I MADE SEXY WORDS!!!

Let me preface this post by stating that I am not good at languages*. I went to a Jewish day school and the only second language we were taught until high school was Hebrew, and I absolutely sucked at that. This was partly because I just don't have a good ear for languages (particularly guttural Middle Eastern languages that sound like an ongoing exercise in throat-clearing), and partly because the Hebrew teachers at the time were Maths teachers shipped out from Israel, who had no experience whatsoever in the teaching of language. In fact, they had very little grasp of English at all, which led to us treating them with the shocking adolescent contempt reserved for weak and insecure teachers. One teacher, in particular - who we called 'Auntie Edna' for reasons which escape me - earned our particular wrath.

"Do you know what 'shit' means, Auntie Edna?" one boy asked.

"I know only what it is I want to know," she answered haughtily, which I suspect wasn't true at all, but was a pretty good answer nonetheless.

Later, in high school, I studied French, because I loved listening to French people talk, and had visions of myself ordering croissants and cafe au lait in Paris. Sadly, I discovered very quickly that I sucked at French, too. And - unlike my forced study of Hebrew - I really, really wanted to learn French. I studied really hard. I read the books and listened to the tapes and practiced every day. Once I left school I studied French at uni, and once I left uni I studied French at the Alliance Francaise, just for fun. And now, after all that work, I can order croissants and cafe au lait. But I still can't book a hotel room in French or order a taxi or understand a word of SBS Friday night porn. I really am just a cultural Fail.

The top line says 'Kerri Sackville' in Italian

Which leads me to my one second language success. Because I have before me the Italian version of When My Husband Does the Dishes. Yes, I have actually written a book in Italian. And it is beautiful. It says things like 'Una delle grandi e tragiche ironie' and 'Come tutti sappiamo' and 'Una chiamata sul cellular potrebbe', and while I don't have a clue what they all mean, they sound absolutely magnificent and damn sexy besides.

I received a couple of copies of the book, which means I have one to giveaway. So if you speak Italian, or you know someone who speaks Italian who would like a copy of my fabulous and hilarious memoir, leave a comment below and I will choose the best and most deserving to win.

Ciao, mes amis. Or something like that....

*English excluded**
**hopefully

An Australian Girl In London, Part 2

I am still in London, and I am still having adventures. I have not yet met Prince Harry, or even a less interesting royal figure like Prince Charles, but I have been touched by the hand of a wizard.

But we must start with breakfast.

I found a lovely restaurant called Muriel's kitchen where my mum and I took our morning meal. (I think that sounds very British, don't you?) There were platters of toast with little crock pots of butter and big glass jars of jam. There were steaming mugs of coffee and eggs any way and muffins and beans and spinach.

And then there was some disgusting black pudding made with the blood of a pig that British people seem to call 'food'. I will eat London eggs and I will munch London bread, but if they think I'm dining on some slab of bloody intestines that looks like a slice of car tyre... well, all I can say is, GIVE ME MY VEGEMITE.

Later that day I felt a tug inside, and was compelled to return to my spiritual home. No, not Australia! My real spiritual home. WESTFIELD. Sigh. Do you not know me at all?

My mother and I descended on Westfield London with tremendous enthusiasm. The shops! The food court! The even more shops! I bought about 20 billion items, at least three of which were for my kids. And I felt calm again, and at peace, for the first time since I left Australia.

The next day I began my publicity schedule. But I was having a bad hair day, and I couldn't possibly do publicity for my book with bad hair. So I found a nice salon and I enquired at the counter if there was anyone who could cut my long, curly hair.

"Oh, congratulations, you've won the hair lottery!" beamed Steven (as, I later learned, was his name).

"Really?" I asked. I was skeptical.

"Oh yes," he assured me. "I can fit you in with Julian. They call him the hair wizard, you know. He will transport you to new hair heights." (And no, I am not even kidding.)

I was keen to be transported to new hair heights, so off I went into Julian's arms. Well. Julian turned out to be a devastatingly handsome, 24 year old, straight Portugese hairdresser with the arms of a Greek god and the hands of a celebrity stylist. He did transport me to new heights, and not just of hair. It was a very good morning, and a very good cut.

After that, I did my interivews. I was dazzling. Well, at least my hair was. Given that the interviews were both on radio, that may or may not have been relevant.

But I felt really, really happy with my day. And I'm loving Juli... I mean London, to bits.

An Australian Girl In London, Part 1

So I have arrived in London to promote my book, whose UK cover appears below. The book is being published here under its original title, which means that either the British are not afraid of sex, or they're going to get a hell of a surprise.

It took a long, long time to get to London. In 28 hours of travel I watched two movies, read two magazines, watched two episodes of Modern Family, ate two meals, two snacks and several packets of trail mix, took two sleeping pills and slept for around eight hours, read about fifty pages of a book, stared into space vacantly for 90 minutes, and went to the toilet approximately 750 times.

I also talked a great deal to my mother, which might sound weird or spiritual, until you know that she is actually accompanying me on my trip to London and was sitting next to me the whole time.

