Exhibit A:

Clueless - A tasty preview of Pretty Dead Things - Click here to view.

Exhibit B:

Barbara Nadel says she's hopeless - but we don't agree!

'It's true. My family and I moved into this house four months ago and I still can't find a thing. Arranged over four floors with five bedrooms and enough space in which to lose a small country, you'd think I'd have everything neatly organised, tidied away and in its place. But rather than calm order, what we have is chaos and many, many unopened cardboard boxes. My computer is up and running of course and the cat has everything a pampered Persian could desire. But don't ask me where the bread board might be living now or for the address of the strangely dematerialised photograph albums. So when I was asked to contribute photos or smashing little vignettes to this wonderful new website I found I was drawing on a very narrow range of options. I'm hopeless, hence this drivel.

The only thing of interest in this mess at the moment is my next Turkish trip. On the 2nd of April I am going to a city that, until very recently, was almost impossible to visit. Mardin, which is in the south eastern part of Turkey, bordering Syria, was a centre of Kurdish separatist activity. At one point it was all but closed to outsiders, but now that the situation in that part of the country has eased, it is possible to visit. In fact a lot of Turks from Istanbul and Ankara have been visiting and even rendering the place a little bit chic in places.

Not that I'm going to Mardin for the shopping, my dear. No, no, no. Mardin as rediscovered holiday destination intrigues me, but old Mardin with its ancient mosques, its Syrian convents, its mysterious cisterns and old honey coloured houses is what interests me more. A nargile water pipe, its tobacco laced, as local custom dictates, with myrrh also appeals. This is the wild, wild east and I intend to take one of my fictional Istanbul police officers on a journey to this place. Will it be Ikmen or will it be Suleyman? The jury is, at present, out on the matter. But one thing that is certain is that whichever of my fictional characters does go to Mardin will do so without having to rip open a hundred Pickfords boxes in order to find a travel plug adaptor first. My 'guys' whatever their faults, are much more organised than I will ever be.

Barbara Nadel is, after all, absolutely hopeless.'