Q. So, how did you get started in writing?

A. My Dad was passionate about both reading and writing. My Dad was writing and trying to get published while I was growing up. I was working at Thames Television on The Bill as a production assistant. I went and enquired as to what I would need to do to be able to become a producer and the answer I received was “you need to write”. It wasn’t instant success as my first book was never published. I wrote a children’s book that went horribly wrong when it came to being published but was a fantastic learning experience: it was all part of the process of becoming a writer. Sometimes I feel that my best writing almost happens in spite of me rather than because of me. Eventually an agent asked if I would like to meet: so I went and bought myself a hat. I met the agent and then – I took my hat off – and started to write. I usually start with an idea of what the story is going to be and see where it takes me: I like the characters to tell me where they would like to go. I realise I speak about them as if they have their own life which comes across a bit odd.

Q. So what does Susan Lewis like to read?

A. Jodi Picoult, Susan Harwich. I’ll happily purchase a book by what I’ve read in the blurb. My thoughts about the kindle is that you don’t get that same experience: you can’t see a cover or who the author is so I have been known to read something and not know who it is I’ve been reading!  I’ve taken inspiration from the Poisonwood Bible and Sweet Francais. The latter was actually the inspiration for my novel The French Affair.

Q. So how did your family react to your memoirs?

A.  Well, the two main characters – my Mum and Dad- had already passed by then but my brother has chosen not read it at all. I think he would really feel the loss at the end of Just One More Day.

Q. In the second of your memoirs you have written from the male perspective – how hard was this for you?

A. I was fortunate that I got to know my Dad for a lot longer. As Dad wrote so much, an awful lot of what is in the book he really wrote himself: I just adapted it to fit into my writing. Dad did his best to keep us all together at a time when men would have fielded children out to aunts and grandparents. Writing from his perspective made me relive everything that I had put my dad through after Mum died: He really didn’t know what to do with such a hellish teenage girl. In fact, when I asked Steph to read it I actually said “I hope you still like me after reading it”. I am now a supporter of Winston’s Wish as they help support in times of child bereavement: who knows how things would have turned out if they had been around when I lost Mum.

When a member of the audience introduces themselves as a member of Sevenoaks writing group Susan very affably offers to “come along to your writers group sometime, for a chat, if you would like?” She then goes on to display how down to earth she is by saying that as she had gotten older she doesn’t hold ideas and details in her head like she used to. She tells us how she ran a competition on Face book for the winner to get their name used as a character’s name in one of her texts. Susan tells us how she had completely forgotten about this until the winner contacted her: there had been a vital component of the novel missing until this woman got in touch and then her character led the novel along. Susan explains how writing, for her, is much like being a sort of medium as she is taken over by the characters. When Susan wrote in her mother’s “voice” she felt as though her mother had taken hold of her fingers and had written those parts herself.

Steph then gave Susan a much earned break by announcing the start of the raffle and auction. There were some truly outstanding prizes on offer including a Jimmy Choo handbag donated by the author herself, a Chamilia bracelet with a B.C.C charm, a basket of goodies from Maisy K, A photo shoot with Catherine Hill Photography, a set of GHD straighteners and a voucher for a cut and blow dry with Matthew Cross, a one hour full body massage in the comfort of the winner’s own home, a mini car donated by Mini, a Pink Pandora Bracelet and an Amber Necklace. Overall this event raised approximately £3000 for Breast Cancer Care: a hugely successful event – congratulations to all involved!

Susan’s 28th novel No Child of Mine will be released on July 5th.

One of the hazards of writing a purely comedy inspired blog is that sometimes the funny all dries up. I realise, given the content of my previous posts and my ability to attract slapstick like a moth to a flame, that seems impossible but I really am currently sitting here wailing “somebody do something funny!” How is it that I haven’t done anything absurdly stupid in a while? Have I learnt caution? Doubtful. Something is wrong in the universe Watson and I’m determined to sniff out the “fishy” by Jove! Perhaps what I should do whilst I await my next calamity is go out and make funny happen to myself or others. Which of the following would generate the most comedy value:

1)      Whilst driving my Dad to a Dr’s appointment I do my best rally car driver impression: driving at high velocity round precarious bends yelling “Yee HAW” whilst Dad’s knuckles turn white with the vice like grip of the dash board. Dad does his best impression of “The Scream” – he’s hoarse from, well, all the screaming – then faints in pure terror.

