Like millions of other people, I’m on a couple of Social Media Sites. I chat on them. I have friends there. I chat to people I went to school with. People who served in the Armed Forces I’m proud to be friends with. I push my books on there – so tell me an Author who doesn’t. So what’s gone wrong with the Social Media I used to know.

Where has all this hatred suddenly come from? Some of it is vile and I mean vile. People who were my friends have left because they can’t stand it any longer. Personally I’m frightened to answer some of the Tweets I see because I know that I’m going to get hatred spewed out at me. I was once called Lady Nazi because I had a different opinion to someone else over the wearing of masks.

This morning is was from a group of people who seemed to have a hatred of people who have money. Well, in my humble opinion, what’s it got to do with anyone else whether someone’s money is inherited or not. Are we going down the road of the days in France when we be-headed the Aristocracy???

Maybe the people who Police the Social Media sites should have a tighter control because from what I’ve seen if the ordinary people like us say one word out of place, we end up in prison or as my lovely American friends say In the Slammer !. On Facebook I’ve seen some of the most disgusting, near pornographic photographs on Author and Book Groups. The people who put them up there claim to be Authors. Somehow I don’t think any Author would do that. I know that’s true because I’ve blocked several.

Re-tweets? Fine I use them but not that often. Mainly for my friends, but I’m getting them by the dozen and about people I don’t even know or follow and even to the point of not in English and quite honestly I’m fed up with them.

Anyway I’d like to see a way of controlling it but somehow I doubt it.



My Editor has always had one dream. The see the cyclists in the Tour De France ride into Paris. One reason is that he loves watching the Tour De France and the other is because he loves Paris, so this is the time for him to live his dream. So you would think it would be easy wouldn’t you?

Well, think again. He booked his hotel, which was amazing to say the least. None of your bed and breakfast type places. View over the Eiffel Tower, but then he works hard, he’s my Editor and people tend to think that because he’s my son, he does it for nothing. Well, sorry, he doesn’t. He might well be my son by I pay him for Editing every one of my books. He booked his train. The 11.40am out of St. Pancras Station in London. A single table, complete with a meal and wine. Packed his case, had all the relevant papers, proof of vaccination and you would that was it? Well most people would think that wouldn’t they??

Bad mistake. That’s when it all crashed down on his head. He arrived at the station to complete and utter chaos. Well no. It was worse than chaos if there is such a thing. People were so crowded in, he contacted us and said they couldn’t even breath. It was worse than cattle being coralled together. (Excuse my spelling). Oh I digress. Late last night he received an e mail from the Rail Company saying that there had been a change of plan as far as the Rail Service were concerned. He wouldn’t be going on the same kind of train. Instead of a single table, he would be sharing a table of four – in other words close proximity with three strangers – no food.

Back to this station this morning. He was taken ill because of being in so many crowds and couldn’t breath. He found a member of staff at the station and explained that he was feeling ill and asked if she could help him and apparantly was refused in no uncertain terms. In other words almost laughed out. The crowd I gather were starting to push from being coralled. A bit later I received a Whats App saying I’ve found a seat.

I’m in the Gent’s Toilet. Put the seat down and am sitting on the toilet with the door locked but at least I’ve found a seat and can breath a bit. Now, I know I shouldn’t but part of me wanted to say Good for you and punch the air.

A while later I get another What’s App. I’m on the train Mum and on my way to Paris.

How are you getting on with the other people?

No, I’m on the train I was mean’t to be on. Here’s my lunch -look.

So you were on this train complete with wine, food and by yourself with luxury, then it was cancelled and you were having to sit with four people with nothing to eat, and now your back to a train with only yourself and food and wine???

Ehhhh – yes Mum……..just don’t worry about it. At least I’m going to make it to Paris.

And this is our brilliant Rail Service who want to come out on strike for more money ?????



