PARTY GIRL – the shockingly pink, sparkly and totally fabulous sixth St Jude’s book comes out this week.

Now I don’t want to give too much away but I can tell you that at St Jude’s this term: Gina really can’t decide whether she loves or hates her new boyfriend (does that make him the Marmite boyfriend?)… Amy is still trying to track down her real Mum but is frightened of what she might find out… and Niffy’s got family problems of her own. Then there is Min: exams are looming so she has just about locked herself in the study. Help!

What every girl needs is to grab a dress and a pair of sparkly shoes (just like the ones on the cover) and dance their problems away at a truly unforgettable party!

I like to say that the St Jude’s series is for teenagers of all ages. I know that I have a wonderful time channelling my inner teen (and remembering so many cringeworthy teenage moments) when I am writing the stories. I really hope you enjoy the new story!

Find out more on my Secrets at St Jude’s website and watch my behind-the-scenes video here!

The weather is shocking. I mean, it’s only December 6th and I’ve already been snowed in at the farm, stuck on a train and had to rescue my children from school on foot through five inches on snow!! At least I wasn’t on the Glasgow motorway that came to a standstill yesterday and trapped drivers for the entire day, even overnight in some cases. What did they eat and drink? Where did they pee?! I can just imagine desperately ransacking the car for an empty coffee cup… or container of any kind.

But we’ll all just have to ‘keep calm and carry on’ as best we can. Work from home if you can (obviously I’m lucky here), keep the kitchen really well stocked up, in case neither you nor the lorries can make it to the shops, cover those water pipes and make sure you know where the stop cock is! I am slightly obsessing about pipes after my indoor water feature last year.

However, we have to fight for the right to Christmas Party!  The Christmas bash is a morale boosting essential. Everyone who’s throwing one deserves a medal and everyone who’s going to one needs to give fabulous guest. My new Christmas party outfit is long sleeved sparkly dress, worn with two thermal vests, woolly tights and a pair of sturdy, non-slip boots. It’s a look. Very winter 2010. Take care out there and plan some fun. I’m determined to avoid my annual Christmas nervous breakdown, I may even start wrapping before December 24th this year!

Love Carmen xx

The Good…

NEW BOOKS!!

The third Secrets at St Jude’s : Drama Girl hits the shelves this month! The official publication date is Feb 4, but you will be able to get your hands on a copy from the last weekend in January. You can order direct from the publishers here and if you’d like signed book-plates to stick in the front, then just drop me an email – carmen@carmenreid.com.

Just a little bit longer to wait for the new Annie – Celebrity Shopper is out on March 4th!

This is Jimmy’s new winter scarf, knitted specially for him by the totally lovely, top St Jude’s fan, Zarah Ahmed. Is it not soooooo cute?! Jimmy has been enjoying the snow. But when the temperature goes below minus 5, his feet freeze, he stars limping and has to be carried home – which he hates as he may be tiny, but he is definitely no lapdog.

There has been so much snow for weeks that we have almost got bored of sledging! In the Botanical Gardens there is this steep hill peppered with trees. Claudie has no control over her sledge and it is terrifying to watch, but how can I not let her go without being a huge spoilsport?

When I was about 10, my Dad built this mile long downhill ‘cresta run’ which he used his tractor armed with a leaking water butt to ice over. We used to hurtle down it on an antique sledge which had metal runners rubbed with candle wax! I remember shooting clean through the wires of a fence. Now I hear myself suggesting to my children that they wear bicycle helmets…

The Bad…

Bleeeeeuuuuurrrrrrghhhhh!

I always have a lovely time over Christmas and New Year and tell myself that this year, I’m going to be positive and surely January won’t be that bad? Then it comes round and slaps me in the face all over again.

Jan 2nd, it is freeeeeeezing despite all the heating roaring at full blast and wearing three layers at all times. Jan 3rd horrible icky sticky sinusitis sets in, despite the fact that I have been saintly over the holidays, eating well and hardly drinking at all. My New Year’s resolution btw is to change from being a ‘regular’ drinker into a ‘very occasional’ drinker. Jan 4th my pipes burst and suddenly we have an indoor water feature. More like waterfall.

