Late Night Bits.

Guess what I did today. Walked the whole length of Mill Lane (about a mile) with a young woman, a baby, and two dogs. It must have been pretty scintillating because I don’t remember anything we talked about, apart from the fact that the dogs were brother and sister and were a different colour than both parents. I hope I didn’t tell her that it was only the dogs I was interested in.

The joiners (father and son) made a mess, and dad recommended I get an air rifle to shoot the jackdaws, wood pigeons and pheasants that get on my bird table. I’m growing so tired of telling people I don’t do that sort of thing. But at least the new windows fit.

The Red Renault got me to the town and back again today, but it still isn’t right and I still don’t trust it. Nigel is supposed to be looking out for another one (I don’t need to explain why I have to rely on Nigel, do I?) He says he’ll get back to me. Right.

I have a vague but nagging sense that I’m serving a punishment. Paranoia, I expect.

After yesterday’s bombardment of revelations, followed by only four and a half hours sleep, I’m nothing like as tired as I think I should be. Adrenalin? Paranoia? Anxiety? Who knows?

Looks like my story The Gypsy Rover is finally going to get published. I had the edits today and they’d hardly touched it. The only thing I could find to take issue with was that they’d changed ‘any more’ to ‘anymore.’ That’s the problem with having an American editing a Brit’s story. Sometimes they don’t know what the Brit convention is, just as I sometimes don’t know the American one. I’m not going to press the matter.

I’m boring myself.