You find me home with a bad back - not too bad - but enough to realise it was getting worse at work and to call it a day.
I had also spent an exhausting night cycling the length of England and back in one of my regular weird dreams. Fortnum and Mason's had decided to open a branch in Upminster, complete with green paint and mahogony staircases, and I popped in there to buy my mother a silk scarf for her birthday and saw ladies trying on swimwear and unable to change out of it because the shop assistant had disappeared off. She reappeared excusing herself saying she'd fallen asleep.
Make of that what you may!
I got back to my book last night after several weeks' neglect during which I went on holiday and moved house as soon as I came back. Domestic chaos is not conducive to writing and it's only now that I have headspace to write again.
'My book' sounds mighty grand dun't it? Well, it's at 362 pages of prose so I think it's not an inaccurate reference. Could be 362 pages of crap, of course, and maybe it is, but it's had a reasonable response so far, so I think it's above 'crap' on the assessment ladder. It also has a beginning, a middle and an end, tells a story and has characterisation. My English teachers of yore would have given me a C+ for that alone. Now they would give me B+ for writing my name on the first page, but we all know what's been happening to standards, don't we?
Well, I can't hang around here for much longer. I have 'things to do' so will not be able to tell more about my book until next time.
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