“I didn’t buy into the whole abundant Christmas ethos that seemed to be perpetuated at this time of year. All cinnamon-scented and tinsel-trimmed tat and really just an excuse for people to spend money they could ill afford.”

Christmas, the cosiest and most wonderful time of the year. That is, unless you’re Caroline Scroggins – Martin Lewis meets the Grinch and ten times meaner. Holed up alone in her dark, damp little house, determined to beat this cost of living crisis, Caroline really thinks she has it all worked out; squeezing and squirrelling away every last penny for a long-anticipated rainy day. But ultimately, what good is sitting on a fortune if you have nobody to enjoy it with?

Christmas Eve may be the most magical night of the year, but, for grumpy old Scroggins, not for the reasons you might think. Bundled up in her freezing bed, she’s visited by a being she thought only existed in children’s stories. No, I’m not talking about jolly old Saint Nick (although she’d no doubt give him a piece of her mind), but the ghostly figure of her old friend Marlene, who comes baring a grave warning – if Caroline doesn’t see the error of her ways, she will soon meet the same terrible fate.

“The chilly air felt charged with energy. It was almost cracking.”

Of course, this is a tale as old as time. Well, as old as 1843 to be precise, but we still love to revisit it every year in its various formats (The Muppets version for me, every time), and its message remains as relevant and heart-warming as ever. The bare bones of the plot may be a well-told classic, but I thoroughly enjoyed K L Crear’s hilarious modern-day retelling. The garish innuendo throughout the story, combined with the razor-sharp wit of Caroline Scroggins had me laughing aloud as I turned the pages.

That said, the humour in no way overshadowed the overall meaning behind the story. The world of the first of the three ghosts, adorned with offensively bright multi-coloured foil decorations, clouded by cigarette smoke and Slade, is so perfectly nostalgic that it felt like a walk down my own memory lane. Reminiscing about Christmases past in one’s own childhood home conjures up a feeling of comfort warmer than any yuletide firesides, and the lessons Caroline takes from each of the three ghosts are beautifully moving, and perfectly balanced against her wicked sense of humour. But can she learn her lesson before it’s too late?

“When we look in the mirror, we all have demons staring back at us. But face those demons down and the world is yours for the taking.”

Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed this fresh take on a well-loved classic Christmas tale. And, with all due respect to Mr Dickens, what’s really missing from ‘A Christmas Carol’ is a sizzling romance and some expertly timed penis puns.

A Christmas Caroline

Caroline’s got frugality down to a fine art. She can make a tin of soup stretch for days, considers “reduced to clear” her love language, and thinks Christmas is just a daft excuse for people to throw their money away on tinsel trimmed tat. 

But Christmas Eve night takes a turn when her best mate, Marlene, drops in for a chat. Lovely, right? Except Marlene’s been dead for seven years and she’s got a message for Caroline, she will be visited by three spirits and if she doesn’t pay attention, her future’s looking bleaker than the contents of her fridge freezer. 

Caroline’s convinced she’s having a hallucination. Ghosts? Surely not! But as the night goes on, she starts to wonder if she might just learn something worth more than her latest discount voucher. And for someone who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing, this might be the wake-up call she didn’t see coming. 

Move over Ebenezer! This modern, laugh-out-loud retelling of the Dickens classic has a new Scrooge in town. Perfect for fans of Sophie Kinsella. 

Purchase Links
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Christmas-Caroline-K-L-Crear-ebook/dp/B0DHS6QXMQ
https://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Caroline-K-L-Crear-ebook/dp/B0DHS6QXMQ

Author Bio –

Karen (K.L. Crear) is an author, over-sharer, and walking cautionary tale. Think: a sweary teenager trapped in the body of a menopausal woman who can’t sneeze without risking a wardrobe malfunction. You’re welcome.

Once upon a time, she worked in banking, the Civil Service, and property management, or as she likes to call it, The Beige Trilogy. She spent decades being respectable (ish), responsible (occasionally), and quietly losing the will to live. Then one day she found herself broke, baffled, and built entirely out of biscuit crumbs and unresolved trauma. So she did what any sensible woman would do, she wrote it all down and flogged it in paperback.

Karen has battled cancer twice, and her coping strategy was to laugh at wildly inappropriate moments and shout “F*ck off!” at inspirational quotes. Spoiler: it worked. Her sense of humour is deeply questionable, but it’s kept her just about sane through grief, illness, love, lies, and the time she gave herself food poisoning with a dodgy prawn ring from Iceland.

After years of procrastination (and one too many vinos), she finally swapped Pinot for a pen. She now writes jaw-dropping memoirs and hilarious women’s fiction about women who’ve had enough, snapped slightly, and are thriving in spite of it all, usually with a glass in hand, some top mates, and a solid alibi.

Her hobbies include eating anything wrapped in pastry, shouting at the Real Housewives (“She’s definitely had something done – she’s melting!”), and threatening to adopt an axolotl because they look so absurdly cheerful. She once turned down hugging a sloth in Mexico, it dangles upside down, pees on itself, and honestly felt like a warning from the future.

Karen lives in a sleepy Northern town with her long-suffering husband (he’s partially deaf, which helps) and their cat Pickle, who looks permanently disgusted with their life choices and the ongoing Dreamies rationing.

A portion of every book sale goes to Women’s Aid, Great Ormond Street, the Epilepsy Society, and Macmillan. because she knows what it’s like to need help. The world’s a shitshow, but we can all make a little difference in our own way.

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