hope of being published was to write something completely different.

What if I were to write a crime novel in which nobody was qualified in anything? The idea seeded in my head. As it began to grow, I combed my memory for a lead character. A woman, for sure, since women are underrepresented as protagonists. Where does this woman live, I asked myself? Not in the Central Belt, where many Scottish crime novels are set. Not in my (then) home town of St Andrews, which maintains a limited police presence. I settled for Aberdeen, where I'd lived for some years and which offers a wide range of sources on which to draw: a rich history, an ancient university, the North Sea, fishing, farming, oil.

What does she do for a living, this non-professional woman? Most likely work in a low-paid job and/or be stuck at home with her kids. So how does she become involved in crime? Since she has little knowledge of police procedure, far less forensics, she'll have to – somehow – become a private investigator. On her own? Unlikely? Perhaps she has a friend. Or a neighbour? And so came into being Maggie and Wilma, two ordinary women 'of a certain age', living in modest semi-detached bungalows in an Aberdeen suburb. They're women every reader can identify with.

Neither young nor especially pretty – Wilma's weight yo-yos, Maggie has a wall eye that knocks her confidence – they juggle part-time jobs with doing the household shop and stirring the mince. Menial tasks. But like many other women in the same situation, they have a deep well of inner resource they can draw on when needed: life skills, resilience, common sense. Thus armed, my unlikely PIs, Maggie and Wilma, set out to challenge authority and combat injustice. Two ordinary women doing extraordinary things.

There is even a happy ending. Sara Hunt, Saraband publisher extraordinaire, 'got' Maggie and Wilma at once. As did readers, longlisting Cross Purpose for the McIlvanney Prize for Best Scottish Crime Book 2017

Ghosts by Nick Conroy Blog tour

Today is the final stop and closing the blog tour for Ghosts by Nick Conroy, a tour organised by Kelly at #LoveBooksGroupTours




I was also on the Bookstagram tour for this book also and got some night shots, check them out HERE.





Blurb:
Every poem in GHOSTS touches on the theme in some way, whether it be overtly as in the title poem, or more succinctly, as in Dragonfly – in which the poet explores ephemeral elements of his perception of his mother. Nick Conroy’s words touch the heart of his subject matter, and the reader’s emotions at the same time. Nick is currently studying for a Master’s in English at the University of Hull. Poetry has always been at the centre of his passion as a writer, and since childhood he’s enjoyed spoken word. He moved to Hull in 2014, with an understanding that the city is still revered for its poets. He senses something haunting and intoxicating about Hull, and the community of writing that it holds in high regard. Hull, in its turn, is beginning to hold Nick himself in high regard and he is fast becoming wellknown as one of the region’s bright young Spoken Word talents.

You can buy the book in paperback or kindle format from Amazon HERE.




About the Author:
Nick Conroy is a student at the University of Hull. He studied Philosophy with Creative Writing and is now starting a Master's degree in English, with a focus on Creative Writing.
Nick, who is originally from Kent, has been a Hull resident for around five years. "It's here in Hull that my poetry has moved on leaps-and-bounds, and I continue to shape my style, and my voice, with influences I've been introduced to in this City."
Nick loves performance poetry and has also been involved with the Contains Strong Language festival for the last two years, performing pieces for BBC Humberside.

You can find Nick on Twitter

@Nick_Conroy

You can read more about Nick on Wild Pressed website HERE.

Publisher on Twitter:

@Wildpressed

For my stop on the tour I have my review, enjoy.


Ghosts by Nick Conroy
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Time taken to read - In and out over 3 days

Pages - 48

Publisher - Wild Pressed Books

Source - Review copy

Blurb from Goodreads

Every poem in GHOSTS touches on the theme in some way, whether it be overtly as in the title poem, or more succinctly, as in Dragonfly - in which the poet explores ephemeral elements of his perception of his mother.

Nick Conroy's words touch the heart of his subject matter, and the reader's emotions at the same time, involving family, identity - and potential or actual loss.

This is a strong, cohesive collection of poems, containing a hard grit which meets a fluid, powerful movement of language to create waves of recognition and understanding. The topics and themes are covered honestly, and with refreshing vulnerability in the language used. In each poem there is something of a journey - involving lostness, a seeking and in the end an acceptance of the events described.

Nick Conroy's paged poetry is like the written musical score of his live performance, which has to be seen to be fully appreciated.

