Snow is falling – special offer on A Kettle of Fish

Our tree is up and my shopping is (nearly) done! ¬†So to celebrate, I thought I could help you out with yours – ūüôā

Signed by the author (that's me)
Signed by the author (that’s me)

So, if you order ¬†A Kettle of Fish (and even if it’s a while since it come out, as far as I know, books do not go off or lose their appeal due to the passing of a few calendar months) ¬†from a well-known online retailer and have to pay postage,¬†¬†it will cost you ¬£8.99 + ¬£3 – a painful ¬£11.99*.
But hey, it just so happens I have some right here.
If you ask me to post you a copy, I will charge the you the same  Р£8.99 Рand include the postage. 

Or if you happen to be someone who sees me or can call in, the price is £7.50.

There’s¬†more about the book here and it had lots of nice Amazon reviews.

This tree is bigger than it looks

And yes, it is still available on Kindle Рthis week at a paltry £1.15!
You can also order the paperback from booksellers, I just thought I might save you the trouble of going anywhere or doing anything other than contacting me here or via social media (Facebook or Twitter @AliBacon) to set things in motion.

Offer ends Friday 16th by the way.


Snow courtesy of!


* Of course if you are on an Amazon package or have a bigger order¬†postage won’t¬†apply. I’m just helping out anybody like me who only ever seems to order books one at a time, or who would like a signed copy!



Voices of home

There are certain¬† writers with whom I always feel totally at home, and perhaps it’s not surprising that a number of them are Scottish.¬† One of them is¬† Ian Rankin whom I might never have read if I hadn’t had a flat tyre a few years ago on a Saturday. Up until then, although curious about the new Scottish literary hero, ¬†I thought detectives weren’t especially my thing.¬†But since the discount tyre¬†shop was heaving¬†and it was going to take a while,¬† I walked¬† to the nearest charity shop and bought The Falls. Never has an hour in a grimy garage passed more quickly. Never mind the fantastic evocation of Edinburgh¬† and the totally authentic dialogue, even the narrative prose struck some kind of chord, an echo, I asume, of some rhythm in my own brain. I have since read most of Inspector Rebus, not for the plots but for the sense of being at home.

Iain Banks also has this effect, perhaps not surprisingly since both he and Rankin were brought up a stone’s throw from the town where I grew up.¬† But I’m¬†now rediscovering Moira Forsyth, whose¬†writing for me (although set in the Highlands)¬†¬†has the same ring of truth¬†and of reality. Opening¬†her latest novel¬† on a train journey to Birmingham,¬† I could happily have stayed in my seat all the way to Edinburgh and maybe even Inverness.¬†

Tell Me Where You AreA far cry from either Rankin or Banks in her dissection of ‘ordinary’ family lives, her novels¬†provide me with total satisfaction,¬†and the added bonus of those nuances of style and speeech that resonate¬†with my inner ear.¬†¬†For instance, when the¬†visiting daughter remonstrates with¬†her elderly mother for laying on a full meal,¬†¬†she puts it like this, ¬†‘A bowl of soup would have done me fine,’ a simple response that¬†somehow evokes not just the language with¬†which I grew up but also¬†a whole set of values.

As an exiled Scot I’m not given to sentimentality over my home country¬†but now, as I read, I’m on the look-out for language that I haven’t forgotten , but which has been lying dormant for a while in my semi-anglicised brain. So, next time there’s a frost I shall describe the path as slippy rather than¬†slippery.¬†Soon I might even tell someone that I am¬† swithering, since I very often am, amn’t I?¬† (No, I probably don’t say that any more, but nor will I use the oh-so-English aren’t I !)

More importantly perhaps, I’m¬† planning to reread David’s Sisters and and Waiting for Lindsay. By then my roots should be totally re-established.