We then took the express train into London. It was very clean and had nice big seats and TV screens showing Sky news, and it spoke to us in a ridiculously posh voice.

We got to our hotel, deposited our bags, then went for a walk around the area. Now, on the first afternoon of my trip, I can tell you that

a) Very few people sound British in London. Nearly all of them so far have sounded French, Indian, Pakistani, or some other unidentified, non-British accent. I'm disappointed. I want posh.

b) The taxis are super cute. They look like little Lego cars.

c) The place down the road made a nice egg sandwich.

d) Gap and Zara look much like they do in LA, except no-one jumps on you and excitedly asks 'Hey, how ARE you?'

e) Harrods is crazy expensive. I won't be stacking up on undies there.

f) I admired the beauty of the Victoria and Albert Museum and the Natural History Museum. But... er... I didn't actually go in.

g) 36 hours since leaving Sydney I still haven't had a shower. I think I'm going to go now.

Travelling With Chipmunks. Do NOT Try This At Home.

It is fun to travel long distances with children. Also, there is a pig flying past my window. You should see it. It’s purple.

I have recently returned from a two week trip to the United States with my husband and three children. The trip was hours of fun and exhilaration, interspersed with moments of torture, and two days of chipmunk music.

For the first week of the holiday we were accompanied by my parents, in an arrangement that pleased me enormously. Partly, of course, I was happy to spend time with my Mum and Dad. Mainly, however, I was glad they flew with us to Los Angeles, so I could sent four year old Boo to sit with them on the plane when she began flinging herself around in psychotic exhaustion, and throwing her airline meal on the floor*.

After an adventure-filled week in California, my husband and I parted ways with my parents** and journeyed on with the kids to Las Vegas.

On my husband’s suggestion, we hired a car and took the trip by car. It is around a five hour drive from Los Angeles to Las Vegas, or much, much quicker by air, but who the hell would want to take the quick, easy option when you can drive five hours through the desert on the wrong side of the road with three kids in tow? I mean, that would just be silly, right?

Needless to say, I was apprehensive before the drive, until the miraculous discovery of a DVD player and two pull-down screens in our car. Fantastic, I thought. Problem solved!

I borrowed some DVDs from our American friends and popped them into the glove box ready to entertain the kids. It was a flawless plan, but for one tiny flaw. Twenty minutes onto the freeway, we discovered that most of the DVDs were Blue Ray*** and didn’t work in the standard-issue DVD player. In fact, only one DVDs worked: the ear-melting classic ‘Alvin And The Chipmunks 2 - The Squeaquel’.

So, for the entire five hour drive there, and then the entire five hour drive back, I was subjected to the excruciating sound of the Chipmunks singing Beyonce songs in falsetto, as I reminded my husband to stay on the right side of the six lane highway and not veer into oncoming traffic. Until three or four hours into the Chipmunks, at which point veering into oncoming traffic seemed highly desirable.

Still, we survived the journey, and I am sure that I will be able to get the sound of the Chipmunks out of my head eventually. After all, it’s only been a week, and, you know, if you like it then you should have put a ring on it, oh oh oh.... Ooops. Sorry. Just lapsed into song again.

Anyhow, the moral of this story is threefold. Firstly, don’t travel anywhere without grandparents. Secondly, don’t travel anywhere with children. Thirdly, Blue Ray technology is a crime. And fourthly, I know I can’t count, but I’m still traumatised from our journey.

And if you like it then you should have put a ring on it, oh oh oh.

*an act of tremendous selflessness, as I am aware that every hour with my child is a precious gift to my parents.

**which, incidentally, was planned, and not a response to them being burdened with a psychotically exhausted four year old.

***which sounds exciting and modern, but is clearly useless and stupid

Chatting In My Undies

The other night, I participated in a ‘Meet The Authors’ evening at a local school. My kids don’t go to the school, but I was happy to go as a) I will take any excuse to get out of the house, and b) there was going to be food that I hadn’t prepared.

I was exhausted when I arrived at the school, but I pepped up the minute I saw the spread. This school was truly a top school. Oh, I have no idea what kind of grades the kids get, but my god they put on a good spread. I tucked in heartily, cramming smoked salmon blintzes and pesto ciabatta into my mouth.

I eyed the (very nice) red wine with longing, but refrained as I make it a rule not to drink before giving an author talk. Alcohol gets me very relaxed very quickly, and am likely to say something like ‘You should buy my book because it has a purple cover’ or ‘I write because I’m a show off’ when I am even slightly intoxicated.

Okay, so I wasn't quite this bad, but still....

I was appearing with a couple of other authors, including the novelist Nikki Gemmell, whose latest book, With My Body, is almost entirely about sex. We had all been asked to prepare a short excerpt from our books to read, so I figured that as Nikki would have to read something about sex, I may as well do the same. I prepared an extract from When My Husband Does The Dishes... called ‘Sleep Is Better Than Sex’ and sat happily on stage picking pesto out of my teeth, waiting for my turn to read.