As you all know, I love to craft. It’s my love and my obsession apart from writing my books. I make anything and everything and support two Charities close to my heart. One is the Mission for Seafarers and another is Jane and the Ladies. Jane is the most incredible lady. She helps – well anyone who needs help and has a team of crafters who make a host of different things and donate to her.

Violets and Lace is my on-line shop. I make and sell on there. I’m not really sure how to describe what I sell because I’m never sure what I’m going to make. I knit, I crochet, I sell crafting accessories such as knitting patterns, buttons, I make hats to sell, I make jewellery, although only costume. Much as I’d like to work in real gold and silver, it’s way out of my financial means. I’m always adding to my shop, so you’ll never know what you’ll find.

As far as prices go, I know that money can be a problem these days, so I keep my goods at a price that people can afford. It’s not fair to expect people to look at something that they have no hope at all of buying.

I’m adding new things to my shop all the time, and you can always message me. That’s one thing about me. Don’t be afraid to talk to me – please. I’m not one of these top end people that won’t talk to you.

I’ll eventually be stocking things for everyone. Ladies, men, children, the home. I’ll even be stocking things for your pets!

My shop address is



The third and last in the trilogy of Mistress of the Wines is now finished and I’m about the pass it to my Editor. It’s taken me a very long time to write this book. I’m sorry for that, but the main reason was, how did I end it? It’s been controversial from the very start. Not when it came down to reviews, but believe me I got some very nasty messages about the story line I had chosen for this book, but I always make it clear in all of my books that they are a work of fiction. I never go out there to hurt or offend anyone.

Benoit was a young man with sexual problems, and went to a Brothel where he met a young Prostitute Corine who was asked by the Madam to help him. He was a ‘hopeless case’, but somehow this young girl made a man of him as the saying goes and love conquered all.

Now I’m not going to spoil the whole thing for you because I would love you, as an Author to read the books. After all, what Author doesn’t want you to read their books.

This was an unusual story as it follows the Dynasty of the Family as well as the love story of the two young people. The challenges they faced, and not just because that Corine came with her own past. I brought in other characters that gave me other storylines that didn’t particularly involve Cornine, and then because I felt I needed to bring in a particular storyline – hell almost rained down on me.

I don’t usually give away storylines of my books but at one time Corine has to have an abortion. Not by choice. So I dealt with it, I thought very gently and with great respect. Until I started getting Messages. Not reviews which you would expect. Messages. In fact one was a threat which came with a picture of an unborn child saying You Know Nothing.

That was very true. I have a beautiful 36 year old son, who is my Editor. I know nothing? I do know that when he was three weeks old I suffered a small stroke down my left side completely out of the blue caused by a blood clot in my lung and was rushed to hospital and when I came home I couldn’t do anything for him except look at him and still take blood thinning drugs to this day.

Anyway I was determined to give the final book the ending it deserved and it ended up with an ending I wasn’t expecting. When I was a very new Author I couldn’t make up my mind which way I wanted my book to go and I had a Mentor. A wonderful American man called Denis Michaels. When I told him he said, Well it’s obvious. Ask your characters.

Pardon? When your’e on your own, sitting in front of your lap top or in bed at night, ask your Character which way they want you to go.

“OK fine” I sort of went if you know what I mean.

So I did and stupid as this sounds they did tell me. Always.

So I had my ending to Mistress of the Wines and I was able to type the two words I love.


And now it’s onwards and upwards to my next book.

Wish me luck when I talk to my next character. Hopefully they’ll give me some good advice!



I’ve now got a new Author Page on Facebook. Instead of being Carol Yeomanson Kindle Author and Carol Yeomanson Kobo Author I decided combine the two and become Carol Yeomanson Author.

So if you are on Facebook, why not drop in and give my new page a like and follow my news and also I’ve starting to use the Website section of this properly.


Mrs Mutch’s Sweetshop

Mrs. Mutch had been running her sweetshop for the past ten years.  It was in the middle of a little street, surrounded by houses.  An un-assuming little shop that sold all sorts of sweets that most people loved, and newspapers, magazines, cigarettes. 

