Had very noble plans today of leaping up at a suitably ungodly hour and spending some time on the golf course. Naturally this didn't happen and once again I only just made a morning entry into the day. Ah, I could get seriously used to this kind of life, you know. I think of it as a vocation.

Anyway, once up and suitably attired, we checked that our post was as boring as it was yesterday (answer: yes) and then had a brief walk into Godalming through the country routes to stare at birds and see if there was anything worth buying. Interestingly, we came back via a route I've never been, not in the 14 years of being here, which just goes to show (a) how terrified I am of new routes and (b) how often Lord H goes out prowling the woods of a dark night when the moon is full ...

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Today, a very wet mild day, I posted off Week 91 Challenge. I feel quite good about it. It was early this morning as I sat in utter peace while dog and hubby slept that I conjoured up this small scenario. Thank God we didn't have the argument required as a theme. The only truth in the flash is I hate parsnips. In fact children and their partners, ate, drank and made merry quite well. No strife over the crackers. Boxing Day, I slept all afternoon, happily tired. Glad that all catering was done. Then, slowly, brain began to function. No, I thought, don't make excuses, I must go for the challenge. Now, smug that I've done so, I'm going to have a shower followed by a glass of red wine. Amen to that.

Slightly troubled by the lack of connection between the word gimble and its function, I emailed the inventor to find out where it came from.

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So, am feeling a little dejected after a rejection today, another competition I didn't win, so I thought I would cheer myself up by looking at the year in total according to the Writingstats2007 blog Vanessa and I have been keeping since last Dec 27th. (Excuse the maths - it doesn't all add up exactly, but take it as a pretty good estimate!) It's really been a wonderful exercise which helped me keep the bigger picture in mind. So, that said, drumroll....

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I'm very fortunate to be reading an advance copy of A Vengeful Longing by R.N. Morris (the second in his Porfiry Petrovich series). Early next year I'll be reviewing it for Vulpes Libris, but the reason I mention it now is because it is currently test-driving one of my Christmas presents: the Gimble, which is a wonderfully simple device for holding your book open.

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Sound the trumpets, people, but Lord H and I have actually done the sales today. Huzzah indeed!! How very brave and British we are. I mean no other ruddy country gets themselves up and into a crowded town in order to get an item you probably wouldn't have bought in the first place at full price, do they? Or am I missing the point?

And, really, it has been a sales experience of two halves. Total failure for Lord H who managed to buy one item only: a rodent repeller, as we fear there is the scamper of tiny feet in the neighbour's attic (which due to the layout of the house is actually next door to our living room). Unless of course the neighbour has taken to running round the attic very, very lightly, whilst scrabbling at the skirting board. I would not put it past them ...

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Chris, my editor, has my revised draft of the first three chapters on his desk, and so far he hasn't said anything except 'Hello' and 'Sit down'. I don't want him to start talking. I feel like a school kid in the headmaster's office who's done something wrong and has no defence. But he does start talking. Because, ultimately, after arranging the appointment and letting me into his office and facing me across his desk, it would have been weird if he hadn't.

"Right then," he begins. "My first thought upon reading the new draft is that you haven't actually really changed anything. Would you say that's a fair assessment?"

I shift uncomfortably in my comfortable chair. "Well, what is 'fair', really?"

"Sorry?"

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Had a lovely Christmas day yesterday, shared entirely with Lord H. Bliss indeed. We were planning to go to the Christmas morning service, but in the end we got rather involved with my new website the night before (watch this space - it's looking fab!) so didn't get to bed till midnight. So no chance of leaping up in the morning and paying our religious respects to the Almighty. Ah well ...

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Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.


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Lord H and I were listening to the radio on our way down to Pulborough Brooks today and the News informed us that an unnamed man had been taken in for questioning for something or other. It struck us both that surely it would be much easier for the police to round up all the unnamed men and put them somewhere they could keep an eye on them, a strategy (argghh! The "S" word - sorry ...) that would surely bring the crime rate down in leaps and bounds. I also thought it did seem unnecessarily cruel for parents not to name their children in the full and certain knowledge that said unnamed child would grow up to be a criminal. Really, the Government should make naming a child mandatory. That would help the crime rate too ...

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