I’m so excited to be taking part in a blog tour for Phillipa Ashley’s new book, Summer on the Little Cornish Isles – Starfish Studio. I discovered Phillipa Ashley about a year ago and since then I have read all her books and have been eagerly awaiting this new book. So when I was asked if I would like to take part in a blog tour I quickly agreed.
I have this book on pre-order for next month but Monday this week saw the digital release of the book. So just to wet your appetite for it here is an extract.
Feeling a bit queasy, love? Still, not long to go now.’
The man opposite Poppy sank his teeth into his pasty. He had dirt under his fingernails and pastry crumbs in his scraggy greying beard … and oh God, was that a diced carrot nestled among the whiskers? He reminded her of Mr Twit from the Roald Dahl books. Mr Twit crossed with one of the Hairy Bikers.
The smell of meat and pastry hit her and her stomach clenched. She clutched the sick bag tighter. She’d have given her right arm – no make that Dan’s right arm – to be beamed onto dry land. Still, not long to go, according to Mr Twit. Surely, she couldn’t throw up any more?
‘We’ll be rounding St Mary’s in three-quarters of an hour, give or take. Things will calm down a bit then.’
‘Still three-quarters of an hour?’ she said. ‘B-but the isles look so close.’ At least they had seemed close ten minutes previously when she’d staggered back, for the third time, from the washrooms into the ferry’s café. The low islands – reminding her of black beetles – had appeared on the horizon for a few seconds before vanishing again as the ship plunged into the trough of the next huge wave.
‘Give or take. We’ll be passing the Eastern Isles and St Saviour’s soon and if the tide’s right we could be there in half an hour, but we can’t go through the lagoon today. Tide’s not right. We have to sail round and come into St Mary’s the long way.’ Mr Twit was obviously a multi-tasker, chewing and talking at the same time, while crumbs sprayed from his mouth and settled on her jeans.
The boat juddered as a wave smacked into it. ‘Oh God …’
‘You do look green round the gills, girl, but it’ll soon be over. Bet you’ve had no breakfast, either. Why don’t you get something down you? I can get you a pasty if you want? You’re in luck. Café hasn’t sold out of them today.’
At any other time, she’d have laughed at being called a ‘girl’, which didn’t happen that often now she was thirty-three. But right now, smiling was out of the question, as was laughing, sitting down, standing up, talking or basically existing.
Mr Twit thrust the pasty under her nose. ‘Here, have a taste of this.’
‘No … thank … yeuerghhhh!’
Why not pop along to the other blogs taking part in the blog tour. Some are hosting extracts and some have been lucky enough to review the book.
