I've arrived!

No, that's not doublespeak for an exciting event between the sheets. I've jolly well published a book! And it has rude bits. Anyone else who was educated in a convent will understand that I had to become a completely different person to write it. So that's what I did. Sex scenes are no problem at all to Tamarind Smyth. Her alter ego would have had a cow, though; couldn't summon up a swear word, even. So we won't mention her.

And that's not all. The sex happens in another time; and it sends ripples down the years. None of the characters in 'The Camp at Cassiobury Park' are real; and yet you'll find you know them. Readers will recognise some of the Watford place names, if they happen to live there. But the people in the book are nothing more than phantoms...

Just a word in your ear. I am not obsessed with sex, any more than the next frustrated old biddy. But it is on most people's minds, most of the time, in one form or another. It is the favourite hobby of one of the nastier characters portrayed in 'The Camp at Cassiobury Park' so there is no getting away from it. And he does not want to get away from it, although many of his acquaintances would have like to get away from him. They got their wish, in the end.