2)      I decide to take my dear little bumper car through the car wash: sounds innocuous enough but, you forget, dear readers I am due a little mishap. Things that could go wrong/comedy gold on offer at the car wash (and the reason I have always been too scared to go through one) are as follows –

a.       My recently “Auto Glass-ed” window pops again causing me to weep and wail like a banshee and make me incapable of  moving my car: the nice boys in the petrol garage have to come and move it for me muttering “I thought women liked fairy sounds” and proclaiming that this would never happen to a male driver

b.      My roof is torn away from the body of the car exposing my head to the big washer thingies. My hair gets tangled up in said washy thingies and is torn from my head. Or: my head won’t give up my hair and my head is pulled from my body. The end.

c.       The car wash fills with limitless water and then breaks down. I have to live in said car wash for all eternity. I evolve to an amphibious life: I now have webbed feet and scales.

3)      I go for a smaller, noisier target: I throw large sticks so accurately that they get wedged in the spokes of the bikes that small children are riding up and down the street on. They are pretending to be motorbikes. Broom, Broom indeed children.

4)      I get arrested for what the police term “manslaughter” when one of the kiddies is killed. I then:

a.       Plead diminished responsibility – “my blog followers made me do it, your honour”– they believe that I am psychologically disturbed and lead me to my padded cell in a straight jacket

b.      Am sentenced to a life living in a car wash (see point 2. A)

c.       Am sent to prison where I acquire a questionable room mate…

d.      Am found not guilty: clearly children pretending to be a motorcycle is a fraudulent act therefore I was simply doing my civic duty. I will then get a magazine deal to sell my story “I just did what anyone would have done” and rise to stardom overnight

Vote now!

I have created a Lego Monster, dear readers. This is only made worse by the realisation that my blog category “Lego” and “Addictions” is only getting bigger by the day. As those of you who have read “My Boyfriend is Addicted to Lego Shopping” will know, his new found obsession with Lego started off as a well meaning attempt to put some of the child like sparkle back into Christmas for him. Unfortunately I didn’t really foresee the long term effects of this: not only have I caused my twenty six year old boyfriend to regress back to playing with Lego, but I’ve caused his twenty three and twenty one year old brothers to go the same way. Now I wish to make it clear that I never intended for the two of them to be similarly affected.

Last night, following the incident of the Altercation with the Dustbin, the boyfriend kindly picked me up from work and presented me with a carrier bag full of lovely posh chocolate. My immediate response was to proclaim this to be a reward for being ridiculous and I should continue driving my car as if it were a bumper car at the funfair. Shortly after this I surmised it was in fact a (very well aimed) ruse. A deflection if you will, from what the three had been up to all day. I knew there had been some talk about going shopping while I was at work and visiting the Lego Shop (a.k.a Mecca – not to be confused with Meccano which, apparently, is “TOTALLY different from Legos, duh”).

The three, grown men, had gone and whiled away the hours at the Lego shop. They managed to frighten away any child that so much as glanced at their coveted treasures and, after maiming several children, left the shop with six different Lego sets between them. Yes, SIX. My boyfriend had desired one of these sets for quite some time (having researched all the other possible sets he could add to his ever expanding Lego Collection: “But I am just getting next month’s Lego allowance early”?!?!) and had chosen the biggest one they had in the store: “NO, there are other bigger ones….”

My Dad pointed out to me earlier that it would actually be fairly easy to maintain order in a relationship where my partner had regressed so far as all I needed to do was threaten to take his toys away if he didn’t do as he was told. This was especially appropriate as I had already done this the previous evening when the conversation steered back towards the incident of the Altercation with the Dustbin and I threatened to take away and hide a vital component of his new Lego if he persisted. His response: “Oh no! Don’t take away the battery pack!” Sorry did you just say “battery pack”? Apparently his amazing super duper wow new Lego has a battery pack included: “It doesn’t drive or anything but the windows and doors open”.