For an hour, it is a hideous drama. Water gushing from kitchen ceiling, light sockets (yikes!) door arches, children holding buckets and crying, parents rushing about trying to find more buckets, the plumber’s number and shrieking about where is the stopcock? And how does it work? And why the bloody hell don’t we know this?

(Just take a moment now my darlings to locate the stopcock, that’s the large tap that turns off all the water in your house, and work out how to turn it off. If your pipes burst, you will thank me. One friend already has!)

However, once the water has been mopped up and everything moved about and dried off. Things don’t look quite so bad. In fact, apart from some repainting and a new kitchen ceiling, we may not have to get anything else replaced. Obviously a lot more insulation will have to go up into the draughty attic space, where the pipes froze in the first place. But we have had days and days at minus 5 and nights of minus 10.

I am a terrible person to have around in a crisis. I did a lot of running about, panic sweating and shouting. ‘Just be calm, stay calm’ I shouted a lot, in a voice which didn’t sound calm at all. Generally I ran about like a great flapping chicken. But I did hug the children a lot afterwards and tell them how well they’d done. They stood under a doorway with buckets, catching water. I remember Claudie rushing down from her bedroom with a tiny sand bucket and her towel.

We couldn’t cook in the soaking kitchen that night, so we went to Macdonalds. See how I am cleverly linking images of family disaster with fast food in their impressionable minds.

The Ugly…

I was back at my desk (box of tissues on one side, used crumpled pile of tissues on the other, red, flaky nose doused in Nivea, sheepskin slippers, thermal vest, two jumpers) feeling totally depressed about the ceiling leak and the frozen pipes. The pipes re-froze twice after the burst! Cue much panic, heaters in attic, hairdryers, kettles etc. Me convinced everyone was going to be electrocuted.

But as my dear friend Annie Valentine would tell me: no good comes of huddling about in 15 layers of wool and nose cream. The January spiral will set in. Before I know it I’ll be too cold to leave the house. Too cold to leave the bedroom. Too cold to move from the electric blanket! Then that big grey, snotty blanket of bleakness will move in on me.

I know Annie’s advice would be to dress up a bit and face the world. So… I washed my face, applied lipgloss, put on my leopard skin hat instead of my woolly one and dug my black fake fur coat out of the back of the wardrobe. Yes, definitely more glamorous than the duvet coat.

Then I walked the school run, even though it’s nearly a five mile round trip. When I got to the playground, it’s funny, but other Mums I know approached to stroke the coat!! Then we were all swapping winter tales of woe. Someone’s child’s front teeth got knocked out sledging. People are buying bottled water at the supermarket because even their cold water has frozen solid. Someone else went up into the attic to inspect their insulation and found dust!

It was good to get out there, get some perspective and realise I’m not the only one with some minor problems!

The children and I walked home from school in minus 8. It was freezing yes, but magically cold. We saw someone skating on a pond. This winter will be a very special childhood memory for them.

I got a message from a lovely 15 year old girl called Fabvinne who is an amazing 6’2”. We had a few email exchanges about being so tall when you’re a teenager and how to cope with it.

I was about 6’ at 15 and went on to grow another inch! People always assume you’re delighted to be tall, but in my experience it can take time to grow into your height. I was definitely a tall introvert when I was young, so I was always trying to disguise myself with flat shoes and lots of black.

OK, my top tall tips… posture, posture, posture. I know, you don’t want to hear this, especially if your Mum’s been nagging since you were small, but tall people tend to slouch and if, like me, you’ve got boobs, you might be tempted to slouch even more. Ballet or yoga are definitely the answer. I did a yoga class every week for two years in my 20s and it changed my back completely. Now people compliment me on my posture! Sitting up straight comes naturally (shock!) I definitely think it looks better. Walking tall is the way to go, even if you are a foot taller than everyone else around.

If you are a tall person who loves heels: great, fantastic, go for it! Personally, I don’t really need the extra two inches. I feel freakish. I bump my head on doorways. I like one inch at the most. But my flat shoes must be pointy, this looks best on big feet.

Above the knee skirts and tight trousers, yes, I like. If you have 36 inches of leg, you might as well flaunt it. I never wear long dresses, because I look like a column. Even long, for me, ends well above the ankle.

