About the Author​

My husband Gunther

Sometimes you make a little mistake in life and you are sentenced to eternity (or until his life insurance policy gets into effect) with a man who turned from an ex-professional fitness trainer into a professional eater of Prongles and lifter of Aldi Strong beer cans. But then, how was I to know that the bags of white powder on the many yachts of my previous boyfriend were “drugs?” Like any sane person, I assumed that it was simply flour – when a gaggle of friends descends upon your yacht, it is always good to have lots of flour at hand to prepare pancakes. But what descended was not friends, and suddenly I found myself being rescued by Gunther as I held on to the suitcase containing between one and three million dollars (I didn’t have time to count, I barely had time to grab the random suitcase after I went through most of the others, so I would grab the right random one). So, as he held my hand that didn’t contain the suitcase and asked for my hand in marriage, it felt both awkward to refuse – manners cost nothing, as Sister Bernadette (who is dead and so I don’t need to write about her) would say – and also my other hand was occupied with the suitcase, as we were popping over to Switzerland which is where the Swiss bankers ask no questions as you toss a suitcase containing between one and three million dollars at them.

Anyway, as you can see, there isn’t much to say about the actual Gunther, except that he looks like Doc the Bounties Hunter, except for that unfortunate face, the tan, and having a job.

My designer Paolo

Oh, what would I ever do without my beloved designer Paolo who has designed my book covers and also this website, and made photographs of me (it’s not me) in the AI so that I could maintain my life in cognito? He told me AI is not perfect when I pointed out that I looked very old on the first photograph, to which he said I look exactly the age I am, to which I said that I am a very young soul, so he made the other photograph where I look like I received some buttox (but not as much as a Kurdashian, I have self-respect) but have long grey hair (which I do not).

Importantly, though, Paolo is a very nice gay homosexual, but since we all have our vices, he doesn’t drink. Which gets awkward when you are invited for dinner and you bring wine… 

Paolo’s boyfriend, Andreas

…and it turns out that it’s not vegan. (Did you know wine wasn’t vegan?) Andreas, apart from being vegan, is a nice person. He is a “yoga” instructor (“yoga” is what rich people do to torture themselves before they move further up the masochism ladder and drink a “kale smoothie” which Andreas assures me is a perfect replacement for wine, to which I said one shouldn’t drink wine after a “yoga,” and this confused him enough to give me time to escape.

Andreas has this thing where he is Swedish. How do I explain that? If you were walking down the street and there was a band ABBBA (famous for their movies The Abatar and The Abatar 2) and Andreas walking together, you would notice ABBBA first. Even if they were not actually on the street, but on a poster someone hung in their bedroom on the second floor. And closed the curtains. Come to think of it, I am jealous, because there is no better way to live in cognito than to be Swedish.

My neighbour Vasoline and the Dishwasher Man

Vasoline is posh. One time, when we barely knew each other since I have only just moved in, she said my trees were “shedding” on her lawn. I did not quite know how to explain how leaves and autumn work, so I sort of apologised, and then I saw her very ostentatiously sweeping her lawn. A while later I saw her mopping her lawn, too, by which time Gunther has made the discovery that the lawn is made of plastic. Vasoline does not approve of gay homosexuals, people who are not white, people who were not born in England, people who did not vote for Brexit, people who do not have plastic lawns, and this is not a complete list, but Gunther and I are on it for one or other reason.

The Dishwasher Man who installs dishwashers for living, as his name suggests, is rather on the quiet side, which is understandable, as probably every time he says something Vasoline finds a way to disapprove of it. My personal theory, not that I am judgemental, in fact you will never meet a person less judgemental than me, is that he is with her for her jacuzzi, Fort Siesta (her car – I prefer not to use brand names, because I don’t want to get sued, and Fort would definitely sue if they found out Vasoline has one and I speak about it publicly), and blinds that close by themselves when you press a button. (As in, when Vasoline presses a button.)