Mrs Mutch had been a widow for almost four years now.  Her beloved Henry had been taken by that dreadful consumption she used to tell people.  Well, it was his own fault she used to complain.  He was told often enough to give up smoking those awful cigarettes, but would his listen?  No he wouldn’t.  Forty a day man, if you could believe that.  It was a wonder he never turned into a kipper if you ask me she used to say to her customers that either came in daily or pass through to catch one of the buses that would take them to wherever it was they were going as she used to say.

Not that she was nosey she insisted, but she just liked to pass the time of day with those people who popped into her shop.

Simple conversation like “And where are you off to this lovely sunny day Dearie?  Or terrible weather to be going out in on a day like this”

Henry was buried in the local cemetery.  He wouldn’t have approved of this war with the Germans.  Man of peace was her Henry.  He would have said find a way of sorting this out without marching into other countries and taking them over.  That’s what he’d have said, but then he didn’t know what this Hitler man was going to turn out like did he?  Getting up to all sorts.

Every Sunday afternoon, after she had closed the shop, she walked to the Cemetery, and stopped just before she got to the gates and bought a bunch of flowers to put on Henry’s grave.  Then she sat on the seat facing it, got out her flask of tea, her sandwich, settled herself down and spent the time catching him up on the local news, until it was time for her to leave before any one came too close on their way to the people they were visiting and might have seen her silent tears.

Eventually she went home, read a book, went to bed, set her alarm clock for the next morning and slept soundly.

Suddenly she was woken up by the sound of the air raid sirens and jumped out of bed, grabbed her coat, put her bare feet in her shoes and ran to the bottom of her garden where she went down into the small Anderson shelter there.  Just enough room for her and Mrs. Perkins her next door neighbour.  She knew Mrs Perkins would join her in no time because she had a key to the shop and she would trust Mrs Perkins with her life and anyway there was no money in the shop at the end of the day.  She had always told Mrs Perkins to reach out her hand as she was passing through and grab a few bars of whatever she put her hands on because they never knew how long that Mr Hitler bloke might keep them shut down that Anderson shelter so they might well get hungry whilst they waited and it wasn’t as though you could mess about making sandwichs while he was getting there was it?

It turned out they were down the shelter nearly five hours in the end.  They had both made good progress on the socks they were knitting for the troops, eating their way through the sweets, nattering about this and that, wondering what they were going to find when they finally came out and prayed that there wasn’t going to be too much destruction and they both had homes to come out to.

When they both came out, walked into the street and tried to focus their eyes, all they could see was chaos, smoke, and panic.

“Oh my Lord no” whispered Mrs. Perkins.

“Out of the way quick as you can ladies” shouted an Air Raid Warden.

“Someone’s had a direct hit” whispered Mrs Mutch making the sign of the cross over her face and chest.

“Excuse me” shouted Mrs Perkins to a passing Policeman “Who is it.  Who was the direct hit on?”

“Number Twelve” he shouted before he started running around.  “Don’t go anywhere near it”

“Come inside Mrs Perkins.  Nothing we can do.  Don’t stand here gawping  Come on”

“Mrs. Mutch.  It’s Winne and Joe Collins, and their Grand-Children.  Winnie will be on firewatch and the children’s Father Arthur is serving in the Navy” Mrs Perkins whispered.

“Come away love.  I’ve got a drop of brandy in-doors.  Try not to fret now”

The two ladies went inside and both were trembling because they realised how easy it could have been Mrs. Mutch’s house that could have taken the direct hit.

“Here you are love.  Nice pot of tea and a few sherbert lemons for a sugar rush.  Can’t get much sugar now it’s rashioned”

“What about the tea?” smiled Mrs Perkins still trembling.

“You have some of mine now and I’ll have some of yours next time around” winked the lovely Mrs. Mutch.