Then things took a turn for the unexpected. The wife of the rabbi at my synagogue walked in, and sat in clear view in the audience. She wasn’t even a mother at the school! Now, I can talk about sex in front of practically anyone, but to a woman who is Holy By Proxy? Not so much. I was thrown into uncertainty. But still, it got worse. Nikki stood up to read her excerpt, and it wasn’t about sex at all. She read an utterly tame passage from her book about motherhood – quite possibly the only segment not about sex in the entire thing. Looked like I was going to be all on my own. I felt like I was about to be thrown to the lions.

Still, there was nothing to do but press on. Up I rose, and headed with trepidation to the microphone.

“This chapter is entitled ‘Sleep Is Better Than Sex’,” I said, and the entire room sat up straight. They laughed all the way through and applauded loudly at the end. I sat down in relief, and felt so happy that I relaxed a little too much, and ended up answering ‘Because I’m a show off’ when asked why I like to write. I may as well have just had the wine.

Afterwards, a girlfriend who was in the audience approached me.

“It was great, but you have to keep your legs together when you stand up,” she said. “The whole room could see your undies. Still, at least you were wearing some.”

I poured myself a huge glass of wine. I’m never doing an author talk again.

Operation Dishes - UPDATED

Scroll down for the latest pics.....

AND click here to discover my FABULOUS prize!!!!

My challenge to bring my book to the forefront of public consciousness has been issued, and already, a few brave soldiers have answered it's call. And while I was doing a bit of covert book placement in stores around Bondi Junction, three of you have yielded fabulous results elsewhere.

Anthropossum nestled me right between William and Catherine and William and Kate, which is about as regal a position as I could ever hope to have. What's more, people can buy the fairytale love story of the royal couple, then read my book to reassure them that even Wills and Kate will be arguing over boxer shorts in another few years.

As noted yesterday, BabyMacBeth got me two across on three whole shelves of a display, which is an excellent achievement in itself. She also got bonus points for placing me next to Kendra Wilkinson, Hugh Hefner's ex-girlfriend, bringing me just two degrees of separation from the great feminist himself.

And Miffysworld performed an extraordinary feat, getting me listed not only as the number one bestseller for the week, but also the number two! Which is quite possibly unprecedented. And illogical. But who cares!!!!!




Sar_wah made me Pick of the Month at Adelaide airport, which is about as much as I could hope for (except, I suppose, for being 'Pick of the Year', but I'm not even sure they have those...).

muchhyperbole had me in positions 1 through 4 in the Top New Releases!!! Which doesn't look odd at all, but simply implies that there are only 6 other new releases to compete with.

drdrdr09 came up with the ingenious solution of making my book the only available choice in the store. Of course, some of the more cynical amongst you may choose to believe that this photograph is digitally altered, but I have absolute faith that it is real.

My beloved sharpestpencil got me all Top 5 places in the new releases section*!!! All Top 5!!!! Thoughtfully, she ensured that the other books are still sort of visible behind mine, just in case anyone wanted to check them out too.

The remarkably resourceful denwise1 placed me in a supremely cool position, next to... wait for it.... Justin Bieber! Now every mother of a teenage girl will be inextricably drawn to me.





And the very dedicated easypeasykids has me as the number 1, number 2 AND number 3 bestseller!!!! I am not only beating everyone else, I am beating myself!!! How great is that???

So keep at it folks! A fabulous prize awaits the best book placement. And if the book isn't in the store you visit, order it in! A store without Dishes is no bookstore at all (and it certainly isn't a kitchenware store, either).

*which would make her the current front-runner except that she's one of my besties, which actually disqualifies her from winning the competition. But I 'may' have failed to mention that to her up until now....

Get The Dishes Out!!! A Cheeky Challenge....

A few days ago, I casually mentioned on Twitter that I've surreptitiously been moving my books to more prominent positions in bookstores. Though this certainly carries a risk of being caught, it is not a concern if you're not the author of the book - after all, you can claim in your defence that the book is brilliant and you just wish to share it with the world. For me, however, the move carries the additional risk of personal humiliation, as my picture appears on the back of the book, and any sales assistant who catches me in the act will know immediately that I am trying to boost my own sales. Still, I'm not one to be put off by the threat of personal humiliation, as anyone who has read my book (particularly those sections about personal grooming and my sexual habits) will know.

Unfortunately for me, though, my influence is limited to bookstores in Sydney's Eastern Suburbs, and that cute Cammeray bookstore I stormed with my friend Mrs Woog the other day, demanding to know why they weren't stocking my book (an episode I now look back on with burning shame).

Which is why I equally as casually asked my Twitter buddies to help me out, and move my book to the forefront of shops to which I don't have access. Shops in airports. Shops in other suburbs. Shops in other cities. Shops in other states. Shops in far flung towns, with names like Why Why and Jimbedingding and Maroocheelala. Or shops in any location other than my local Westfield, which is pretty much the only place I visit these days.

Then today, I got this picture from BabyMacBeth, a Twitter buddy of mine who took book rearranging to the next level. Not only did she place my book forward and centre, she ensured it covered three full shelves. And I'm next to Kendra, Hugh Hefner's ex-girlfriend! HOW GOOD IS THAT????

