Sunday, June 08, 2008

A small light somewhere ...

Ye gods, but I'm feeling slightly stronger today. Almost like being a real human being, you know, rather than a mass of misery and shifting complexes. No idea how long it will last, and I can only think it's my double dose of Vitamin B pills kicking in finally. I wouldn't say I was dancing a jig, but at least I've stopped whimpering. Thank God.

Talking of which, Lord H and I dragged ourselves to Shackleford Church this morning. The priest was curiously dressed in red and may - as Lord H suggested - have been taking the concept of being clothed in the blood of the lamb rather to extremes. And it was the Family (always a word I hate, especially when used in church!) Service, rather than communion, so it was shorter and we didn't even have to walk anywhere, hurrah. Mind you, the talk was rather interactive, but I kept my head down and tried to look like an unreconstructed sinner who didn't know any answers. Hmm, almost typecasting then. It was okay really and we managed to escape without having to run the gauntlet of too much conversation. The only thing was they've changed their hymn book from Hymns Ancient and Modern (always a reliable source of inspiration and depth) to Hymns Old and New - which is the same but with modern (bah!) words and additional hymns/songs written by idjits who can't write and wouldn't know depth if they were drowning in it. Honestly, Graham Kendrick makes the concept of book-burning much more palatable - now there's a songwriter (so-called) who has never really got the hang of fitting words to music. But thankfully we were spared him today. As Lord H said afterwards, each time they try to update the hymn book and "improve" it, they just end up making it worse. Lord knows why they can't simply leave it be.

Afterwards, we wandered round Winkworth for a while and admired the foxgloves and lupins. I now know the difference between them. We also saw a wren, a nuthatch, chaffinches, and a bluetit and a great tit family - with the young birds doing their wing-quivering thing and how do I get food, Mum? cry. Just like teenagers really.

At home, we sorted the cars out, and I've caught up on emails, created a shopping list and have that Father's Day card primed and ready to post. God but I'm good. And - miracle of miracles - I've also done a small chunk of a key scene in Hallsfoot's Battle. Ye gods and little fishes. So after creaking along for three whole bloody weeks at c3000 words, I've finally made it to c4,000 words. Sound the trumpets and somebody put out the bunting. Lord knows I need it.

Tonight, there's sod all on TV, so we'll be watching our video of that delightfully bizarre and curiously dated (in terms of when it was made) Victorian detective series, "Cribb". There's just something about the main character that's utterly gripping, even though nothing happens and they keep having high-speed chases on bicycles or, in one case, by boat. Happier times indeed.

Today's nice things:

1. Church - and grumbling about it
2. Winkworth
3. Writing some of the ruddy book.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Goldenford Publishers

No comments: