Well, the beyond my study, anyway. It's been a lovely weekend, and I've had fun with visitors who needed to be taken for scenic walks and then to refuel themselves in Devon pubs - oh, the fatigue, it's really taken it out of me. Or rather, it's given me a glimpse of what retirement might be like. If I live that long...
I'm not looking at the garden any more. It's too tempting, to go out there for ten minutes, ten minutes which stretch into fifteen, into an hour, two hours!
I wonder why we writers, who all love writing so much, are so great at finding ways to avoid doing any writing? I suppose firing up the brain cells every morning is a bit like getting into a swimming pool - agonising at first, but lovely once you're in? It's much easier to loll around on a sun lounger, isn't it?
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