The next morning, despite everything, Mrs. Mutch was open for business as usual.  She insisted that she owed it to her customers.  Rations there might be but that didn’t mean that her shop would stay open for newspapers and whatever else she could manage to provide.

All her customers seemed so upset that morning, but then, who could blame them, as they all said, it could have been any of them last night and worst of all, how will Arthur find out?  Will the Navy let him come home for the Funeral’s or is it a case in wartime of Well it’s just too bad.  Go to their graves when you come home.  Funny thing she thought to herself.  You don’t think of anything like this until it happens.

She didn’t really concentrate on anything that was going on as she opened up her shop.  Well Henry used to say she didn’t concentrate even on a good day!  He used to say he was teasing her but then he always thought he was better than everyone else, but at the end of the day he was a good man.  Two or three people came in for the morning paper and to see if they could get her to break the rules here and there but she always remained firm and smiled and said “Are you trying to get me arrested now?”

It was nearly 10am she thought to herself looking at the clock.  Nearly time to put the notice in the door that said she would be closed for the next fifteen minutes.  Nobody took any notice and she could always say that “Everybody has a right to pop out and use the toilet don’t they?” and wink.

Right on 10am her visitor arrived and she put up the closed sign.

“Hello love and how are you?” she smiled.

“Very well my Dear” he answered in his elegant tones as he smiled at her and kissed the back of her hand.

“Nice box of those fancy chocolates just waiting for you all done up with a beautiful red satin ribbon”

“As always you look after me so well my Dear” he visitor smiled and kissed her hand as he left.

Mrs Mutch closed the door behind him, turned the closed sign to open and went back to business as usual.  She just didn’t see the Policeman on his beat watching her.

When he got back to the station, he reported what he had seen to his Sergeant who just laughed at him at first and said “What? Poor old Ma Mutch up to no good?  At her age?  You reckon she’s got a secret lover or something?  Get out of it!”

The Policeman might have been sent away with a flea in his ear and humiliated in front of the rest of them, but there was something funny going on and he was going to prove it if it was the last thing he did.

He kept a close eye on Mrs Mutch’s shop every day for the next three weeks, but nothing.  He started to think that maybe he had been wrong and it was just something innocent and maybe she had got herself a boyfriend.  After all, why shouldn’t she.  She was a nice looking lady, given her age and why shouldn’t she have a second chance to find love.

He was walking down the street, checking on all the bombed out buildings when he suddenly stopped and a thought came into his head.

Hang on though – if that man was courting Mrs Mutch – he was buying a box of chocolates.  Wouldn’t he have been buying them for her instead of from her?

Suddenly, he pulled himself up by his coat tails.

“Behave yourself now” he thought.  “What business is it of yours.  You have got no proof.  Like the Sergeant said.  When you see something you can prove, that’s a different matter.  For now leave it”

The same man visited the sweet shop for the same box of chocolates for the next month.  Always at the same time, even to the minute.  The Policeman watched carefully building a case against him and Mrs Mutch and when he was ready he would pounce on both her and the German Spy she was supplying with information.

The fact that he had no proof against either of him hadn’t occurred to him, but he was completely convinced of their guilt and that was all that mattered to him.

“Sir” he argued with the Sergeant early one morning. “I have all the proof I need that Mrs Mutch is supplying a German Agent with information”

“Seeing a man going into her shop and buying chocolates is not enough to raid the place.  Have you heard him speak?  Has he got a German accent?  What makes you think he’s a German blasted Agent???” yelled the Sergeant.  “We just can’t go around arresting people because you happen to have a feeling about them.  Now will you go away and do something useful”

“I don’t know why I do Sergeant.  I just do.  I’ve got this feeling”

“Well go out there and put your feeling to better use” sighed the Sergeant. “I have heard enough!”