Now, I'm not at all convinced that this product placement can be beaten. It can, however, most probably be equalled. So I have decided to issue a challenge. Get my book into the most fabulous position (I'm thinking centre table, shop window, entire front shelf...) and send me a pic (either on Twitter, in these blog comments, on Facebook, or via email at k.sack@live.com) and I will post it. A prize will be granted to the best pic, and though I'm not sure exactly what the prize will be, it will involve something extremely wonderful.

Good luck! Spread the word! And remember: if there are any books with Simon Baker on the cover, I'll be perfectly happy to rest next to him.

Am I Accusing Me Of Obfuscation?

Recently I was asked by Kidspot to answer the following five questions. So I did. But then I needed clarification, so I had to ask myself some more questions. And then I got rather hostile, which caused me to get confused. And the following interview was born:

1. Why did you start blogging?

• Well, to be honest, I started my blog because my many, many fans were begging me to do so. They can’t get enough of me.
• Really? What fans are they?
• Why do you ask? Are you implying I don’t have any fans???
• No, I just...
• I have tons of fans! And you know, I’ve been blogging for only two years and I’ve already made heaps of money!
• Wow. Can you tell me a bit about earning money from blogging?
• Why do you ask? Are you implying I haven’t made money from my blog?
• No! I was just wondering....
• I got some movie tickets last year, you know!! And a free pass to go bowling!!!
• Er... great! Moving on....

2. What makes you keep blogging?

• I have to say, it’s the beautiful feedback I get from my readers. I'm constantly getting emails telling me how I've changed people's lives, and I find that so deeply rewarding.
• So in what ways do they say you’ve changed their life?
• Oh.... you know... lots of ways. Important ways.
• Can you give me an example?
• Of course I can.
• Will you give me an example?
• What, now?
• That’d be good.
• Um... okay... Once a woman wrote to tell me she'd laughed so hard at my blog that she broke her collar bone.
• Really?
• No, not really, but she laughed very hard, and she had brittle bones, so it could have happened.
• I see. So...

3. How do you find the inspiration to blog?

• I know what you’re doing here. You’re accusing me of plagiarism, aren’t you?
• I don't know what you're talking about.
• Listen, that’s never even been proven! It was her word against mine and quite frankly I think we both know who is most credible here. Did you read that blog post on her “condition”? VERY unstable, she is.
• Seriously, I wasn't referring to...
• And besides, when are you people going to let me move on? You’re just so.... so PETTY.
• Kerri, I honestly just wanted to know...
• Do you know how hard it is, coming up with new topics, day after day after day? It’s a nightmare!!!
• I believe you! Er... so tell me...

4. How do you overcome blogger's block?

• I steal from other people’s blogs, of course!
• Sorry?
• Ha! Only joking. Nah, I actually do some meditation. I look inwards and find inspiration from within my soul.
• Wow, really?
• God no. Mediation’s for wimps! Nah, I just drink heavily and cry a bit and wait for the darkness to pass.
• Gee. That sounds pretty grim.
• You are SO gullible! I mean, sure, I drink heavily, but I do that most nights anyway. But I don’t cry. Why would I cry over a blog post?
• Okay, for the last time, how DO you overcome blogger's block?
• Um... Oh lord, I seem to have drawn a blank. Can I, uh, get back to you on that?

5. What's been your best blogging experience to date?

• To be honest, the more I’ve blogged, the more inspired I’ve been to write. Last year I was so inspired that I actually wrote a book, a memoir of marriage and motherhood, called ‘When My Husband Does The Dishes’. It was recently published and it has been an incredibly exciting time for me.
• Wow. So being inspired to write a book has been your best blogging experience to date?
• No, not the best, but definitely the second best.
• Interesting. So what has been the best?
• Getting those free movie tickets. Do you know how expensive movie tickets are?

Behind The Scenes At Sunrise

So my adventures on Sunrise started the night before, at 10pm, with a razor. I was lying in bed smiling at the cute little dress I'd picked out, when I realised with horror that I'd forgotten to shave my legs. Given that I wanted the world to laugh with me about my adventures in parenting, and not laugh at me about the fur on my legs, I realised that action needed to be taken, and quickly. I had to get up at some ungodly hour the next morning, so there was no time to waste. I jumped out of bed, grabbed my razor, and quickly scraped it up and down my legs. Dry.

Big mistake.

I woke up the next morning at the ungodly hour, and scrambled into my cute little dress. Then I looked in the mirror. And screamed.

Because my legs were stripey. Like a candy stick. Red and white stripes. I was going to make my Sunrise debut on candy stick legs. Fabulous.

I rummaged madly in my drawers for some tights but couldn't find any. Panicked, I grabbed the skinniest pair of black pants I could find and decided they would have to do. There was no time to waste, and I still had to do my makeup. The Sunrise producer had advised me to do my own hair and makeup and they would 'touch it up' at the studio. So I did my absolute best job, looked contentedly in the mirror, and headed off to the studio.*

Once at the Sunrise studio, I was ushered immediately into the makeup chair. "I've done my own makeup!" I told Ang, the makeup lady, proudly.

