Angelina Cabo

Angelina Cabo

About

Shane (GBFF andHollywood publicist to a bunch of people you’ve never heard of) says that themost important thing when talking about yourself is never to be boring. Hesuggested that I tell you that I was inspired to write Purely Decorative inorder to relieve the unrelenting tedium of nomadic desert life after I waskidnapped by Toureg tribesman during a hen party weekend in Marrakech. I snappedback that I wasn’t about to let someone else’s vacation fantasies pervert myrelationship with my readers.

I was also tempted tosay that he might be better at his job if he told the truth more often - but inthe first place, that’s nonsense, nobody wants to hear the truth about anythinghere. And in the second place, he has a pool.

Call me shallow (mylast boyfriend said if he paddled in me he doubted he’d get his feet wet, but,like, whatever) - but poolside with a cocktail in one hand and a Macbook Air inthe other is my favourite way to work. If I could eat chips and type with mynose, life would be perfect.

But my seedy studioin Venice doesn’t have pool. Unless you count the canal out front, which I didonce (only once) after my neighbour’s Mojito Mojo party last year. The water’sonly a foot deep, who knew? I went headfirst into the mud at the bottom andcame up looking like… actually, looking like I’d just spent five hundreddollars on a mud wrap at Bliss Spa (I wish). My skin glowed for days after, butthat could have been the embarrassment.

Shane, on the otherhand, lives in a mansion in Beverley Hills and hardly ever uses his poolbecause his psychic has convinced him that swimming is bad for fire signs. I’m Sagittarius, which is fine, apparently, as long as I don’t get mybow string wet. And that, right there, is why I love LA.

This was supposed tobe all about me, but it seems to be more about Shane. Still, we’re known by thecompany we keep. Don’t judge either of us too harshly.

All you really needto know about me is that my teeth are whiter and my smile is happier since Imoved from London to Los Angeles three years ago.

Peter and the Whimper-Whineys

Peter and the Whimper-Whineys

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<span style="line-height:115%;font-family:Calibri, 'sans-serif';font-size:11pt;"><span style="font-family:Calibri;">Peter and the Whimper-Whineys is about a small rabbit who whines all the time. His mother cautions him that if he keeps on whining and crying, he’ll have to go live with the Whimper-Whineys. One night Peter hops into the dark forest.<span>  </span>He meets some Whimper-Whineymen and discovers that not only do the Whimper-Whineys whine all the time, but they are very ill-mannered and rude. He discovers that everything is sour in Whimper-Whineyland and decides his mother was right! If only he can get back home… a recent critique, “Though there are other books out there for children about whining, I cannot imagine any parent or guardian not wanting to read this book to their child!... <span> </span>Parents everywhere applaud you!” </span></span>

Story Behind The Book

Based on a True Story - It Happened to My Mother Sometimes a little of what you fancy doesn’t do you any good at all... and meeting the love of your life may just be the worst thing that ever happens to you... But that’s what happened to my mother when she was about my age, twenty-something. In the Eighties she was a bit of a wild child, so when she was offered an all-expenses paid luxury trip to Barcelona, she didn’t hesitate. Even when she found out that her “job” was to act as arm candy for a macho millionaire playboy from Venezuela. My mother thought she was more than a match for any male chauvinist pig, even one who was paying her to be “purely decorative” and who demanded total discretion and total obedience. She thought wrong. And by the time she found out what he was really up to in Barcelona - and what he wanted her to do - it was too late. She’d fallen under his spell. My mother didn’t tell me the story of her relationship with Raoul until I turned twenty-one. I guess by then she thought I was old enough to handle the truth...

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