As I sighed and looked around for a sane person in the room I found that all had gone silent. It was, in fact, the quietest the house had ever been when they were all in before which seemed eerie. Then I realised that the silence was that perfect silence of concentration. The boys were all sat on the floor with little piles of different coloured Lego all around them trying to construct theirs the fastest.

What have I done?

That’s correct, I live in Ghetto Ville. Apparently. This is according to the 17 year old boy in our household who discourses with his friends in the “hood” style. Because they is well 'ard innit yeah, you get me? No, it’s alright, I don’t expect you to “get me” because “you don’t even know me bruv”, oh how I wish this were so. If you haven’t heard any of this ghetto speak and wish me to decode it for you I am afraid I cannot: I am no more able to speak “ghetto” (aka R.I.D.I.C.U.L.O.U.S) than you are.

Perhaps I should paint a picture for you of the Ghetto in which the “Village Massive” live. Our Village and the surrounding villages are much like any other countryside village really, everyone says good morning and good afternoon, walks their dogs on a Sunday morning, they all trade their garden produce and there is a “healing” retreat up the road. The closest high street is three miles up the road and holds a tiny police station that’s only open limited hours for lost cats and such. There are a handful of shops including an antiques shop, several hairdressers, a handful of country gentleman type pubs, a clock shop, a florist and a jeweller. Of course there is also the Ghetto Ville Mecca: Tesco. “I’m a bad man, you get me?” Indeed, bad at spelling, bad at grammar and BAAAAD  attitude but don’t worry you all get to spend Mummy and Daddy’s hard earned cash on Tesco sandwiches, kebabs and taxis to the high street because walking there is just “long man, innit”.  And no, I don’t get you, because, unlike you of course, I haven’t been raised in the “hood”.

The Ghetto kids were mostly raised in a suburban bubble surrounded by rolling countryside and farm land. They went to the little village schools and spent Sundays at Farmers markets with their parents. Now they have identical matching missing eyebrows, pants on display (that’s not just the boys) and somehow manage to have shiny new trainers every few weeks, despite having had a “deprived” childhood that we don’t understand and have got issues, yeah?

Our Christmas entertainment this year was the board game “CHAV” as a tongue in cheek poke at the attempt to “Ghetto – up” our village. We figured it would be interesting to see who would actually come out as king or queen of the chavs in our house: surely it would be the actual “gangsta” in our midst?  There was considerable mirth around the table as we battled to keep hold of Ayia Napa, Alco pops, a belly bar and a box of Super kings.  Much to his own irritation Ghetto Boy was the first to be eliminated and he stomped out of the house to go and “hang” with his “homeboys” in the bus shelter up the high street (no, I have no idea what this actually entails either).

So, who eventually won the chav crown? Well, if you hadn’t already guessed, me of course.

1.    1.  Your Mum can tell you what all your friends’ statuses have been updated to today.

2.    2.  Your Dad starts up a debate on what colour your hair should be using a picture you have been tagged in as a reference.

3.    3.   That burning smell coming from the kitchen. That’s dinner.

4.    4.    Your Dad sits through you talking to him without offering a single response to what you’ve said but merrily chuckles away to himself whilst tapping the screen on his phone. That’ll cost you Royal Bank of Dad.

5.   5.   Your Mum starts talking about old photos on your boyfriend’s profile page. The walls start to feel like they are closing in around this stage.

6.   6.    The teenager in the household deletes his Facebook account and switches to Twitter in the hope that it will take them years to catch up. And Facebook is his LIFELINE.

7.   7.   Your friends start a conversation with “Erm, this is awkward, but I’ve had a friend request from your Mum…”

8.   8.    Or (and I am yet to decide which is worse), your friend starts a conversation with “Oh yeah I was talking to your Mum about that earlier”….??!?!

9.   9.   Your Dad attempts an “I have more Facebook friends than you” type of competition. Sigh.

10.10.  Your “Newsfeed” no longer shows any news except that your Mother “likes” 50 odd things on Facebook and your Dad has continued his debate over your hair colour…for 50 pages.