"Mmmm," she said, and spent the next 30 minutes 'touching it up'.** Once my makeup was done, it was time for my hair.

"I've done my own hair!" I told Ang proudly.

"Mmmm," she said. "It's hard with curly hair, isn't it?" and spent the next 15 minutes styling my hair. Sigh. I guess effort, not quality, counts.

At some stage Joe Hockey wandered into the makeup room. "Hello Joe!" I said cheerily. Because I could.

A few minutes later Larry Emdur ambled in. "Hello Larry!" I said cheerily. "You're so handsome!" Because he was.

Shortly afterwards I was ushered into the 'Green Room', which was essentially two couches (not green) beside a water cooler (also not green). There I sat with my publicist Shannon***, and the comedian Marty Wilson, who was appearing on the segment with me. Fifteen minutes later, totally composed and cool****, I was sitting on the couch with Mel and Kochie, chatting about motherhood.

And five minutes and 45 seconds later, it was all over. I said goodbye to Mel and Kochie, exchanged cards with the lovely Marty, and hopped into a cab with my publicist Shannon. My moment in the Sunrise had passed.

But even today, the stripes on my leg live on to tell the tale.

*How cool does that sound?
**Using 'touching it up' in the sense of 'reapplying from scratch as the poor girl clearly has no idea what she's doing'.
***How cool does that sound?
*****That may be a lie

See my Facebook page (button to the right) for the Sunrise interview.

A Short But Revealing One

I feel really good about my book. I know it's going to sell well.

Or at least, that's what I thought I felt.

Turns out my subconscious is not nearly as confident as it would have me believe. For last night, it revealed itself to me in a dream. And it was not good.

I was away at a writers' festival with my agent Pippa, and my publisher, the Handsome Mark. I was speaking at the festival with another writer, a first-time author like me.

I was excited and positive about the turnout, until Pippa approached me, her face black with fury (metaphorically speaking. Even my dreams have some logic).

"You know you've blown it," she told me angrily.

"What do you mean?" I asked. I'd blown it? What exactly had I blown?

"You didn't get that story to me on time so now your book is ruined," she said. "It will never sell. It's all over."

I felt utterly crushed, and was overcome by a wave of panic. My hopes and dreams lay dying before me (again, metaphorically speaking. In the dream we were still at the writers' festival and everyone else was having a picnic).

I looked from Pippa to Mark. "But... but... what story are you talking about?"

"The one about you throwing the table through the window," Pippa said. "You promised it to me. You haven't delivered .So no-one will ever buy your book."

I looked pleadingly at Mark. He nodded, his face hard and cold.

"It's true," he said. "I can't help you. It's all finished. You should have written that story."

I started to cry, great racking sobs that actually woke me up from my dream. I shifted over in the bed, prodded my husband and asked him for a cuddle.

"I had a terrible nightmare!" I told him. "I dreamed that Pippa and Mark told me the book was finished because I forgot to write a story about throwing a table through a window!"

My husband pulled away and looked at me. "You forgot to write the story about the table?" he joked. "How could you forget to write the story about the table! Oh that's very bad....."

And he wonders why I have issues.....

Bashed, But Floating

Have you heard of 'cognitive dissonance'? That's when your brain is struggling to reconcile two opposing thoughts. (Or at least I hope that's what it means. I'll feel really stupid if it turns out to mean something quite different. Like... you know... 'cheese platter'.)

Well, I'm suffering from cognitive dissonance at the moment. (My version of cognitive dissonance. Not cheese platter.)You see, on the one hand, I'm living this really exciting post-book launch life of doing interviews and signing books and appearing on Oprah (okay, so that last one was a lie, but it could happen); but on the other hand I'm still a mother of three and a wife of one and have laundry and cooking and cleaning and washing and schlepping and homework and all the monotonous mundanities of every day life to do. And it's not fair. Don't my family know I'm a PUBLISHED AUTHOR???

What's more, the normal irritations of life keep getting in the way of my temporary foray into glamour and fabulous. Just this morning, for example, I was driving the kids to school when another car slammed into us from the right hand side. We were all fine, which is the important thing, except that the car was not, which is kind of important too.

I jumped out of my car to confront the person who had wreaked such senseless damage, prepared to be cross. Didn't they know I'm a PUBLISHED AUTHOR?

A handsome young man approached me. Too handsome. I can't yell at a nice handsome man! (Er... not that I'm that good at yelling at mean ugly men, but it's much easier.)

"I'm sorry!" he said sincerely. "I didn't see you!" Well, duh. I mean, I didn't expect he would have bashed into me if he did see me. Unless he was really mean. And even then he'd need a good reason.

"Well that's very bad," I said. "I'm a published author and this is not acceptable." (Okay, so I didn't say that, because it would have been really idiotic and embarrassing. But I thought it.)

"I'm so sorry," he said. "Are the kids okay?" Oh yeah... the kids. I checked again. They were still fine.

"I feel so bad, I'm so sorry. But at least no-one was hurt!" Bugger. Now he was really being nice. How dare he be nice when he just banged into my car?