My friends Ethel and Myrna (and Myrna’s husband Harry with male pattern balding)

Since my move to this town, I have made a few friends. Ethel is rather old, to be honest, nearly thirty, yet without a partner, which – although I am not the sort of person to make assumptions – makes me make certain assumptions. Nevertheless, since Ethel and Myrna are best friends as well, and Myrna’s husband Harry not only has male pattern balding but also an obsession with the band Simple Red (known by their 1980s hit “If You Know Me by Now” which you definitely know by now, unless you are one of those young people who listen to whatever it is young people listen to these days), and I have my husband Gunther, there is a chance that Ethel simply learns from others’ mistakes.

Myrna is a woman easily scorned, especially when her husband turns out to be having an affair with his secretary, at which I must admit I laughed, because men with male pattern balding don’t have affairs, and then I found out who the secretary was, and then Myrna found out that what she told me in secret I told Ethel in secret except Ethel tattled at me for sharing Myrna’s secret because Myrna told her in secret so she knew it was a secret. She makes killer (this is a metaphor) cupcakes. Andreas is scared of her, because if there is one thing that Myrna isn’t, it’s vegan, and if there is one thing Ethel isn’t it’s someone who doesn’t drink, so Paolo also stays away from her.

José and Ray

When we moved here, the ex-owner of our house, Petronela, told us which people to avoid, and this was when we found out we just bought a house from a Tory, so we had it fumigated, Gunther cleaned all the windows not to see the world through a Tory’s view, and I scrubbed the ceiling. But Petronela is long gone (from the house) and she especially told us to avoid José and Ray. José is a cashier at Aldi. He doesn’t really speak much, because he is busy working on his second dissertation, which is like a novel, but with science in it. (Vasoline does not approve of José’s colour. Petronela told us that we will be best friends with Vasoline in no time. If only we had known before buying the house. But then, I have Paolo and Andreas and Ethel and Myrna, so not all is bad.)

I don’t know much about Ray, except that he likes wearing leather clothes. Lots of leather clothes. He has leather shorts which he wears in the summer and now I made myself accidentally wonder what his underwear is made of, and I think I will stop now.

Petunia, Jacquobbe, and Jo’Anne

Petunia is my half-sister. As you don’t know yet, because I forgot to mention, I was born at an orphanage, where my mother, who was a newly converted nun, died at childbirth where the child was I. Petunia has never stopped pointing out that this (my birth) made her a half-orphan. Her father, whom I do my best not to meet, because he looks like someone who works either for the police or the Colombian Maffia, is apparently not enough parents to have, and when I made a mistake of pointing out that I am a complete 100% orphan, I had to listen about how my mother was a slag and this was hardly Petunia’s fault. (Petunia votes “independent,” and if there is no “independent” on the card she writes it with a pen.)

Jacquobbe and Jo’Anne are Petunia’s children. I had been under the impression that they were called Jacob and Joanne, until I made a mistake of sending a written invite to the house christening but in atheistic way, and then Petunia called me not just to ask why I never call her and tell me that she is a half-orphan whose half-sister never calls her (why could that be?) but also that I am a rude person who does not bother to learn the names of her nephew and niece. In fact, I am certain that Jacquobbe called himself Jake until not long ago, but as Petunia told me Jacquobbe identifies as Jacquobbe now and who am I to judge others’ identities when I hide mine even from you, dear readers?

Lassie

Oh, my beloved Lassie, I had to leave you for last, so we could get rid of all those unpleasant people (they are unpleasant because they are people, which technically isn’t their fault, but wouldn’t the world be a better place if only Lassies were living in it? Although then I wouldn’t sell many books.) Lassie is my dog named Lassie after Lassie from the movie Lassie, but I have hidden motives, because during my research of Scotland Gareth called me his “wee lassie” and Gareth, I suspect you have lost my number, but if you are reading this, please send me a message through my contact form and I will immediately get back to you.

Love is the most beautiful thing in the world, as you know from reading my romantic novels, and I have loved and been loved, and I am now again, by my beloved Lassie. If I did not live in cognito I would paste here a picture of Lassie, but you can see what she looks like by giggling “Lassie” and then you will have a picture, except my Lassie is so much more gorgeous and also real. Oh, my Lassie. I love you so much. I wish I could write a novel about you and one day I will.