Don’t get me started on finding trousers long enough. Only really Top Shop Tall and Long Tall Sally do them long enough. Most men’s trousers are sold un-hemmed and I am kind of outraged that this can’t be done for women’s trousers too. In fact, men’s jackets and men’s shirts often come in short, regular and long. Why not ours?!

I do use an alterations service to make jacket and coat sleeves long enough and I buy blouses with men’s style double cuffs and wear them unfolded, a good way to get a long enough sleeve.

My favourite tall shops not yet mentioned: Mango clothes are long enough in the sleeve and the body, Hobbs have tiny clothes but a great selection of size 8 and 9 shoes, I also like Uniqlo and Banana Republic. Then there are posh clothes. It does sadly seem to be that the bigger the price tag, the longer things are.

Now just a little advice on shorter men… when I first set eyes on my husband what went through my mind was: ‘cute but too short’ so I risked ruling him out – which would have been a very bad thing! If he stands very, very straight, he’s almost 5’10” but he loves the fact that I’m taller than him, so I don’t slouch, stand on one hip, lean sideways or try to appear smaller in his company.

Stand tall and learn to love your height!

How Not to Shop star Annie Valentine shares her top tips on iVillage, to give you a fabulous wardrobe on a budget!

Read Annie’s tips on i-Villlage

The freezing, freezing weather continues. I can’t take it any more. I am a summer person, or more like an all-year-round tropical person, trapped in the fifth month of a never ending Scottish winter.

Every day I bundle myself up into thermal long johns, jeans, sheepskin boots, thermal top, woollen jumper, fleece hoodie (oh the glamour… you can see why I write about department stores and fashion, can’t you?) I practically sit on top of the heater at my computer and mainline tea, but I’m still cold, deeply, bone-chillingly cold, most of the time. I may even get those fingerless mitts to use at the keyboard… actually no, that would be sad.

Apparently, according to my exercise-ist husband, this is because I need to get fitter and get the blood circulating round my chilly, long limbs. I say: ‘yes I will go to the gym, I will go out for a run, just as soon as it’s bit warmer out there!’ Until then, I am sitting on top of my radiator with a cup of tea and not moving.

My dog, Jimmy, feels the same. He is so cold some days that he wraps himself up in his fleece blankies and will only come out for food.

He’s right, February should be declared National Duvet Month and we should all just be allowed to stay at home and do a Jimmy until it is over.

Right… so, it’s August, and that means summer holidays! Despite my misgivings that our British hols would be two weeks of drizzle and lots of cursing that we didn’t get on a plane to sunnier climes, we lucked out on the weather. So ten of our 14 days in Cornwall were stunningly sunny!

It was beautiful down there: dazzlingly blue and turquoise seas, big waves, long, sandy, deserted beaches. It really is a very special place.

Being brave or foolhardy, I’m not sure which, we booked in for a family surfing lesson. First of all, this involved wetsuits, for everyone. The four of us looked like – remember that kids’ film about the family of superheroes, The Incredibles? Yes that was us, except we were armed with a huge yellow surfboard or giant banana.

It turns out that surfing is quite scary (to begin with, especially if you’re convinced your 6 yr old is about to drown) not to mention exhausting. Muscles I’d never felt before were left aching, but we all worked very hard for our gorgeous surf instructor, yes him of the sea-bleached, tousled hair, a mahogany sea-tan, rippling surfer muscles… I’m sorry, I noticed, I’m only human.

When he referred to my not quite so rippling husband as ‘The Big Fella’ I had to giggle, but I wasn’t laughing quite so hard when he referred to me as: ‘Mum’ !!!! Oh. My. God. That is crossing a line. I’ve clearly got to the age where handsome young men start thinking of me as ‘Mum’. This is deeply, deeply tragic. And I have to say, I didn’t think I was wearing my wetsuit so badly. All that treadmill running had paid off slightly.

I didn’t manage to stand up on my board, but I did do a lot of body boarding which was brilliant. On the beach there were loads of properly old ladies (ie older than me) in suits with board, just grinning from ear to ear. Because it is brilliant fun. This is clearly the secret to a British seaside summer, you’ve got to get in and get wet. Never mind the weather!

Meanwhile, while I was eating pasties and ice cream on Sennen beach near Land’s End, my glamorous sister-in-law was on holiday in New York. Yes, she’s newly single, she’s still child-free, so she decided to book herself a glam singleton holiday to NYC.