So in the end, we shook hands, I smiled warmly (I was cross, but he was handsome!), said goodbye, exchanged cards, and went our own separate ways. And as I drove away, I looked back at my beautiful children, and felt immensely lucky just to have them safe and sound, and knew a piece of metal on wheels didn't matter.

Except that's not really what I felt at all. I was still annoyed about the car. But then I went to do a radio interview to promote my book (Yes! I'm a PUBLISHED AUTHOR!), and though I may have been driving in a battered car, I was walking on air again.

This is not my car. Nor does it look like my car. Nor was the damage to my car as extensive as the damage to this car. But it's someone's car. And that's all that matters.

K-Sack TV

The Launch

Wow.

Well, my book launch was the Best Night Ever.

I have not been able to post before now,

1. because I haven't had time,
2. because I was drunk for much of Thursday and Friday
3. because around halfway through signing 100 books the synapses between my brain and fingers began to degenerate, and I lost the ability to write. In fact, I believe many of the last 30 of the books I signed bear the moniker 'Ken'.

There is much to be told about The Night. The fact that I panicked when my book launcher Mark Dapin* turned up a half hour late. The fact that I panicked when Mark Dapin did turn up, because he had threatened to just 'say the first thing that popped into' his head, and he has a background in girlie mags, and I was worried he'd just be thinking about porn. The fact that I had absolutely no idea what one writes when signing a book, and I 'may' have written inappropriate things about breasts and Simon Baker. The fact that said Simon Baker did not turn up, despite my publisher's assurances at the time of signing me to Random House that they would definitely find him for me. The fact that I met some of the most awesome bloggers and tweeps in the online world, and many of them travelled on planes and trains and even buses to be with me. The fact that the launch party progressed to a pub down the road where I proceeded to drink such copious amounts of champagne that my husband The Architect imposed a drinking curfew on me (which I proceeded to ignore once he was out of my sight). The fact that I became engrossed in a conversation about Young Talent Time and ending up leading a group of uber bloggers in a rousing chorus of 'Close your eyes and I'll kiss you'. The fact that I stumbled home with Kylie Ladd at around 1.20am after my husband The Architect gave up the ghost at around midnight, then stayed up talking till after 2am, then lay awake in bed till after 3am marvelling at the wonder of it all, then woke up as always at 6.15am despite the kids having slept at my mum's.

The fact that I am intensely grateful for the love and support that I have been shown by my family, my beautiful friends, my amazing Twitter buddies, and you, my blog readers.

The fact that whether my book sells five hundred or five thousand or fifty thousand copies, I have had the best time of my life.

*read his blog. No-one does, but the guy is a genius. Trust me.

I was showing Lana how well I had shaved under my arms.







Me and Kylie. She drank as much as me. Almost.....








This is not The Architect. He is The Publisher. Apparently the women at the launch found him attractive. I'd never noticed. (Ahem...)





Mark Dapin. I was thrilled he agreed to launch my book. And.... er.... dress up for the occasion.

What Could Possibly Go Wrong???

It's book launch date on Thursday and I am excited as a pig in mud (er... if the pig hadn't been in mud ever before in his life and was really, really thrilled to see mud for the first time). Anyway.... This excitement co-exists with a healthy dose of nerves. Or at least it would, if I was the kind of person who had a healthy dose of nerves. Being the anxious person that I am, I have an unhealthy dose of nerves. But then, I have an unhealthy dose of nerves when I'm driving the kids to school, so it's pretty much to be expected.

So here, so you can reassure me that none of these will happen, are my top fears for what could go wrong at my book launch.

1. A water pipe bursts and the entire street is blocked off.
2. I leave my hair colourant in too long the night before and all my hair falls out.
3. I leave my nose pore strip on too long the night before and half my nose falls off.
4. The kids come out in chicken pox that day and we all quarantined.
5. As I leave for the launch I discover I am teeming with lice.
6. I'm so nervous I need to take valium to get out of the house.
7. I take too much valium and sleep through the entire launch.
8. I wear my new high heeled shoes, trip over on the way out of the house, and spend the entire launch evening at St Vincents' Emergency.
9. I get lost on the way to the launch and miss the whole thing.
10. Mark Dapin gets lost on the way to the launch and my mother has to launch the book instead.
11. The bookshop forgets to order my book and I have to sign copies of 'Cooking With Lentils, by the North Carolina Cooking Collective' instead.
12. I sign copies of 'Cooking With Lentils' and nobody notices the difference.
13. I have a drink to soothe my nerves and end up giggling through my speech and singing 'Like A Virgin'.
14. I have a drink to soothe my nerves and end up signing my name 'Spongebob Squarepants'.
15. No-one turns up.
16. Everyone turns up but no-one buys a book.
17. My publishers change their minds and cancel the whole thing.

This Is It!

I have a book cover! And if I may say so myself, I am rather delighted with it. So thank you to all involved.

In celebration of my cover, I thought I would post the first ever author interview with me.

