Thank goodness - I'm home! It's been an exhausting three days going up to York, staying with my aunt and uncle, plus my mother, and going to Harrogate and getting my Writers' News (http://www.writersnews.co.uk) poetry winner certificate. Didn't feel as happy about it as I thought I would - perhaps I'm just going through a low phase. Again. Or maybe it's just because I wasn't Poet of the Year, or the Winner of Winners. Hey there, surely my stuff is better than theirs? Though right now it actually all seems rather pointless, especially as my main focus is the novel-writing at the moment. And, much as I'm fond of my more mature relatives (the younger ones of course remaining nameless), they are very demanding. I'll have to see if Lord H can come if I win anything next year. Maybe we can skulk in a hotel or something and avoid telling anyone. Might be the safer option.
Have come back to what looks like a horrendously busy day at work tomorrow. How I hate these meetings. Not to mention the ridiculous amounts of organisation needed to prepare for next week's and the week after's meetings. Heck, has no-one remembered I'm part-time? Answer - no. I shall have to start missing deadlines or something, just in order to get the message across. How I wish I could afford to write full-time. Roll on, retirement ...
Have just finished reading Ann Granger's "Flowers for his Funeral" - standard crime cosy stuff, but pleasant enough for the train. And also finished Jodi Picoult's "Plain Truth" - loved it. Gripping page-turning writing. Though I had realised what had actually happened a long time before the end. Still, Picoult's always worth reading, even though I don't normally like legal novels.