Thursday 23 February 2023

Sincerely, Me by Julietta Henderson BLOG TOUR @JuliettaJulia1 @TransworldBooks @RandomTTours #BookExtract


Danny is the definition of a man who 'could do better'. He drinks more than he should, currently lives in his best friend's garden shed - and he hasn't spoken to his sister in 16 years.

But when Danny is the subject of a misleading newspaper article, claiming his lifestyle is actually quite enlightened, he suddenly finds himself in the limelight. Letters begin to flood in from strangers seeking his guidance.

Wolfie is the daughter of Danny's estranged sister, Lou. She's never met her uncle, but her mother is struggling. So when Wolfie sees Danny's picture in the paper, she sets out to find him.

Within a week, Danny goes from being responsibility-free to a big brother, an uncle and an unwitting existential 'guru' to some very lost souls.

Can he become the man they all need him to be?

Sincerely, Me by Julietta Henderson is published on 23 February 2023 by Bantam Press. As part of this #RandomThingsTours Blog Tour, I am delighted to share an extract from the book with you today. 

Extract from Sincerely, Me by Julietta Henderson

Number two highlight of my thirty-ninth birthday: an extremely fit policewoman calling me interesting in front of some very hard to impress neighbours.

Definitely not unconnected lowlight of the day that followed fairly soon after: the disapproving look on Gentleman’s face as I was driven off in the back of a patrol car headed for Camden police station. He’s also quite hard to impress, for a dog, although a damn sight more forgiving than the neighbours.

I suppose if you’re the kind of person that’s used to it, being called interesting mightn’t seem like such a big deal. But when you’re me, Danny Mulberry, Mr Could-Do-Better, permanent address your best mate’s garden shed, the bar is never going to be high. She had brown eyes and a dangerous swing in her walk, that policewoman, and I’m sorry but I couldn’t help noticing.

When I’d woken up slightly later than the crack of dawn on the morning after yet another night before, half in, half out of the front gate, with a claggy paintbrush on the ground beside me and an open tin of paint a few feet away, my main concern had been getting to it before Gentleman tried to have it away for his breakfast. He’s probably eaten worse than a bit of solvent in his time, but there’s no point tempting fate, or a dog with a delicate constitution and a firm belief that every tin in the world is filled with gourmet rabbit in gravy.

I managed to get myself upright and push the gate the rest of the way open, and it was right at the moment I picked up the paintbrush and started trying to work out what was going on that the police car cruised around the corner. I mean, seriously, how’s your luck at that time of the morning?

PC Maria Hanley (as it transpired) pulled up to see me stand- ing with the incriminating, almost beyond a reasonable doubt exhibit A in my hand, and a very cushty circumstantial case about to drop in her lap. She leaned over to say something to the other PC and got out of the car, tilting her head to read the painted words on the pavement. Then she stepped neatly around them and addressed me, quite charmingly. ‘And just what is it you think you’re doing, sir?’

I looked down at the paintbrush in my hand, then at the stray bit of hair that had escaped her sensible ponytail and curled on to her neck just inside her collar. It was mightily distracting, and in my defence, I was also experiencing some serious head spins. But did I do what I was perfectly entitled to, which was give it the old, ‘Well, I’m not absolutely sure, but it might not be what it looks like, Officer’ defence? Did I bollocks. What I did was raise both hands in the air, flash what I hoped was a winning smile, and – in hindsight probably purely out of habit and on account of still being half smashed – wink and give it my best shot.

‘Looks like you’ve caught me red-handed, Officer . . .’ I leaned forward to read her badge. ‘Hanley. Bang to rights and don’t pardon the pun!’

Just to clarify, she didn’t actually call me interesting, per se. 

She squinted her lovely mistrusting eyes like she was considering her options and said, ‘Interesting.’ She left enough space either side of the word to let me know that not only did she suspect I might not have an interesting bone in my body, but that every- thing coming out of my mouth had clearly been thoroughly rinsed in alcohol so wasn’t to be trusted in the least. About right on both counts, to be fair. 

Julietta Henderson grew up in the rainforests of North Queensland, Australia. Like many Australians, her love affair with Europe began when she came to London on a working holiday and stayed for more than a decade. 

Now a full-time writer, Julietta divides her life between Melbourne, the UK and wherever she can find winter. 

The Funny Thing About Norman Foreman was Julietta’s debut novel. Sincerely, Me is her second.

Twitter @JuliettaJulia1

Instagram @juliettahendersonauthor

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