When the reader smiles

Then the author has done a good job. I've just been surprised with a new review for my short story collection and I thought I'd share it with you:

I thoroughly enjoyed this collection of observational essays by Stella Deleuze. They are written from the perspective of a jaded and frequently annoyed woman who encounters numerous situations in life that frustrate her - think of grumpy old women and multiply it by 100.

As a grumpy old woman myself I completely empathised with many of her chapters. In fact, I could have written the chapter on wasps myself - everything she did was almost a mirror copy of things I have done. There have been many times over the years, just like Stella, when I have had to shut myself out of a room just because an uninvited wasp has flown in through the window. To then have to stand staring at it enjoying my much wanted cup of coffee and slice of cake just leaves me feeling impotent and annoyed.

Her description of her night being 'rescued' by well meaning friends and being dragged away to a night club was so funny. That mean little side of me was also pleased when I read about what happened to 'Silly's' handbag!

I think this book will resonate with many female readers who will recognise their own annoyances and frustrations with life within many of the chapters. Yes, there is probably a lot of exaggeration in the events described but that is what makes it so funny. This book may appeal to some males but I doubt that it is going to be the kind of thing that many will enjoy. I can imagine that many men will find it hard to believe that women often have such bizarre thoughts and can get so annoyed with what they might consider trivia. For any men who intend to read this book - it isn't fiction; it honestly is what many of us females are hiding so well behind our gentle and calm smiles. Reading this might make you look at your missus in a whole new light!

This isn't an overly long book; I read it in under a day. However, what I liked about it was that each chapter is totally unrelated to the next one so it is a perfect book for picking up and reading one section at a time, perhaps for lunch or a coffee break.

This book definitely put a smile on my face and it won't be long before I look out for some more of Ms Deleuze's work.

Note from me D. Jones, did you know that you made me laugh? There might be a comedian hiding in yourself, you know? :-) Thank you for your kind words.

Run, Stella, run!

(I apologise profusely for any tense issues, they are my weakest point.)

Saturday, 8.25am. What could be better than standing at a bus stop waiting for...well, the bus not to come? The digital announcement said it's due in 1 minute. Wow! Good timing, I thought, a smug smile on my face, not knowing it would be wiped out soon enough.

The tube I would normally take, was suspended, so I had to rely on the other line and change. Where's the fucking bus? I got more nervous with every bus passing that wasn't my number. The announcement changed and 1 minute became 17. Dammit. I cursed and ran to the train station on the other side of the road to see if I could catch a train, but it wouldn't have made any difference, so I ran back to the bus station.

Now there was me, plenty of ways to get to Victoria, but no vehicle in sight. Wonderful.

Eventually, the bus came and I was already worried about missing the flight. Especially when I took a closer look at the boarding pass which said 'Gate closes at 11.20am'. Oh shite!

Upon arrival at Victoria I realised I had forgotten to note down the reservation number for the Gatwick express. I texted my friend Bobby my email log in to send me the information. He didn't answer his phone, so he probably didn't see my message either. I ran to their office and got my tickets, but the next train left at 10.45am. I hoped and wished for the flight to be too late, but finally on the train, I had the feeling it wasn't going to end well.

I know Stansted like my own home, but Gatwick is a different animal; I had no clue there's a south and a north terminal. When I asked a member of staff where the flight to Duesseldorf left, he sent me to the Easyjet-people. And I ran, my bag over my shoulder, my passport and boarding pass in hand, blond hair waving in the steady stream like a flag.

“You have to go to the north terminal, there's a free shuttle, you might even make it.” Great! The idiot sent me the wrong way. And I ran again, out of breath, wheezing, sweating and pissed off.

In a complete mess, not even able to speak anymore, I stormed toward an Easyjet person who pieced together my staccato sentences and took me to the desk. The flight was late, five minutes, but I wasn't on it. They wouldn't even call the crew, just told me I could book another flight which was scheduled the next day.