Nick is currently studying for a Master's in English at the University of Hull. Poetry has always been at the centre of his passion as a writer, and since childhood he's enjoyed spoken word.

He moved to Hull in 2014, with an understanding that the city is still revered for its poets. He senses something haunting and intoxicating about Hull, and the community of writing that it holds in high regard.


My Review

Nineteen powerful poems packed into this tiny wee book. Each have ghost themed or mentioned in some description. Some poems are really short at just over half a page, others have verses spread across a few pages.

Poetry is something I used to love as a child/teen and fell away from as an adult, I agreed to this book because of the overall theme. The cover also had a wee pull for me which was why I wanted to bookstagram it, it looked great in so many settings.

I think, for me, I got the most from this by dipping in and out and soaking up one poem at a time with a break in between in. For each reader I think some of the poems will be quite deep and intense depending on how you take them. For example "Grappling with Ghosts" has likely came from the authors own person experience or situation or something that sparked that creation. Yet for me it evoked a memory from my past and made me ponder on a particular relationship I hadn't thought of in a long long time.

I think that is the thing with poetry, it can be very personal, for the author producing it and for the reader consuming it. Some of the poems left no deep impression other that to smile that a young man has created something like these and others caught me off guard by evoking either an emotive response and or memories. I wasn't expecting anything like that when I picked this up, maybe it is time I went back to reading poetry again. A very different type of read for me but I did enjoy it as a break from the norm and a different kind of escapism. If you enjoy poetry or even if you don't normally read it I would say check it out and would love to hear your thoughts, 3/5 for me this time. This is my first time reading this authors works I would be interested in seeing what else he has to offer.

View all my reviews

The Silvermoon Storybook by Elaine Gunn

Today is my stop on the blog tour for The Silvermoon by Elaine Gunn, this is a #LoveBooksGroupTours.




About the author




Elaine Gunn has been writing more or less constantly since she first picked up a pencil in primary school. Years of unpublished literary genius languish in handwritten journals, high school English portfolios, corporate banking reports and various awful pitch documents full of impeccably-written digital marketing jargon. Her first published work, The Silver Moon Storybook, is a collection of feminist fairy tales, written as an antidote to the passive princess culture that she became horribly aware of when her children started watching telly. Elaine is also a reiki practitioner and Dr. Hauschka esthetician; you can check out her website at http://somethinglovely.scot.

Twitter

About the book

What darkness lies in the past of a little witch, cursed into the shape of a giant? Who will save a magical unicorn, imprisoned for generations in the castle of a tyrant? As the silver moon rises in the sky, an enormous clown and a powerful siren join a humble weaver and other enchanting characters in these haunting tales of illusion, discovery and love. An exquisitely illustrated bedtime story for the age of #MeToo, The Silver Moon Storybook transforms themes of modern feminism into touching fables full of the magic and shadows of traditional fairy tales.

Buy link HERE

For my stop I have my review.

The Silver Moon Storybook by Elaine Gunn
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Time taken to read - < 1 day

Pages - 221

Publisher - Indy

Source - Review copy

Blurb from Goodreads

The Silver Moon Storybook is Elaine's first published work, a collection of modern fairy tales that weaves contemporary, progressive values and messages into seven magical stories.


What darkness lies in the past of a little witch, cursed into the shape of a giant?



As the silver moon rises, who will save a magical unicorn, imprisoned in the castle of a tyrant, or befriend an enormous clown who roams the world alone? Can a humble weaver find the courage to face a terrible monster? And what will be the fate of a powerful mermaid, at war with the world above her ocean? Join them and other enchanting characters in these haunting tales of illusion, discovery and love.



An exquisitely illustrated bedtime story for young readers (and perhaps some not so young), The Silver Moon Storybook weaves progressive and modern themes into touching fables full of the magic and shadows of traditional fairy tales.


My Review

A collection of short stories, seven in total. The Little Witch, The Weaver, The Enormous Clown, The Changeling, The unicorn, The Strong Man and The Sea Queen. I am not going to break down each story as the risk of spoilers would be too high. However each offers something that can be enjoyed by young adults and adults alike.

Protection, self preservation, friendship, love, bravery, morality, greed, selfishness, corruption, strength and life lessons wrapped in magical tales without preachy overtones. The stories reminded me of old school fairy tales with a more modern fresh feel but still encapsulating the magic we grew up with.

