This Messy Mobile Life

I don’t usually plug books here in pansyland, especially those I’ve published. I try and keep work and life separate as I’m bound not to be impartial. But, I’m making an exception with our latest release – This Messy Mobile Life by the fragrant Mariam Ottimofiore. Why? Because Mariam is one of the nicest authors I’ve worked with and it’s a cracking read – full of humility and wisdom as Mariam tries to navigate through the messy multi-cultural maze that is her family life. Believe me, not all writers I rub up against are as agreeable. I bite my tongue (mostly) as the business keeps us from the workhouse.

Do your family dinners happen in more than one language? Do you celebrate Christmas and Eid? Do you and your family feel at home in more than one country? If so, then you may be a MOLA Family and yes, this multicultural, multilingual, mobile life can get a little ‘messy’.

Find out more…

Do You Have a Tale to Tell?

Do You Have a Tale to Tell?

It’s been ten years since Liam and I jumped ship and waded ashore to Bodrum. Ditching the profitable careers did little for our bank balance but a great deal for our work-life balance. Four helter-skelter years in Turkey taught us to live better with less – about 75% less, in fact. Our Turkish ride also gave me an unexpected tale to tell and tell it I did – first in Perking the Pansies and then in Turkey Street. But enough about me. What about you? Do you have a tale to tell?

Delicious Bodrum belle, Angie Mitchell Sunkur, recently parachuted into Norwich for a surprise visit. She was a welcome tonic and over a few gins we got talking, as you do, about the good old, bad old days. It reminded her of a soiree with some buccaneering belles and beaus where, as the wine flowed, so too did the stories – stories of fun and frolics, sadness and adversity, love and commitment, courage under fire – stories to amuse and to move, stories that should be heard. It’s a rich seam.

‘It would make a good read, don’t you think?’ she asked.

I jumped at the chance. I am a bona fide publisher after all. Angie knows people, lots of people, so she flew back home to collect the recollections. She’s doing a sterling job and we’ve got a fair few already. But we need more. We’d love to publish an anthology of expat life in Turkey – stories long and stories short. I’ll handle all the boring bits – editing, design, production, publication and distribution – I know people.

So do you have a tale to tell? 

We’re interested in hearing from Turkey expats and regular visitors past and present. Drop me a line at jack@springtimebooks.com and I’ll tell you more.

No Frills, No Thrills

No Frills, No Thrills

Queuing is as quintessentially British as fish and chips, a Sunday roast or chicken tikka masala. I’m all for it. It appeals to my first-come-first-served sense of fair play. And it makes city living just a bit more bearable. Every-man-for-himself is where chaos lies and the Devil thrives. But even I have a limit. Regular readers may recall I recently spent a few days in Sitges, near Barcelona, visiting old friends who’ve just become newbie expats and purveyors of apparel to the queens. Being there was fun, getting there (and back) not so. The entire journey felt like one long, dreary line – through security, through passport control, at the departure gate, up the steps to the plane in the drizzle. All that shuffling just to board a flying bus so stripped back that clinging to the undercarriage of an RAF troop carrier would hold more appeal. This was no frills, no thrills Ryanair, an airline that bombards its punters with emails, changes the rules of the game just for fun, befuddles with an incomprehensible cabin bag policy and pisses off by ‘randomly’ allocating seats that all seem to be in the middle. Statistically, how likely is that? And the flight was an hour late both ways. Oh, the glamour of it all. I drank through it.

Ryanair’s current strapline is ‘Low Fares Made Simple’. Navigating your way through the endless maze of ‘extras’ on their website ain’t simple and, with a monopoly on the London Stansted to Barcelona route, it ain’t cheap either.

Hell won’t be all torture and torment; it’ll be an eternal Ryanair queue going nowhere.

Ironically, real buses here in Norfolk often now come with leather seats, free WiFi and charging sockets for fancy phones. And this is supposed to be a backwater.

Bubble-Wrapped Barcelona

Bubble-Wrapped Barcelona

Well not actually Barcelona – Sitges, a smart resort a few miles south which has been a magnet for the A-Gays for donkey’s years, even before that bastard Franco kicked the bucket. And to continue the fine tradition, an old friend and his partner have just exited Brexit and parachuted in. We might join them, who knows? Sitges is a coastal retreat untroubled by the political hurricane currently battering Catalonia. Like expat ghettos everywhere, it’s bubble-wrapped from the tedium of real life.

My flying visit was a business trip with added benefits. My old mucker is opening a gay ‘lifestyle’ store (no sniggering at the back) and I’ve been building his website. The shop should do well given the town’s perennial appeal to likely lads looking for supplies and fancy pants to drop. That was the business bit. Getting to spend time with one of my oldest friends was the benefits bit. Unfortunately, the weather was crap at both ends of the Bay of Biscay. I went from this:

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to this:

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As it was a pac-a-mac break, I didn’t get the chance to rub shoulder pads with surgically enhanced Eurotrash or old queens with painted faces and matching poodles. Still, the food was delicious, the booze free-flowing and the gossip salacious, so it was well worth coming in from the drizzle for. Naturally, the sun came out the day after I left. This is how Sitges normally looks:

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But What Are They Eating?

But What Are They Eating?

Author Shelley Workinger runs a blog that provides a unique approach to book promotion – food and the consumption thereof. My expanding waistline is evidence enough of my love of all things culinary, so I bit her hand off to get featured.

Turkish cuisine is justifiably famed as one of the world’s greatest. The Sultan’s table overflowed with extravagant bounty from the vast Ottoman domains that once stretched across three continents. The empire may be history, but food – preparing it, eating it, sharing it – is still of enormous cultural importance to all Turks regardless of status and income. So it’s small wonder the simple act of eating plays a starring role in both of my memoirs, Perking the Pansies and its sequel, Turkey Street. Here’s a soupçon…

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