Unfortunately, no-one has actually bothered to interview me yet, so as I didn't want to disappoint you, I just interviewed myself.

Sadly, I turned out to be a pretty poor interviewer, which meant that I didn't take the interview particularly seriously. As a result, I gave some rather stupid answers, and occasionally quoted myself out of context.

Still, the interview does give some insights into the workings of my mind. So read, and enjoy, and if you have any questions of your own, please feel free to ask.

Kerri, your book is absolutely, hysterically funny, and so very true. Can you tell the readers what it is about?

Well, Kerri, my book is a memoir of marriage and motherhood.

Well DUH, I read that on the cover. Can you be more specific?

Oh. Okay. Well, I have written about the nitty gritty of what really goes on behind the closed doors of a family. What life looks like after years and years of living with the same person, and creating other, smaller people with them. The challenges of monogamy, and friendship, and of being a parent. Or, in other words, I talk a lot about my sex life and the way I've lost control of my children.

Your book is non-fiction; can you tell us why you chose that genre?

To be honest, it was easier just to write about reality than to go to all the hassle of having to make things up. Who has the time?

Why did you write the book? Did you want to demonstrate the universality of your experiences? Help women to see that no-one has the perfect marriage, and that no-one is the perfect mother? Did you want to make people laugh? Write the quintessential book on married life?

Um... actually I was just hoping that someone would turn the book into a screenplay and I could hire Simon Baker to play my husband.

How does your husband feel about the book? Considering you share very intimate details of your life together?

He doesn't know. And quite frankly, I don't plan to tell him. You're not going to mention it, are you?

Um, no. Uh... how long did it take you to write the book?

Ages. There was so much other stuff I had to do at the same time. You know, look after the kids, run the household, work part-time, service my husband sexually, meet my friends for coffee, watch The Mentalist... It's all just juggle, juggle, juggle!

Did you enjoy the writing process?

Hell yeah. Darn sight better than cleaning.

Kerri Sackville, thank you for your time.

No problems, Kerri. And by the way, I think your ear is fabulous. It really sticks out!

Taking Shots

Last week, I had some professional photos taken for my soon-to-be-released book. The last professional picture I had taken was in the late nineties, and if I remember rightly, I was wearing a long white dress and clutching a bunch of tulips. So it’s been a long time between shots.

The day began with the arrival of my personal makeup artist (who I had promoted that morning from her previous position as ‘babysitter’ when I’d learned she could wield a mascara wand). As I’ve never been able to apply makeup, I needed Gab to do it for me.

Actually, that’s not quite true. I can apply makeup. It’s just that I was hoping to achieve a certain ‘look’ for my author pic, and ‘messy eyes’, ‘blotchy base’ and ‘smeared lipstick’ wasn’t exactly what I was going for. I wanted to look good. Effortlessly good, to be more precise. And looking effortlessly good, I discovered, takes an awful lot of effort.

First Gab applied foundation. Then eye makeup. Then powder. Then concealer. She applied blush, and mascara, and eyeliner, and lippy. By the time we finished I still looked liked me, a ‘trying extremely hard to look good’ kind of me. Which kind of defeated the ‘effortless’ part, really.

Gab told me to ‘trust her’ (which I felt compelled to do, as she was holding my eyelashes firmly between her fingers). So I resisted the urge to scrub my face clean, and obediently wiped lipstick off my teeth.

The photographer was lovely, and did her best to make me feel at ease. She told me I looked nice, and shouted things like ‘Big smile!’ and ‘Lovely!’ She photographed me in a number of locations all over my house, trying to capture me in the most flattering light (or, in other words, ‘disguise my oldness’). She placed me on the stairs, in a chair, on the floor, by the pool.... I think she would have put me in the bath had it effectively covered my wrinkles.

We also tried a number of poses, with varying degrees of success.

First up, there was the ‘Big Cheesy Smile’. It was early in the shoot, I was feeling a little awkward, and the smile came out a bit forced. This resulted in a series of pics that weren’t right for me, but would have been perfect for a book entitled ‘Jokes For Silly People’, or the cover of a Dental Surgery pamphlet.

There was the ‘Serious Author’ pose, which was supposed to look thoughtful and wise. Unfortunately, I’m not good at looking ‘thoughtful’ or ‘wise’, and instead appeared ‘mournful’, ‘depressive’ and ‘pained’. Perfect, had my book been called ‘Memoir Of A Life Of Sorrow’, or ‘A Life Without Hope Or Happiness’.

There was the ‘Sultry’ pose. I tilted my head slightly and looked up at the camera through sexily half closed eyes. Tremendous, had my book been entitled ‘Chronic Sleep Deprivation And It’s Consequences’, or ‘How Not To Flirt: The Ways I Get It Wrong’.

Still, in the end, the pics were taken and we had a winner. It was a huge relief. Of course, I’m still going to have to change the book title to match the photo, but it’s worth it.

Look Happy, For Goodness Sake. We’re Going Into Overtime!

Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?

P.S. This pic is not the winner. Just one of the runners up.

BIG NEWS: My Husband No Longer Wants Sex

The news was not entirely unexpected, but it was still a big blow.