Two months had passed by now and still Mrs. Mutch was being called upon by her ‘strange’ visitor.  No-one else had commented on him, because either no-one noticed or no-one cared.  Not even Mrs Perkins bothered.  She was more interested in whether or not they should make socks or gloves this time around to be sent out to the troops or maybe those bala…….bakalov……she soon got the hang of the word when Mrs Much told her it was pronounced Balaclava and that it didn’t make a jot of difference anyway.  The love that it was made with was more important than the way you pronounced it.

One morning Mrs Mutch had her chocolates all ready and waiting but her visitor was late.  She was quite calm and thought nothing much of it.  It was probably the buses and he’d been caught up.  She didn’t know whether or not to put the closed sign up though.  Not to worry.

He arrived about an hour and a half later.  She could see he was calm but there was also a thin veil of perspiration on his forehead.

“Hello” she said cheerfully. “How are you.  Your’e late this morning.  Problem with the buses were there?  With all these air raids there must be jams everywhere”

“Yes my Dear.  Yes” he said kissing her hand as always “Always a problem with the buses.  I’m afraid I’m in a great rush this morning.  Your chocolates are always so beautiful and I’m always so grateful for what you do for me”

“Think nothing of it” she smiled knowing he was worried.

As he turned around, he was face to face with the Policeman but this time he was pointing a gun straight at him.

“Stay right there Fritz.  Your’e going nowhere.  Your’e nothing but a German Spy, and you Mrs Mutch.  Your’e both under arrest and your’e both going to hang for treason”.

Suddenly, the whole of the shop turned into chaos and Mrs Mutch didn’t see the bullet that hit her. She just fell to the floor.  Three men from MI5 ran into the shop, grabbed the German Spy, who struggled to get away from them, but realised that he had no chance of escaping and gave up in the end while he just looked down at the dead body of the woman he had come to respect and in a strange kind of way even love.

“Call an Ambulance” screamed one of the MI5 opertives.

“Too late Sir” said another.  “She’s gone”

“Which one of you shot her?” screamed the lead MI5 Officer

“I did” saluted the Policeman  “She was a German Spy working with Fritz there”

“She was working for us, you bloody fool” shouted the lead MI5 Officer again looking at the Policeman as though he was a bad smell.

Suddenly the siren of a Police car sounded outside and an Inspector got out.  When he found out what had happened and looked at Mrs. Mutch’s dead body and found out that she had been working for this country all along to expose a German Spy by passing ‘dummy’ papers to him, he looked at his Police Sergeant who had also arrived by now.

“Something of a mess I’d say.  If you think I’m going to try to talk our way out of this one, your’e wrong.  I’m not.  A Policeman who took it upon himself to interfere in a case when he was told not to?  You are going to face the consequences of your actions now.  MI5 knew what they were doing and if it wasn’t for you interfering, a brave and lovely lady would still be alive”

Mrs Mutch was eventually buried with her beloved husband, and what had been her sweet shop was turned into a house at the end of the war where the people who lived there found happiness but the story of Mrs Mutch was never forgotten.

                                    THE END.

This is a short story, but it has brought me so much personal pleasure to write. I have woven a fictional story around a sweet shop.  That shop was in a part of London where I grew up. Two streets away in fact.  It existed as a sweet shop during World War Two and Mrs Mutch did exist and did run it.  She sold sweets and newpapers to all the locals.  She lived above the shop and there was an Anderson shelter in the garden.  When she died, it was turned into a house which was more like a cottage and why I know it so well is that my Auntie Flo and Uncle George moved in there and lived there for many years.  Auntie Flo was my Mother’s Sister.

Thank you for reading my story.



So at 9.30am my son and I set off for The Derby at Epsom Racecourse. We’ve already been before so this wasn’t something new for us and we already own several Racehorses. I can already tell you our thoughts before the end of the day. Never again! Our parking space which we are given whether we like it or not was a long walk from the actual racecourse under a tree which didn’t look as though it was going to stand up to the already dreadful weather which was cold and wet.

