November 2001

Dear Visitor,

This reminds me of when I was a little girl, having to write thank-you letters to aunts and uncles after Christmas. I'm told that I would sit, pen poised over the writing paper, look up anxiously and say 'What'll I put?'

It is a thank-you letter, after all. A thank-you to everyone who has read my books, and to anyone who has taken the trouble to visit this site for whatever reason. And I still don't know what to put, because unlike the recipients of Oscars, I can never really think of anything to say beyond just that. Thank you.

And I've called it a newsletter, but to be honest, my daily round - or even my monthly round, because I intend this to be a monthly missive - falls a little short of newsworthy, so that's a bit of a problem too. So can we establish one thing at the outset? There will be precious little news in my newsletters.

There won't be lyrical descriptions of the seasons either, but weather might get a mention. There has just been a sudden, heavy, and very short downpour, during which a sopping wet and faintly aggrieved cat was admitted. But he likes being mopped up with a tissue, so every cloudburst has a silver lining, and now he's curled up on his beanbag, sound asleep.

	Frankie as a kitten, doing his impersonation of a bat

His name is Frankie, and he usually wears a tag to that effect, but he lost it the other day and his new one was no sooner on than his entire collar came off, so at the moment, he is travelling incognito. He looks a lot like Reg Trade-Mark, my cat logo, but Reg was created way back in the sixties, twenty-odd years before Frankie was born. My niece insists she has a photograph of Frankie posing like Reg - if she ever remembers to bring it to me, I'll let you see it. A friend of mine made me a pottery Reg and sent him to me all the way from Australia - I might take a photograph of that, too.

That sort of thing. Random musings, disjointed ramblings - that's all you can look forward to, really. The odd joke that appeals to me, and that someone on the planet might not already know, like the one about the dyslexic devil-worshipper who sold his soul to Santa.

It was a joke, indeed, that provided me with the plot for Redemption (called Murder at the Old Vicarage in the United States, where, I was reliably informed, the word 'vicarage' generates sales. Why I didn't work 'vicarage' into every title from then on, I don't know). I won't tell you that one, but you'll find it in the book.

	Frankie posing. He grew into his ears, as you can see.

I might even give you the odd bit of doggerel and a parody or two - I used to write a lot of that sort of stuff before I started writing novels. That was when Reg was born, because I signed them with him. For some reason, my poetic output fell away once writing was something I did for a living, but who knows - I might take it up again, so be warned.

In the meantime, here's one of my personal favourites from the archives, dedicated to a seriously untalented TV celebrity, and slightly doctored for the purposes of publishing it on the Web. Let's face it, with nothing to indicate who I'm talking about, and thirty years' worth of duff TV shows to choose from, it could end up like 'You're so Vain' with dozens of contenders vying for the honour of being its subject!

I've no business in show business,
It's no business for me
Everything about me is appalling,
Ever since they put me on TV
I know why the viewing figure's falling,
I'm not enthralling, like I should be.

I've no business in show business
No track-record or form
Despite that, I believed that I had found her
The girl to take the music world by storm
And so what if the music all but drowned her?
She stood her ground, her
Applause was warm

I know people, like show people,
That's how I got this show
Yesterday you told me I would not go far
But here I am, so, mister, there you are,
Though my show is lousy, I am still its star
Who says I'm not a pro?

The butcher, the baker, the grocer, the clerk
Are secretly unhappy men because
The butcher, the baker, the grocer, the clerk
Are stuck with me despite my many flaws
They'd gladly bid my dreary show goodbye
For the Tory party conference, and why?

Because…I've no business in show business
But though business is slow,
And though I know that I can neither dance nor sing
Can't hoof like Kelly or croon like Bing
I get paid a fortune just to do my thing
Let's go on with the show…let's go on with the show!

What else? Oh, I don't know. Anything. Everything. Whatever I can think of to put. Whatever might entertain you, or at least might not bore you. Anything, as Mr Berlin actually said, the traffic will allow.

It's started raining again.

Love,
Jill