This spring I’ve done something I really wondered if it would ever happen. I finished the first book I ever wrote and have punched and pummelled it into a state that it is not only fit to be published but I think it’s my best yet.
It’s not humorous like my Harry Spittle sagas. It’s gritty, very real and with a tough uncompromising story. It’s about three friends who decide to take a week to walk the Cotswolds Way, ostensibly to help one of their number, Chris to recover from the dreadful death of his wife, leaving him to bring up their daughter on his own.
Martin and Peter have been Chris’s closest friends from school and while they all suffer from that not untypical Male disease – the inability to communicate anything that might betray your real emotions – they have been there for each other as they matured…
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