My Husband no longer Wants Sex.

I'd been warned that this might happen. I had been told that certain people might have a problem with My Husband Wanting Sex, and that I should brace myself for the possibility that Sex would be off the menu. But when I got confirmation just the other day, I was bitterly disappointed.

I was on the Central Coast staying with my parents when I heard the news. If I'd been home, no doubt my husband would have tried to console me with sex. But alas, we were apart.

I'm talking, of course, about the title of my forthcoming book. When My Husband Does The Dishes He Wants Sex sadly is no more. Certain large retailers were uncomfortable with the word "Sex" in the title, and the last thing I want to do is bite the (generous, highly intelligent and, may I say, good looking too) hand that feeds me. So there was no choice but to change the title.

As the book is being rushed through for a May release there was little time to think of a new title. I spent an (increasingly drunken) evening with my parents - including a couple of anguished phone calls to my sex-wanting husband and several anguished emails to girlfriends - trying to do just that, and I got exactly nowhere.

"When My Husband Does The Dishes He Wants To Sleep With Me?" suggested a friend.

"When My Husband Does The Dishes I Know Why?" suggested my dad.

"When My Husband Does The Dishes He Wants To Fuck?" suggested my mum. (Nah, I'm joking. That one was me.)

"When My Husband Does The Dishes He Wants To Make Love With A Mature Consensual Adult In The Context Of A Loving Relationship Under The Approving Eyes Of Our Lord"? suggested my husband. Hey, you can't say it doesn't roll off the tongue...

I eventually went to bed and spent more agitated hours trying to find a solution. And then, at about midnight, in a flash, it came to me!

"When My Husband Is Is In The Mood He Does The Dishes!" I texted my friend Lana excitedly.

"No. Sounds like he's in the mood for cleaning" she responded. Oh yeah. i guess I hadn't thought of that.

I went to bed in utter despair. All was lost. My book was a total disaster.

And then at three am, I woke, with the perfect title in my head. I was unbelievably relieved. I wrote it down and slumbered soundly until eight, at which time I looked at the piece of paper and groaned. "When My Husband Does The Dishes, Believe Me, I Know Exactly What's On His Mind" I'd scrawled. Yup. I'd need a cover the size of a fridge just to fit it all in. Had someone slipped me drugs in the middle of the night?

I drank my coffee and ate my toast whilst muttering to myself.

"When My Husband Does The Dishes... When My Husband Does The Dishes... When My Husband Does The Dishes... WHEN MY HUSBAND DOES THE DISHES...!!!"

And then it hit me.

When My Husband Does The Dishes... That's the title of my book.

So there you have it. My Husband no longer Wants Sex. But you can be absolutely positive He's still going to Do The Dishes.

I'm not going to compromise on that.

WMHDTDHWS

So in case you haven't been reading my drunk-with-excitement Twitter messages recently, I have some news.

I am publishing a book.

The book is called 'When My Husband Does The Dishes He Wants Sex'. It is a philosophical examination of hair removal throughout the ages, from the perspective of an ruthlessly ambitious space warrior who invents the sonic razor.... Ooops! Sorry, no, it isn't about that at all. That was the subject of my first book, 'Sonic Razor Hits Hirsute Highlands'. It never made it to publication. I still don't know why.

'When My Husband Does The Dishes He Wants Sex' is about marriage, sex, friendship and motherhood. I feel eminently qualified to write about these topics because

a) I am married,

b) I have sex (and sometimes even when my husband doesn't do the dishes),

c) I have friends (although not as many as I had before I started writing a book about all of their secrets), and

d) I have a mother.

Oh yes! And

e) I'm a mother too. Which is kind of important to remember. Especially at school pick-up time.

So really, this book will be full of things you shall be able to relate to, particularly if you are married / have sex / have friends / have a mother / have kids / know anyone who does / are interested in knowing anything about people who do. Which means that WMHDTDHWS (the catchy acronym for my book - say it with me! It has a nice ring to it, don't you think?) will have far wider appeal than 'Sonic Razor Hits Hirsute Highlands', which really was only relevant to people with hair.

Now, of course WMHDTDHWS (god, it just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?) is non-fiction. Everything written within its pages is true. Which means that when my husband does the dishes, he does indeed want sex. I must clarify, however, that this doesn't mean that my husband only wants sex when he does the dishes. Nor does it mean that my husband gets sex every time he does the dishes (at least not from me). And, sadly, it doesn't mean that every time he wants sex he does the dishes, as if this were true I would probably never clean another plate for as long as I lived. Or until we both fell over from exhaustion.

WMHDTDHWS (I really should have put a vowel in there somewhere) will be released in time for Mothers Day 2011. It will be the perfect gift idea for the woman in your life, the woman in someone else's life, the man in pretty much anyone's life, or in fact any human being at all with hair. In which case, you can buy my first book too. I'll even throw in a free razor.

Thank you all for your support in anticipation of WMHDTDHWS's release (honestly, I can say it backwards by now), and I very much look forward to sharing my husband with you.

I mean my book. BOOK!!!