And the next event is...

So, following a very successful 'cyber launch' of A Blonde Bengali Wife and a spot as suthor of the week on AuthorIsland, the next event is the real, live launch in Edinburgh on 15th November.  The Committee (aka Juliet, Ruth, Caroline and me) has met, the plans made and the email invitations* have finally gone out (corrected) and hopefully some of the lovely people who have promised to attend won't get better offers or decide to stay at home and watch TV, but will be there!  It's worse than organising a party for yourself... but with simple angst - what if nobody comes?More details as we go along, but in the meantime, I'll get back to finishing the story of the book.  Tomorrow that is, Internet signal permitting from the depths of Suffolk where Simon and I are staying for some serious baby-worship from family and friends!*if you haven't received one...
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Join me at AuthorIsland...

                    AuthorIsland Tiki Hut: This Week's Special Guest Anne Hamilton                                      http://authorislandtikihut.blogspot.com/       Read how A Blonde Bengali Wife inspired the charity Bhola's Children... Please drop in and leave a comment.    
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Successful Cyber Launch

Well, we're coming to the close of the cyber launch 'party' @ http://cyberlaunchparty.blogspot.com/ But there's still a while left to visit and leave a commentA long time in the making- it's here:A Blonde Bengali Wife buy it onhttp://www.amazon.com/Blonde-Bengali-Wife-Anne-Hamilton/dp/1905091478 
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Eid, March 2002

The eve of Eid means last minute shopping.“Meat for the freezer—in case there is not enough to share from the slaughtering tomorrow.” Hasina marches towards the stall.It is like seeing a road accident. The meat is hanging from canopy hooks attached to rusty scaffolding, and carcasses crowd the front of the stall like an obstacle course and passing by without getting a slap in the eye from a swaying piece of mutton flank is a laudable feat. Bloody off-cuts—skin, bone, offal, hairy ears, and glassy eyes—litter the floor. Hasina directs this dismemberment and supervises its stuffing into a jumbo-sized polythene bag or six. It is heaven for the fat flies taking first pick of the goodies. Some settle on the hanging meat, valiantly swatted by a young boy with a witches’ broom, but the majority indulge in an uninterrupted gastronomic experience feasting on the cut pieces, crawling languidly over the diced...
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Chittagong, February 2002

I lie awake for a while listening to the shouts in the corridor grow louder, jump when other residents fall against the door or turn the handle and begin, mistakenly I hope, to creep in. Munnu has a sixth sense for these occasions and growls viciously enough to receive a muted apology before telling me not to worry and go back to sleep. I obey.I love this place. Love it. Like a ciné film, my mind runs through my adventures, my travels, my new friends, my horrors, and I realise for the first time since my arrival, I am truly at home in Bangladesh. I feel almost comfortable here. On this day, the 16th February, I have, in effect, fallen in love. “Oh, would you ever listen to yourself? Cop on and stop being a sentimental old twit.” I mutter out loud, grin to myself in the darkness, and dream spiritual...
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