Now the Epsom Derby have a dress code which you WILL follow like it or not even if there is ten foot of snow. Top hats for men and formal suits with tail coats and ladies WILL wear hats and I’m not talking wool hats what will keep you warm in cold weather. I’m talking about hats that will probably cost you a fortune and you’ll never wear again unless you go to the Derby or places like that on a regular basis. So we make the long walk to the Racecourse and it’s already perishing cold, and we wait, and wait and wait some more. Then we get to security and they search our bags which is fair enough I can understand that, but what annoyed so many men, including my son was that they made every man take off the Top Hat and searched inside it. As one man pointed out – you might well think one of us has a bomb under our Top Hat but we could just as easily have something strapped to our chests!

Anyone I’m not going to comment on that one but a lot of men were offended at having to have the insides of their Top Hats seached.

So we all rush like maniacs inside hoping not to get trampled to death to find a wooden bench to sit on, which Jack and I managed to find and we were settled for the day. The worst or one of the worst was the weather. No one could help that I know but all day we were battered by this cold, biting, awful wind that came straight in out faces All the ladies, not including me because I’d taken a ‘real’ waterproof racing hat including my ‘posh’ hat with me and decided to change at the last minute had their beautiful hats that they’d paid a lot of money for totally ruined, blown across the muddy grass because the rules say you weren’t allowed to wear a coat at the Derby. Men had their top hats and Morning Suits ruined because of the rules. They were freezing by the end of the day because they weren’t allowed to have a heavy coat to keep them warm. Well, you know me. I’d taken a light raincoat it. Well like it or lump it Derby Rules. I had a light suit on as requested but if you thought I was going to sit there and freeze at my age and end up ill think again.

Anyway, there were good points. The Actor Hugh Bonniville stood behind Jack in the queue for a cup of tea and there won’t be another Downtown Abbey film. Jack said what a lovely man he was and so friendly and they chatted for quite a while.

He got in a bit of a curfuffle I gather when he went to see some of the Jockeys which you were allowed to do. Bit of a publicity I think. You know let the poor public speak to a jockey. Frankie Detorri did himself really proud with the public and was fantastic to everyone, but there was one Jockey called Johnny Merter. Bit of banter between him and the other Jockeys about No one wants to talk to you Johnny. I do Johnny – My son suddenly said. You train one of my Mum’s Horses.

Come of through – says Johnny Merter – we’ll have a picture for your Mum.

Security move in on Jack and say No Photos with the Jockeys.

Move back – Johnny shouts. I decide who I talk to so does Frankie Detorri. These are the people who watch me.

So it seems these Jockeys are nicer than we sometimes give them credit for.

Then we come on to the Royals. The Queen didn’t come and sent Princess Anne instead. We were sitting just under the Royal Box so she arrived by car. When she came out onto the balcony, she was with her husband Tim, her daughter Zara, Mike Tindall and their children. Now I always thought Anne was stand offish and haughty.

Your Royal Highness I owe you an apology. Out she came. She waved her Royal Wave. Once that was over – then – she must have forgotten who she was. She started to shout to the public, she waved, she laughed, she, waved to the Jockeys in the Guard of Honour, all the family waved and shouted. She was in and out on that balcony.

Sadly when the actual Derby started of course the Cruelty to Animal Brigade decided to appear and disrupt things. Out the family came with Princess Anne in the lead and did she ever make herself known.

We could actually hear her. Waving her arms and yelling

“Get Out of Here. Go on – Push off the lot of You” and a few other well chosen words.

Now you would never have got that from the Queen.

Suddenly Princess Anne went up a million time in my estimation.

Another lovely thing was that we met so many lovely American and Canadian people who had come over for the Jubilee Celebration and had come to the Derby for the day. They hadn’t got a clue about how to bet so hopefully we were able to help them out. One thing that was lovely was that a young American lady in front of us put a huge amount of money on a horse and didn’t know it was huge, but she said I just stuck it on for fun to win. Did I do something wrong?