11 11. You end up having to give y

our parents a “Facebook for Dummies” tutorial in order to stop them disgracing themselves (you).

12.12.  Your parents start attempting

to censor your posts in case you start disgrac

ing yourself (them).

Yes I am twenty three and in my friends list are both my parents. My Dad was temporarily removed a few months ago due to some images that I knew were going up and would offend his delicate sensibilities (what father wouldn’t be brimming with pride at photos of his little girl on a fancy dress night on the tiles I wonder?!). I live with said (sad) parents. My life is looking more and more desirable right? I got in from work this evening to find my mother far too engrossed in “how do I send someone a message?...OOOH SOMEONES TALKING TO ME!” (They can’t hear you if you squeal at the computer Mother although I – unfortunately – can) to say hello.

Eventually she manages to tear herself away from the social world of engaging with other human beings - solid proof that you really aren’t a teenager anymore mother - and comes into the kitchen to say hello: grinning like a Cheshire cat. This grin is something that women of all ages know the cause of. Deep sigh. “Ok. Who got fat?” no, not just fat apparently, like, SUPER fat. This is supposed to enrich my life in some way I presume as I am dragged to the computer to ascertain that, yes; my mother’s correspondent was, indeed, a little more than festively plump. Having established this I go back to making myself food and watching mum’s dinner cook into a congealed mess: “Mum, how long exactly are you going to cook that pasta for?” (It’s fresh pasta that requires about 5 minutes but has had about 20 minutes thanks to my mum’s somewhat limited attention span) “MUM, SERIOUSLY STOP TALKING TO THE FAT LADY AND COME AND HAVE DINNER”. She eats her “dinner” at the computer with her online friends. Ah, the joys of watching your own parents regress…

This is because after spending a day in my Mother’s company I am at the stage where I struggle to remember my own name. I was in the middle of a sentence which I stopped abruptly and couldn’t remember where I was going with it (a Mother favourite). He prompted me to continue but I couldn’t and told him so and that, really, I wasn’t even sure I could remember my own name at present: “Jim” was what he called me. 

I regularly inform my Mother that she has “early onset” although she has told me I need to stop saying it in case someone takes offence. Incidentally, last week when I was talking to someone at work about my Mum’s inability to retain information for more than 3 minutes, they did actually point out to be that Alzheimer’s isn’t funny and I shouldn’t joke about things like that: “I’m not joking, she really does have early onset” ok I probably didn’t respond in the most adult manner but I have a VERY warped sense of humour (which they really should know by now) which led to me informing my Mum that someone with Alzheimer’s wouldn’t actually mind and get all PC about it, because within a few minutes of my saying it they would have forgotten anyway.( I am in no way to be considered to be mocking Alzheimer’s or Dementia: I realise more needs to be done to raise awareness of these issues) I just, quite literally, am the kind of person that would laugh at a funeral – I REALLY have done that. I would say ask my Mum to back me up on that one but, well, she probably doesn’t remember. Memory loss isn’t really a joke. Because it’s coming my way: I take after my Mother in a whole lot of ways. That’s why when I remind her that I will be choosing her nursing home and she responds that its okay because she is going to come over and wee on my furniture I am not at all concerned: I wont remember this agreement or even that she wee’d on my sofa.

We drove to somewhere my Mum had never seen before today and pulled into the car park “Oh, is this it? I don’t like it. It looks like somewhere you might dump a dead body” my response to this? “Mother, if I was confident in my ability to drive any car back home safely, let alone yours, I would be seriously considering testing that dead body theory…[long pause]…sorry what was I saying?”

A year since I last posted and I am wondering where the time went. I was really getting into the swing of writing as ideas occurred to me, and enjoying the process of putting thoughts into words...and then I just lost focus for whatever reason. But as I was walking through cold wet Folkestone today and passed my friend Rachal (she sells all the lovely incense sticks, burners and other wonderfully evocotive items on her Saturday market stall) - I stopped for a chat.