Obviously, with the dollar on the skids, everything seemed incredibly good value and she had a very nice little shopping time to herself. Discount shoes, an adorable little Coach handbag and so on.

However, she did report back on a really quite terrifying trend. Every one in NYC carries a beautiful bag, OK, we expected that. In fact, we’d have been shocked if they didn’t, but, here is the but… despite the 35 degree heat, despite the bags and the manicured hands and the incredible designer clothes (smart, smart Prada skirts, nipped in blouses, groomed hair) guess what lots and lots of women were wearing on their feet? High Jimmys or Manolos, I hear you answer and I know, I’d have guessed the same. But no, apparently the coloured, patterned, mid-height Wellington seems to be the footwear of choice!!!! Bizarre!! Is it comfortable to walk about NY in mid-July in calf height wellies? Is it a status statement: I have a really big garden/ allotment/ home in the countryside. Well, whatever the reason… they’re definitely not wearing calf-length wellies for style.

I asked if she at least had a pic for me to post, but she said every time she saw one of these wellie-wearers walk past, she was so shocked, so stopped in her tracks by the sight that she never got it together to take a snap.

Being stared at in disapproval for your fashion faux pas reminds me of being in Paris, aged 19, inter-railing. I was probably wearing a t-shirt, grubby shorts and possibly even hiking boots. This chic Parisisan woman, walked towards me, in the typical Paris outfit of slick, skinny black, smooth hair, sunglasses, and just gave me this look. Her eyes travelled right up and down me and then her face registered this pinched look of horror – making me feel about two inches high.

The last time I was in the south of France, I thought the French women looked a bit frumpy to be honest. All that striped blue and white top business. I mean, it’s quite cute when you’re under ten as holiday wear, but come on!

Yes, I know we’re all Sex And The Citied out. We’ve seen the girls on every cover of every magazine, we’ve read enough interviews with SJP to be able to write her biography off by heart (‘I keep fit by running up and down the stairs of my house… I can’t even blow dry my own hair,’ Oh please!)

But still the film was fabulous, was it not? I’ve seen it twice and I went to a SATC party, so I think that makes me a groupie.

I’ve loved SATC since series one when Miranda wore Gap, Carrie wore second hand and they did those random street polls about finding love in New York.

At the time (1998) I’d just had my first baby so I was shopping in Mothercare and SATC was pure escapism. Could it have been less like my life? No. I was in. I was married. I was stone cold sober, and not getting a lot of action in the small hours, apart from nappy changing.

But that was the fun of it. I still believe the most devoted SATC fans are happily married, tracksuit-wearing mums, who just want a weekly dose of how the other half lives. To remind us why we’re just fine where we are, thanks.

The best things about the series:

* The friendships. You believe that these women are there for the thick and thin, more like family than friends. Everyone needs friends like this.

* The clothes, of course. According to SATC, when you’re a grown up you deserve to spend a little bit more on yourself. Although the great big Prada hairy handbags may have been a shopping spree too far…

* The sex info, thank you very much. Everything I know about sex I’ve learned from Samantha.

* The girl power! Are the foursome not proof that women in their 40s and 50s are interesting, witty and sexy with a host of opportunities and choices open to them? And we can buy our own diamonds and apartments, thank you very much. I never liked that whole Mr Big: ‘I’ve got it covered, baby.’

* The fun! Let’s face it, for previous generations of women, life didn’t look so good after the wedding day. From then on, you were consigned to childcare, housework, elasticated waistbands and frumpy shoes. In SATC, there is no settling! These girls want the best shoes, the best clothes and the best men. And they’re not going to let their waistlines or bikini lines go either. It’s impossible not to want to cheer them on from the sidelines!

Obviously, like Carrie Bradshaw, I’m a ‘writerrrr’ but to my husband’s distress, I do not sit at my laptop in evening gowns or lingerie. I’ve promised him I will do that, just as soon as he drives around town in his own personal chauffeur driven limousine.

Some of my SATC inspired purchases over the years: the corset top, pointy red boots, fake flower and impressive sparkly ring.

