Having a Dog and Barking Yourself

Twelve hours or more I am out of the house these days; long days at work and an extensive commute.  I arrive home tired, have to shop, cook, iron and so on, deal with rats and leaking roofs and the tax office,  and – this week – my son forgetting to turn up to one of his exams, which necessitates more paperwork and cost than you would imagine. I try to squeeze in time to write another chapter of the book, already behind schedule, but luckily with an understanding publisher.

A Rose By Any Other Name

I remember reading that if you are writing a book, you should remove all but three descriptions of dreams.  And then, when you edit, you should remove those.  

I Even Love The Commute

The novelty will soon wear off, I dare say.  But for now I stand, hungry for input, on my daily commute.  So many glimpses into so many lives, if you don’t keep your eyes in a book or on your tiny screen.

There Is A Crack In Everything. That’s How The Light Gets In.*

Feeling weepy.  Not sure why.  Very tired.

The New Normal

Funny how we adjust.  First I thought I could not live without my husband.  Even after he absconded and I was somehow still alive (though, barely, in retrospect), if you had told me that I would in similar vein lose one of my children I would have said that in such a case I could not breathe.  Indeed, I suspect I did not.  Not for a long time.  Not really.

Gladstone’s Library

Approaching Gladstone’s Library from the drive in the early evening: a municipal-style big red building, a bit like a women’s college at Oxford (all Victorian, compared to the older, traditionally male colleges of ‘dreaming spires’ fame).  The moment the door opened, the association was complete: a smell of school dinners.

Hawk Walk

Great day out at Battlefield 1403 near Shrewsbury, thoroughly recommended.