Rachal was happy to stand and  listen to me chat on about a hundred different topics whilst she sold to her regular custumers and passers by. And I realised I was using poor Rachal to download several months worth of thoughts all jumbled up.

During our chat we covered just about everything from: goats cheese and red onion tarts made by Nick Todd and available in Googies and what an absolute culinary delight they are, spiritual teaching and my inability to articulate what that means in my life, psychic healing and psychic events that I am producing this year, creams and potions that do not contain lanolin (lanolin makes my skin fall off), relationships and how strange and frightening they can be, trust and what a wonderful thing it is when you find it, mind, body and spirit events I will produce which may also give an opportunity for local practitioners to showcase themselves, serendipity ...well I just like the word, management training and the potential to work with a German colleague in UK and Germany maybe, our children and their emotional needs, the weather..it was cold and wet and necessitated hot coffee drinking and blueberry muffin eating, discussion groups and how my new personal development support discussion group for therapists and practitioners is shaping up, psychotherapy and psychotherapists who despite being wonderful at helping folk with problems have their own journey of inner learning (as do we all), well made wooden toys and the potential online market for them, weddings (Zac and Heather are getting married...yayyy)....and by the time I had paused for breath Rachal had decided that due to the rain it was time to pack up and go home (she said it was the weather anyway). She didn't complain once about my barrage of words and disconnected ideas and offered to visit me in the week to give me a much needed head, shoulder and neck massage.

After our 'short' chat...I realised that it would be far kinder and easier on Rachals ears if I just started to write again...so here I am and I will start to regale your eyeballs and brain cells with new thoughts from the chaos inside my head.

For now though..I just want to say that in my opinion we do not talk enough - OK I perhaps overdid it this time so I take that point but for Rachal to spend the time listening to me was a wonderful gift of her time and patience and allowed me to sound out some thoughts on a number of significant things happening in my life.Just getting the words and ideas out there instead of occuping my headspace calmed me down.

Ok, I have done enough talking for one day...I am going to give myself the silent treatment now and will not be talking for 6 hours (easy to do actually because I am on my own this evening lol). I will soon be back with more words though..so until then bfn.

Information about Practitioners and Therapist Personal Development Support Discussion group 'Unstick Yourself' can be found here.

If you would like to know more about the above free and informal discussion group - with no obligation - please sign up here .

Lately autism seems to be taken for granted and forgotten about. having a child who is skating round the outer rims of the autism spectrum, a relative whose severly autistic and a friend with an autistic child - these few words need to be said so people are more tolerant of the condition.

My autism makes me do things and I don't understand why.

I sometimes hurt other children and sometimes make them cry.

I don't always understand the words you say with the sounds of the lights buzzing round my brain.

The tiny noises you can't hear I hear again and again and again! I need the rules to be followed and I don't like it when they're not.

I forget I'm not an adult and I tell you off........alot!

Sometimes when you come near me I think you are invading my space.

I may have an extreme reaction because I feel you're in my face! I like to be first at everything and may push you in the queue.

I do not mean to be rude it's just something that I do. I like to be the leader and take control of how we play.

I may get cross when I find that you will not play my way. I don't like getting into trouble and I want to be your friend.

The unkind things I sometimes do are because my brain won't mend.

You may see me spin,hand flapping and body shaking til I go red. It's just my way of coping with the lack of balance in my head.

I get fixated on a topic and will speak of it all day. I do not mean to bore you but it's important to me to say.

So next time you see a meltdown, don't look and laugh and stare.

The child is not always naughty. Please be AUTISM AWARE ? 

I'm back again for another fantastic interview.  Where do these people hide in Kent?

This week's special guest on my blog is the wonderfully truthful and exceptionally brave Sian Murphy, 48 from Hoo near Rochester, Medway.

Although the picture is quite clear, Sian would like to reiterate that she is a woman as her name is sometimes confused with Sean.  Don't worry Sian, they will never make that mistake.

Currently, Sian runs her own business, Stormchasers, with her husband Mark.  In conjunction with her work at Stormchasers, Sian works with 2 other professional to make up The Ruby Marketers.