Everyone I know left the film lusting after something, for me it was the teensy diamond studs in Carrie’s ears (thank you Claire’s Accessories).

I did love that Carrie looked truly rubbish after the break-up and did Bad Things to her Hair. (Been there, done that!) Plus she wore a few duff outfits as well, to prove that fashionistas take risks and can’t always get it right: I mean, grey thermals under a silk nightie… what was that about?!!

We went fishing at the weekend – a family first. We drove north to this beautiful little loch in the Highlands and it was a day of two halves really (you can tell I have to listen to far more football commentary than is good for me).

In the morning, the wind was bitingly cold and we stood in the grey water forlornly casting, casting and casting again. By the way, casting – flicking the line into the water and pulling it back – is really hard work and I’d thought we’d just be standing about holding our rods in the water… but I still got so cold that when I embedded a fish hook in my finger, I didn’t even notice.

We broke early for lunch, huddled round an Aga and got some feeling back in our toes, before setting off out again.

This time, the sun broke through the clouds, light danced on the blue water and suddenly every view around us looked stunning. Even the prospect of going home without any fish didn’t seem bad, because we’d had such a great day outdoors.

Then, just as we were about to pack up, Claudie’s line began to twitch! With some help, she reeled her little trout in and didn’t have any qualms about bashing his head and taking him home in a plastic bag for breakfast. Poor Sam just about died of envy!

And just to prove what I was writing about last time (Claudie’s spooky sense of style), her fishing outfit which she chose then laid out on her bed for me to pack included co-ordinating pants and a leather hat which she got from the dressing up box. She wore these all day along with her sunglasses, making her the coolest chic on the loch. Although Sam’s slightly serial killer get up of combat jacket, aviator shades and baseball hat came a very close second.

All I can say about myself is that duvet coat with a life jacket? Well, it’s never going to be a good combo now, is it?

Sun! We have sun! For the second day in a row, we have blue skies and a great big golden orb blasting us with heat.

Obviously I couldn’t post a word yesterday, the first officially decent day of the year, because I was doing what every self-respecting Scottish person does at the slightest hint of sunshine: staying outside all day in the skimpiest summer clothes to be found in the back of the wardrobe. Yes, that slightly mouldering pile of things unworn since last August.

Now everyone, apart from me because I am a ‘Mediterranean olive’ type, is already burnt. Can you blame them?? No sun for six, seven months, then a full on, factor 20 blitzer of a day without the slightest warning and no one was going to go off to the chemist’s for sunscreen because they might have missed it. That’s how the weather is here: it could all change in the blink of an eye.

Today, the second official day of sunshine, I have been out and about noticing the alarming variety of confused summer outfits there are out there because no one has been summer shopping and summer clothes are not worn out in a season up here, believe me.

So in just a short tour of the high street I’ve seen more long fishtail dresses (1980s? early 1990s?) than I’d care to mention. Especially bad in olive green. Then there was the girl in the matching printed blouse and printed shorts worn with dark wool tights and MBT trainers… and another in a bright lime green vest dress with baseball boots and the palest Scottish skin you can imagine.

Let’s not leave the men out of this: three quarter length black trousers, sandals, grey socks, white t-shirt, black jacket and monumental beer belly left one third exposed. Mmmmm… you’d think I was making it up, but sadly not.

Personally, I kept my jeans on. It may have been sunny but I wasn’t taking any chances. The weather can change in a blink of an eye.

The only person who looked really good in her new summer wear was my totally style-and-fashion-gifted daughter.

One look out of the window this morning and she went to her three school summer dresses (she bought them herself at last year’s school fete for 50p a pop). She held each one up in turn in front of herself, picked her favourite, then selected white socks with a blue and white check trim and a matching blue hair-clip.

I am constantly learning from her. She always chooses her clothes in a few co-ordinating colours: pink, purple, blue, some red, but nothing else. She is always prepared: buying dresses well ahead of summer and she always cares about the details: the matching socks and clips.

I think the style gene has skipped a generation and gone from my mother, straight to Claudie.

PS The summer holiday is booked…. Cornwall!!!!!!!! (You will have to read the last April post to know why that is tragic!!) No sooner had I booked it, than I was on another writer’s website reading how she’d spent four weeks in Cornwall where it drizzled every single day. AAAAArgh!