Ladies and Gentlemen, the votes have been counted and verified, and I can gleefully reveal that the next book (formerly known round these parts as Biscuits & Lies) from your resident scribbler Susie Day will be called…

*drumrolls*

GIRL MEETS CAKE

I love it, I love it, I love it to bits!  Mmmcake.  Cakey cakey cake.  Hee!  I may need to celebrate in an appropriate face-stuffing manner: who’s with me?

Those who have already heard a whisper about the plot will know that the Cake in question is in fact a Gingerbread Man (or boy…blimey, so complicated), and thus technically not a Cake at all.  Rather than be drawn into this ever-controversial topic, I direct you to the authoritative Nice Cup of Tea and a Sit Down coverage of the infamous Jaffa Cake ‘cake or biscuit?’ debate.  (Scroll to the bottom – but don’t miss the ‘Jamectomies’!)  When I worked as a college porter, I passed many an hour reading their biscuit reviews in lieu of eating any (the biscuit tin only ever had Rich Tea, a biscuit so rubbish it barely deserves the name).  Mmmbiscuits.  And cake.  Mmmmmmm.

To the kitchen, Batman!

(This is the UK title, btw: might be something else in the North American edition.  All the best books have two names, you know. )

Hardbacks!  Pink hardbacks!  Pink hardbacks that when piled resemble some kind of delicious mutant xylophone made from boiled sugar!  OK, maybe that’s just me having gone a bit wonk-eyed from staring at them lovingly.  But honestly, has a pile of books ever looked quite that lickable?  How handy that I have a nice three-letter word for a last name so it can fit tidily on the spine, too.  (Well done, father: impressive planning ahead there.)

For those at the back, this would be the US/Canada edition of Big Woo, which (as you might just be able to spot) is titled serafina67 *urgently requires life*.  Innit shiny?  In theory it’s released on August 1st, but the blogverse informs me it’s already been sighted on the shop floor: yay!  I get to be excited all over again, without even having to write another one.  Cunning, eh?

*toasts pile o’ books with glass of pink wine in their honour*

  Train timetables, mostly.  Though I am sneaking small doses of Douglas Coupland’s JPod every now and then, because the writerly No Books Diet is like all other diets: all I want is books, tasty books, naughty sinful calorific distracting books…

  Biscuits & Lies is whizzing along at breakneck speed, almost as if there were an impending deadline snapping at my heels and the prospect of going to Italy as a reward after I’ve finished it.  Or something.  I’m having a lovely time doing devious things to my poor characters and telling crap jokes, anyway, even if on occasion I’m doing it in fast forward and missing some of the best lines.  Despite it not being remotely finished, we’re in the process of settling on a title, so prepare for an exciting exclusive reveal.  (Unless we decide to call it Biscuits & Lies, in which case…um…you heard it here first?)

  Alas, precious little rocrastination time – except for the wedding of the inestimable Rarg (regular commenter and ridiculously dear old friend) to the equally lovely Mrs Rarg, which managed to cram several weeks’ worth of cheery fun into a day. ‘Wedstock’ fused marriage with the entire live music scene of Bristol, in the most apt celebration of two people’s relationship I can imagine – not to mention the whole roast pig, the flowing cocktails, and me catching up with an old school crowd I’ve not clapped eyes on in well over a decade.  I confess I was eating pig during some of the bands, but I urge you to check out North Sea Navigator (think early PJ Harvey, Levitation, a shoutier Auteurs) and Rose Kemp, who has the kind of startlingly pure voice that demands you stand utterly still and listen, pig or no pig.  And, of course, rarg‘s alter ego as one quarter of Smokehand, who seem to be expanding their ‘Scott Walker sings Tom Waits’ repertoire in the obvious direction of ska-tinged fairground klezmer.  So predictable, those boys.   Highlight, however, was the performance by rarg (with smokehand!Adam on vocals) of a special song for his new missus, which reduced the entire place to sniffly rubble.  Have a glorious honeymoon, you fabulous pair.

I humbly apologise for the shoddy lack of regular updates lately.  Alas, the part of my brain that I use to form sentences is the size of a peanut (the rest is all pictures of kittens, misheard song lyrics, and dialogue from Firefly), and can only produce a peanut-sized quantity of them per day before start I like Yoda typing.

So in lieu of a proper post, here’s the best news story ever written, containing as it does the holy trinity of local news: underwear, a small furry creature in peril, and just enough wild implausibility to make you believe it’s true.  The peanut, he is envious.