If you are wondering exactly what the company is, I will tell you!  The company specialises in helping local business owners who are computer illiterate or did not have the priviledge of using a laptop when they were younger to market their business online.  The range of services they offer is so vast which can start from setting up a Business Blog for a business to setting up social media profiles and as Sian puts it 'Give them the confidence and know-how to start using it.'

If that wasn't already enough, Stormchaser is branching out in another field of their business.

'Another part of my business is run by my husband Mark and he builds starter websites for businesses as part of Stormchasers at AskStormchasers.'

I was intrigued to find out more and did a bit of 'Googling' and came across an interesting article on the following website:

http://leavingthearmedforces.com/stormchasers/

I found a great quote on this website which described Stormchasers as a business that  'Is about leaping forwards into the storm, and coming back out the other side into a brighter and calmer world.'

I think this is a great acknowledgement of Sian and Mark's hard work.

And for any potential new and bright minds that want to begin their own business, take this advice from Sian.  'My tip for setting up in business is to give it time.  Work out how long it will take you to get it all up and running and get work finished - and then double it!'

'Set goals and then plan how you are going to achieve them and don't give up too soon, but be prepared to bend and sway as things change.  Smile, laugh, share and have 1 full day off each week.'

Wise words and I think, sensible advice for new business minds in the making.  Thanks Sian!

Moving on to Kentish matters, Sian likes the diversity of the landscape in Kent.  'We have rolling countryside, inland waterways, estuary shorelines and seaside all within a 70 mile radius.  To top it all off we also have some fascinating industrial areas with some really unexpected hidden treasures.'

Sian particularly like Hoo Church Cemetery.  Before you feel a shiver go down your spine, listen to the reason.  'A bit odd I know but unlike so many graveyards, Hoo is full of life.  Despite the age of many of the gravestones, there are flowers and shiny windmills, some truly wonderful trees to sit under when it's raining and some well placed benches for when the sun is out.  There are often children playing or just hanging out in their hoodies chatting to each other, whilst other villagers walk their dogs.  It's the happiest graveyard I've ever been to!'

Maybe I could have saved this for Halloween but I think it is great to hear something out the ordinary in an ordinary day in our lives.  Plus, I have never heard someone describe a graveyard in detail without using the words 'depressing' and 'upsetting' before.

As you know, my avid readers, as of 2011 I introduced a new question to my blog in which my interviewees tell me a specific fact or snippet of information about our beloved county.  Sian had a really interesting and historical one this week!

'One day I'm going to walk the Saxon Shore Way.' Sian begins. ' The Shore Way follows the line of historic fortifications that defended the Kent coast at the end of the Roman era.  The Shore Way is 160 miles long and starts from Gravesend and goes right the way around to Hasting, East Sussex.'

'There's lots to see along the way from ports, coastline and stunning countryside and of course that sense of history that walking along an ancient footpath - following along in the footstep of goodness know who always amuses me.'

Further to Sian's comments about the Saxon Shore Way, there are also four Roman fort remains, dating from the 4th Century that line the trail.  The only one I am familiar with is the one in Dover.  Kent is very rich in history but it is always great to learn about new things that different Kent residents know from their own experiences.

One of my favourite parts of the blog is eating spots! 

Sian enjoys eating at two pubs in Kent, namely The Ringlestone Inn and The Pier at Upnor, Rochester.  'I like them because the food is good and so is the atmosphere.  We also like to take a little picnic along the shoreline at Hoo every now and then.' 

You can't beat a Ham and Colman's Mustard sandwich, a bag of kettle crisps and a healthy slice of Chocolate Fudge cake! Delicious.

When not working, Sian enjoys cooking and eating meal with the family with a good bottle of wine, which she finds is her 'favourite pastime.'

This is followed by watching a movie whilst nodding off on the sofa.  A pastime of many in Kent I assume.

But there is more!  'When Mark and I are on our own, we enjoy walking and can often be spotted meandering mindlessly around the haunts of Hoo with nowhere in particular to go.'

'I also make rag rugs from old clothes and cloth, mainly for decorative purposes.'

