Bloody hell - the first cold of 2007! It's all downhill from here, folks. Have spent a lot of today sighing artistically and snorting like an old horse. (So no change there then.) Oh and doing a lot of drooping of course. It's one of my great skills. However, the good news is that a whole two days have passed without receiving any rejections, so obviously the Great Literary Tycoons have chosen to take pity on me. For the moment. However, I fear they are biding their time, knowing there are still a whole glorious twelve months left of the year in which to tighten the screws. What joy awaits me indeed.
Still, I bravely squeezed out precisely 150 words of "The Gifting", most of which seemed to involve Simon beating out a fire. Well, it was a small fire. And he's not a macho man and derring-do really isn't his style. So any more than that and he might have been overwhelmed by it all, poor thing. And then where would I be? Twiddling my thumbs until he chose to recover, that's where. Ye gods, but this is a strange pastime. Somebody pass me a normality pill.
The afternoon has been spent getting my monthly fix of Clarins treatments. Nothing like a massage to make me feel like a real woman again. Maybe I'll have one delivered ... So, much to Lord H's relief, I will be all floaty and calm for a while - until the next crisis arrives. Much like Simon really - but without the Clarins fix.
Lord H and I were supposed to show willing in the normal couple stakes and go out for a pub meal tonight. But frankly, it's raining, we're tired and we can't be arsed. So it's a Chinese from Waitrose, beer and ice cream as usual. Ah, the bliss of a tried and trusted routine - you can't beat it. Anyone mention the Young Fogeys Society ...? Hmm, sounds like a match to me, guv'nor.
Today's nice things:
3. No rejections today!