The writing itself wraps around you and pulls you into the pages, enveloping you in the magic and vesting in the characters. I think this is testament to the authors writing abilities as I am not a huge fan of short stories because I generally find you are just getting into it and the story ends. With these I slipped into the stories with ease and didn't feel short changed or left hanging which sadly I get when reading short stories which is why I normally avoid them.

Some of the stories have a wee bit of cross over which is a cute we touch, Master King does this with his books which are lengthy. A bit harder to do with short stories but Gunn managed it. I would love to hear more about these characters and see a book two of tales, this book is going to be a keeper for me. The cover is beautiful, a deep blue with silver which pops the design and writing, it looks good in the photo, far more beautiful in your hands. Then there are the illustrations!



Throughout the book there are illustrations that you can colour in or if like me you don't want to mark your pristine copy, the author has added some to her website you can download/print to colour in. They go with the stories and every second page has at least one. A fantastic wee book and many thanks to Kelly of LoveBooksGroup for bringing it to my attention. You can check out the authors website and see the downloadable colouring illustrations at http://somethinglovely.scot. oh and the last few pages of the book, well the version I have, is lined paper for my notes which is a nice wee add on, 4.5/5 for me this time.

View all my reviews

Urbane Extravaganza The House on Downshire Hill by Guy Fraser-Sampson Blog Tour

Today I am on the Urbane Publications Extravaganza - invited by the lovely Kelly over at #LOVEBOOKSGROUPTOURS - please check her out guys, click here. My featured book is The House on Downshire Hill by Guy Fraser-Sampson





Blurb for the book:

'An enticing blend of elegance and darkness ... of which the finest Golden Age writers would have been proud.' - Nicola Upson, bestselling author of the Josephine Tey series

When a wealthy recluse is reported missing from his home, a shocking discovery sparks a homicide investigation which begins to lead the team from Hampstead CID in some very unexpected directions.

What has happened to the man's family? Who is the mysterious character with whom he appears to have been sharing his house? Do transgressions from the past have a bearing on crimes of the present day?

In this, the fifth volume of the Hampstead Murders, we see a murder enquiry once more playing out against a shifting background of police politics and personal tribulations. Again, the beautiful London village of Hampstead with its Georgian terraces and stuccoed villas provides an unlikely setting for events which show only too clearly the dark and ugly side of human nature.

You can buy it on kindle or treebook format, click here






ABOUT GUY FRASER-SAMPSON

Guy Fraser-Sampson is an established writer, previously best known for his ‘Mapp and Lucia’ novels, which have been featured on BBC Radio 4 and optioned by BBC television. His first three books of detective fiction, Death in Profile, Miss Christie Regrets and A Whiff of Cyanide, have drawn high praise from fellow crime writers as well as from readers on both sides of the Atlantic. Book 4, A Death in the Night, was published in November 2017 by Urbane Publications.

The House on Downshire Hill publishes at the end of 2018

Urbane Twitter @UrbaneBooks

Lovebooksgroup Twitter @LoveBooksGroup

Guy Fraser Sampson Twitter @GuyFSAuthor

I have a wee extract for you - chapter 1, enjoy!


Detective Inspector Bob Metcalfe had various reasons to be cheerful as he made his way from Frognal towards Hampstead police station. First, as he took the small footpath beside the former residence of Gracie Fields which led past the graveyard and up into Church Row the sun, which had been attempting to break through some rather hazy clouds, finally did so. After the grey, damp weather of the previous few days this marked a welcome change.

Second, he and the rest of the team had recently received favourable comments from the powers that be at Scotland Yard for successfully concluding an investigation into a suspicious death at an exclusive club for female university graduates. This meant a few days of quiet as they waited for assignment to a new enquiry, and having a respite from the long hours and intense efforts which normally attended a homicide investigation was always agreeable. Last, and by no means least, he had recently become engaged to be married, a development which even a few months ago would have seemed extremely unlikely given the highs and lows (mostly lows, to be honest) of his personal life.

He crossed Fitzjohns Avenue, one of the two main roads which meet at the top of the hill by Hampstead tube station, and cut down Perrin's Court which brought him swiftly to the second, Rosslyn Hill. From here it was a right turn and a walk down the hill to the police station, passing the King William IV pub, commonly known as 'the Willy', where he and his colleagues had been known to take a modest drink or two after work. He stayed on this side of the road as he progressed down the hill, since it kept him away from the window shoppers and aggressive pram wielders who tended to clog the other pavement. He crossed the road at the zebra crossing and completed his brief but agreeable walk to work.

