Oh no! Not another new release!

Dudes, I promise, this is the last one until the end of August.

'Biscuits and Bunting' is my take on a behind the scenes look at a village getting ready to celebrate the Queen's Diamond Jubilee. It's a big deal here. Our village is hurling itself into the festivities with a lunch on the village green or, for the well-heeled, you can pay £60 a head to eat in a marquee in the middle of a field. The village brass band (one of the finest in the country, believe me) will  be having a concert on the green in the evening. There's all kinds of things going on. You can go to the village shop and buy a celebratory bottle of Pimms with a Union Jack all over the label,  or a 16-pack of crisps (potato chips) also emblazoned with our national flag. If you really want to throw yourself into the spirit of the occasion, there's Union Jack bunting (see above picture) for sale.

Being an anti-social old fart, I'll be staying at home and writing. I'll listen to the celebratory chimes from the church. If Friday night's bell ringing practice is anything to go by, they need to tighten things up a little, but it'll sound glorious because our bell ringers are good. It wouldn't be a Friday night in the village without the faltering chimes of practice. I may also give in and buy a bottle of Pimms so I can make Pimms cocktails to toast Lizzie's health and all that good stuff. I'll need something to wash down the salmon and cucumber sandwiches, trifle and Union Jack crisps.

It's a very British occasion and 'Biscuits and Bunting' is a Very British book. There's food porn and naughty bits. There's gossip in the village shop and someone running amok with a cricket bat. What could be more British than that?

To whet your appetite, here's a little teaser:


Neil pulled the car up in front of my house. “This is the part where you ask me in for a cup of coffee, I accept, but…somehow…we never get round to having the coffee.” He put the car in park and turned off the ignition.

I did a quick mental inventory. The bed sheets were clean. I’d just changed them that day. There was coffee, nothing lying around that shouldn’t be there, a bottle of lube and condoms in the bedroom cabinet. “Would you like to come in for a coffee?”

He grinned. “I wouldn’t say no.”

We climbed out of the car. Mrs Bramley’s net curtains twitched. I didn’t care—I was too busy fumbling for the keys.

We tumbled into the house. Like a good host, I took Neil’s coat, hung it up and backed him to the wall.
He plunged his hands into my hair and kissed me greedily. The silence was occupied by sighs, gasps and soft moans. Denim scraped on denim. Neil smelt of wood smoke and tasted of wine. He pushed back until we reeled across the hall towards the stairs.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

“Usual place, top of the stairs…you know.” I took his hand and led him up the narrow staircase.

Pssst! If you like it, you can buy it here

So, here's the give away question: What thing/person/whatever comes to mind when you think of Britain?
Best answer wins a PDF of 'Biscuits and Bunting'. :). A winner (or winners depending on how many entries there are) will be chosen on Wednesday, 30th May.