My blog now enters a more serious tone that I believe needs delicate and careful attention as I am writing it.  Normally, I take great delight in listening to my interviewees explaining a humourous story to me about themselves, whether it be of them waking up semi nude on a beach after an initiation ceremony at University or walking into walls for no apparent reason.

Sian tells me a story that she is currently closing in her life at the moment.  One that has me wanting to stand up and applaud her bravery and courage to be able to tell a volunteer bloggist she has never met a very close and personal chapter of her life which I greatly appreciate and hope you find I have describe in a way that is befitting to you.

'2 years ago Mark and I used to have jobs.  I worked in local Government and Mark was a Project Manager.  We were both unhappy with our jobs and spent years talking about leaving and starting our own business.  I'd already trained as an NLP (forgive me if I'm wrong - Neurolinguistic Programming) practitioner and copywriter but unfortunately we didn't plan properly and then in

2009 found ourselves so stressed and miserable that we just decided to hand in our notice and quit.'

So, on 1st August 2009 there we were with no salaries, but some rather grand business plans.  On 17th August, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  That stopped us in our tracks for a while.'

'It's now 2 years later and whilst I'm still on medication, our business is finally taking off after lots of false starts.  I could write a whole book on false starts but we have learned so much.'

'It sounds odd but whilst it might seem like the worst possible time to get cancer, in fact it was the best and it might even have been a lifesaver.  Had I been diagnosed whilst I was still at work I think I never would have left because of the security around the sick pay.  If I wasn't diagnosed just 2 weeks after we both left our jobs we would have just transferred our hectic lifestyles from jobs to businesses.  It would have been the same except now we wouldn't have been receiving monthly pay cheques!'

'Today we've both learned the lesson that money isn't that important, although of course that is also now our challenge because when you are in business you have to value money to some extent or you don't earn any of the damn stuff!'

'We also say thank you got what we do have instead of moaning about what we don't and we really do have so much.  Today we are working with some fabulous people the universe has sent us the perfect business partners and associates.  Our offices are up at the Innovation Centre and we have the most amazing fun.  It's all the good stuff about being at work in an office such as being around friends and having someone to share your triumphs and challenges, but without all of the grim stuff of having to dance to someone else's tune.'

As upbeat as ever, Sian claims ' We're having a ball!'

Now one of my favourite parts of the blog where my interviewees put the world to rights with their opinions on how to make Kent a better place.

"I would get planners in Medway to either change or introduce a required ratio of concrete to plants and greenery in the large housing development that are springing up around Hoo.  Many of the houses open directly onto the street, there are no gardens to speak of and the roads are so narrow they are like little brick tunnels.'

Sian likes to see 'a bit of green' when she looks out the window and whilst she doesn't live a development house, it still forms part of the landscape.

'Given that these estates have replaced fields, it would seem ecologically important at least to give a cursory nod to keeping some greenery around!'

I totally agree with that point and think that planners and developers should look closely at where they are building and how it will affect the local surrounding for both the locals and the wildlife.

So we come to my random question of the week and this one is a really good one!

If you could become any person in the world for one day, who would you become and why?

'I tried so hard to think of someone who wasn't too obvious but I couldn't, so I plumped for Oprah Winfrey, a bit of a cliche I know.'

'I chose Oprah because I want to know how it feels to be her.  She had a difficult childhood, dealt with racism and has overcome so much to get where she is.  She has such a clear vision about her life, that I want to know how that feels so I can recreate it for myself.

Well, this has been one of my most intense blogs yet, with highs and lows, cheerful quips and serious tones but overall I have enjoyed writing this one very much.  I hope Sian receives the recognition she deserves, not just through this blog but through the business world too.

Sian - my very best wishes for your future and a speedy recovery and I hope your business will continue to bloom!

So that's it for another week folks! (No Looney Tunes pun intended) but check in again soon for my newest interviewee.  Who knows, it could even be you!

If you live in Kent, let's talk!

If you would like to appear on my blog, all I ask is that you live in Kent and that you are willing to talk to me for 10 - 15 minutes about yourself.

If you think you'd like to give it a try, drop me an email on millendauthor@gmail.com and we will see what we can do!