The desk Sergeant said "good morning, sir."

Since he would normally have used the informal 'guv' Metcalfe looked at him sharply, for they had been uniformed constables together, and it was always difficult to know whether someone was 'extracting the Michael' as DCI Tom Allen would have said. He wondered if this newfound formality was for the benefit of a trainee constable who had started work a few days previously, but a subtle jerk of the sergeant's head indicated the presence of Detective Superintendent Collison, who was leafing through some papers away in the corner of the room in a rather desultory fashion. As he dropped them back into the tray he caught sight of Metcalfe.

"Morning, Bob."

"Good morning, guv. Anything happening?" "No, not really."

"Excuse me, sir," the desk Sergeant said diffidently, "but there is that missing person's report."

"Yes, I was just looking at that. Is there anything to it, do you think? It all seems a bit tenuous."

"I saw the lady when she came in, sir. I'd say she was genuinely upset. Shall I ask someone from uniform to call on her? It's only just round the corner after all."

"No," Collison said after deliberating for a moment. "On reflection I think you're right. Let's do the job properly and send somebody from CID. Who's free, Bob?"

"Just about everybody at the moment, guv. What about Priya?"

"Okay then. Have that sent up to DC Desai, will you please, Sergeant?"

"So how are the wedding plans coming along then?" Collison asked as they walked up the stairs together.

"Oh, quietly you know. We haven't even set a date yet. It's all been a bit sudden to be honest. I'm still trying to get used to the idea."

"No second thoughts I hope?"

"Absolutely not, no."

"Good. Lisa seems like a really nice girl."

They walked past the door to the operations room, currently eerily empty since the conclusion of their most recent case.

"Now, let's see, where is Priya? I think she's sharing an office with Timothy isn't she?"

He knocked briefly at the next door they came to and poked his head into the room. Timothy Evans was eating a large pastry, much of which he seemed to have spread across his desk. Priya Desai was watching him and trying to look disapproving. Priya never had to try very hard to look disapproving.

"Priya, do you have much on at the moment?"

"No, sir, just getting rid of the last of the filing actually."

"Good. I was just taking a look at some papers downstairs and I came across a missing person's report which was filed yesterday. Because it doesn't deal with a child it wasn't treated as a matter of urgency. There's also some doubt about whether it actually discloses anything sinister. Apparently some lady hasn't been able to contact one of her neighbours for a while. Do you think you might be able to pop round and have a word with her? It's only just round the corner in Downshire Hill."

"Yes of course, guv. It'll be nice to get out of the station."

As she said this she cast a pointed glance at the snowfield of sugar and crumbs on her colleague's desk.

"Good. I've asked the desk Sergeant to send up the report. Ah, here it is I believe. That was quick. Thank you, Constable." He stood aside to let the trainee constable hand an internal brown envelope to Desai.

"Report back to DI Metcalfe, will you? Depending on how you see things, we'll decide whether to take things further or not."

Where a missing person's report concerned neither a child nor a vulnerable adult the police had a wide measure of discretion as to how seriously or urgently to press their enquiries. Where the concern expressed amounted to little more than an elderly neighbour not answering the door, usually a visit from uniform was enough. There was hardly a serving officer in the Metropolitan police who had not, as a young constable, forced entry to a house to discover the natural death of its occupant. DCI Tom Allen, who delighted in regaling younger officers with the gory details of his early career, had a fund of such stories, including his pièce de résistance which concerned an elderly man who had died over a year previously and whose body had been largely mummified by the cool breeze from an open window.

Metcalfe ducked into his own office while Collison continued along the corridor. He was feeling at least as much at a loose end as the rest of the team, but was trying very hard not to show it. An old university friend who now worked at an investment bank had described to him over dinner the unnatural calm which descended on a corporate finance department once a deal completed. He had explained how everyone took the opportunity to schedule anything from a weekend away to a dental appointment as quickly as possible, since they all knew it was only a matter of time before the next merger or equity issue arrived on their desks from one of the rainmakers on the directors' floor upstairs. He had reflected at the time that this sounded pretty similar to what CID went through when a homicide investigation closed down. He couldn't quite decide whether it felt like the beginning of term, or the end.