Jack and I just looked at each other, so the race went on and her horse won. Did I win something? She said? Win something? Somewhere in the region of £800 to £900 probably. So pleased for her.

But all things considered we wouldn’t go again. The Derby we don’t think isn’t about Horse Racing now. It’s a day out for Fashionistas. People who want to record themselves and put their day up on Instagram or sadly just to go there, drink endless Champagne and get drunk.



Are you looking for a Guided Walk around London next weekend?

Why not join Jack Yeomanson, a Qualified London Tour Guide on Sunday 15th May at 11am outside the City Information Centre facing St. Paul’s Cathedral in London for a fascinating walk lasting one and a half to two hours.

You will see the top ten high lights in the City of London.

Cost is £12 per person. Book on Event Brite or via



One of my great loves is crafting. It always has been. My son will probably say it’s very dangerous obsession. Only dangerous in the respect that he tends to go head first over bags of my crafting materials, and maybe gets stabbed by the odd knitting needle or twenty. If there’s a craft around I will have a go at it.

But – and here is my confession – there is one that I can’t manage and believe me I have tried and failed so many times. It’s socks. Yes, the humble sock. I have tried knitting them, I’ve tried to crochet them, and somehow I can’t manage them.

The frustrating thing is I don’t know why I can’t manage them. Anyway I’ve joined a Textile Group in someone’s house and she says you can do anything you like. YES – anything. You can knit, sew, quilt, make rugs, tapestry, I’ve never heard a list so long. I did make a rug many years ago with one of the rug hooks. I would like to learn to do Black Work the kind of Embroidery, but with my family I’ll be on pain of death with anything else.

Oh well – the Tunisian Crochet is calling and I’ve got some Jewellery that needs to be finished.

I’ve got a shop on Folksy which I’m starting to build up.


Maybe that will shut the family up lol



I would love to introduce you to Jack Yeomanson, London Tour Guide.

That’s right, Jack’s my son as you can probably tell by the name, but Jack is an exceptional Tour Guide and no, I’m not just saying that because I’m his Mum. If he was a rotten Tour Guide I wouldn’t be giving him space on my blog believe me.

Jack left school at 18 years old with a burning desire to be a Tour Guide because of his love of History, but no ADT College in Putney where he was educated wouldn’t support that. They wanted him to follow a path to something else that he wasn’t interested in so he left and got a job in an office but still that desire burned. After a year of so his Dad and I looked into the possibility of his training privately and getting the necessary qualification. Three qualifications in three areas mean’t that he would be a fully qualified London tour guide. Clerkenwell, Westminster and the City of London. He studied like you wouldn’t believe and to qualify as a Guide is more than difficult especially if your’e keeping a day job down as well. However, he did it. He got his Green Badge. Yes I know all about the Blue Badgers, but believe me, in my opinion Green Badgers are just as good.

Anyway I’m running away with things. Jack is now back guiding. He is guiding in all three areas and at the moment he is doing some CIC walks In other words City Information Centre walks.

At the moment he is starting up his own Tour Guiding Business which will be called Blue Umbrella. The Website isn’t finished yet but once it is he’ll be putting walks up on there which will be his own walks written by himself.

So what can you do until then? Jack has got many walks already written and ready to go. In all three Boroughs. The list is endless. His main ability is in Bespoke Walks. What do I mean by that?

Is there a particular part of London you would like to see? Have you got a reason for seeing it? Is there a part of London that’s part of your past for some reason? Do you have a special interest? Would you like to give someone a walk as a gift? He once wrote a walk for a man to give to his wife for their Silver Wedding Anniversay which was around the area they did their courting in.

I know that just some of the walks he has done are Royal Walks, War Walks, River Walks, Theatre Area Walks, Spy Walks. I could go on forever.

If you would like Jack to take you on a walk in London, why not contact him and talk to him. Children and dogs are welcome. His only rule is that if you are on his walk and you are taking medication he asks that you let him know. He is happy to lead group walks as well.

If you would like to contact him his e mail address is