Sunday, the alleged day of rest. It’s the day so many people use to get everything done except resting. Naturally Sigoth and , as fans of tradition, adhere to the conventional wisdom and imitate the chicken sans tête, rather than the action of the tiger. We moved my office.
Fortunately for me, Sigoth did most of the work, so I was able to write. For those of you keeping count I churned out 3095 pearls. Unfortunately many of those pearls would serve another purpose better than that of my novel. They were perfectly sound words, just not in this particular combination. I am led to believe that that is what editing is for.
This morning I am experimenting with writing for your entertainment in a new location, rather than the usual settee in the living room. It gives me a different window to look out while I beseech the muse for inspiration. As it faces east, I am enjoying the sunrise, which is especially fine this morning. I’m not sure it helps me to write anything, but it is pretty.
The weekend has been an achieving weekend. Saturday was fruitful, which is the posh word for busy in these parts, and Sunday more so. I even scared myself by starting Christmas shopping online. I know I won’t manage to get into town to do it this year, so it was the logical option. Everyone loves a gift from eBay, right? (Only kidding, offspring!)
The most important thing, though, was a long conversation with a friend who had just had a full mastectomy and reconstructive surgery. All has gone well, if in a sore and gradual manner and it seems there are no nasties left lurking. For which we are grateful. We both reflected on the miracle that is modern medical science, the kindness of the people who work in the NHS and our great good fortune to be alive at a time when e can be given these opportunities.
Along with pride in the BBC, I share my pride in the NHS. We are a society that wants to care for everyone in need. I know it’s a bit of a mystery to other nations how it all works, but it is our greatest national achievement and I cherish it.
For writer’s cramp, call 111. Otherwise stop prevaricating and back to your plots and scenes, my lovelies! Share the love.