One of the doors he passed was open, and he saw Detective Sergeant Karen Willis putting a file into her out tray. Presumably she, like Desai, was just tying up the few loose ends which remained in documenting the Athena Club case. She looked up at him and smiled, tossing her dark hair back as she did so.

"Good morning, guv."

"Good morning, Karen. How are you? And how's Peter?" "We're both fine, thank you."

Karen's boyfriend was Dr Peter Collins, who had for some time been an official psychological adviser to the Met, and whose skills Collison had used extensively since he had first come to Hampstead as a Detective Superintendent.

"That's good," he replied and then wondered what to say next.

"It feels strange, doesn't it?" she asked. "I suppose it always does, but I went on leave the last couple of times so it didn't really hit me the way it has now. I don't think I'll ever get used to being completely committed to a big case one day, and it suddenly all being declared over the next. It's a sort of flat feeling, isn't it? I suppose it might have something to do with stress, and adrenaline, and all that sort of thing."

"Yes, I suppose so. Still, if history's anything to go by we won't have long to wait for something else to crop up, so I should make the most of it if I were you."

"Good, then I shall."

"Actually, while I'm here, there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

He came in and closed the door behind him.

"This is all very speculative, but every time I see the ACC he seems to have some new idea about my future. As you know, all I really want to do is to stay here and get on with solving crimes, but he seems to see things rather differently." "That's hardly surprising is it, guv? You've been marked out as a high-flyer, everyone knows that. They're grooming you for a top job, perhaps the top job. They'll want you to be sitting on committees, briefing civil servants, that sort of thing."

"You're right of course, but I wish you weren't. It's all very flattering being apparently held in high regard by the ACC but I'd much rather just take my chances like everyone else."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, other officers are going to see me being promoted ahead of them and they're likely to resent it, aren't they? It's only human nature."

"I would have thought you'd be used to that by now, guv. Wasn't that an issue when you first came here to Hampstead?"

"You know it was. And it put me under a lot of extra pressure, I don't mind admitting. If we hadn't been able to crack that first case it would have been extremely embarrassing – not just for me, but for the ACC as well."

"Well, you did crack it. So what's the problem?" Collison gave a wry smile.

"Why is it you sound like my wife so often?" "How is Caroline? And the baby?"

"They're both very well thank you, but listen: this is what I wanted to talk to about."

He sat down, glanced out of the window to marshal his thoughts, and then went on.

"I said that the ACC seems to have lots of different ideas about my future career. Well, that's true, but there's one that he keeps coming back to and it involves quite a senior post with Special Branch."

"Well, that wouldn't be as bad as sitting on a committee now, would it? And the branch is a traditional route to the very top, as I understand it. Didn't the present Commissioner used to be Commander there?"

"Yes he did, as everyone keeps reminding me. But here's the thing. As a sweetener, he's suggested once or twice that I might be able to take either you or Bob with me. How would you feel about that? It would mean a promotion, I assume."

"I'm very flattered, guv, but why are you asking me? Bob is a much more experienced officer."

Collison shifted awkwardly on the chair.

"Bob's got a natural leg up coming here as a DCI on homicide. He's overdue for it in my view, as I've told the ACC repeatedly. That's not true of you. If you wanted it, I think this could be a great opportunity for you. Like I say, I think if I press them they might make you a DI immediately."

"Have you had this conversation with Bob?" she asked quietly.

"No, I haven't. To be perfectly honest I think you would be my number one choice. That's why I wanted to hear your reaction first. Bob's a great copper and he knows his way around a homicide enquiry with his eyes shut, but the branch is different. It needs a flexible, imaginative approach, and I don't think that would be playing to his strengths. Also, he's a really nice bloke and that might not be a good fit with what goes on at the branch."

"What does go on?"

"Well I can't be sure, but don't forget I got quite involved with them over that business at Burgh House. So I know some of the things that went on, and I can guess at others. Let's just say that once you move into the security world you need a rather different perspective on things. You need to be able to do things because you're comfortable that they're in the national interest without worrying too much about the ethics of it all."

"And you think that I could do that? I'm not sure whether to be flattered or not."

"I'm sorry, I don't think I'm putting this very well am I?"

"No, I see exactly where you're coming from, guv, and I think you're right to be concerned. I'm not sure how I'd handle that, to be honest. If this ever becomes a serious enquiry then I'd need some time to think about it." Collison gave a little laugh.

"That's exactly what I've been telling the ACC for the last six months or so."