Another short one because of course once again we have reached a public holiday and we are busy. We are so busy that we were both flagged by some customers on our way down the hill to the taxi rank, and so started work even before we got here.
We were roused out of bed this morning by the enthusiastic arrival of our Conservative candidate for the local elections. It was ten to twelve, so I suppose he was justified in imagining that it was a reasonable time to turn up. He is a nice boy, and listened patiently to my early morning rantings about our current MP before shaking my hand and sloping off hastily.
After that we were up, so we emptied the dogs and Mark went to the allotment. He has been doing some more digging, and has been planting potatoes.
This is not because we want potatoes especially, but because they will break the ground up and get rid of the weeds and we can both plant the ground with something useful next year and also eat the potatoes. Also he had got some potatoes that needed planting somewhere, and I did not want them in the flower beds at home.
He is getting very fond of his allotment, which is peaceful. I did not go to the allotment with him. I have been recently encouraged to put some more efforts into selling my story, so I stayed at home and wrote another four letters to agents. I explained carefully that I had written a literary masterpiece, and that they should not just shove it into a corner and ignore it, but should instantly read it and agree to represent me in the bloodthirsty and fearsome world of literary endeavour.
This approach is bound to work.
I felt very pleased with myself afterwards, although not exactly encouraged, because it is the bank holiday weekend. Even if somebody opens the email and is instantly inspired to call me and offer me a lifetime contract to write books, it won’t be until Tuesday at the earliest. This is a terribly long time to wait.
Mark, who is the most loyal reader that anybody could wish for, said that I was not to worry, and that one day the world will recognise a Ripping Yarn when they see one, and we will be able to stop sitting on the taxi rank at least on Tuesdays and Wednesdays when it is quiet.
I would like this. I like writing things, and it is a lot easier to do it when I don’t have to keep stopping to take people on journeys just round the corner.
I am terribly optimistic about this lot of letters, sooner or later somebody is bound to read one of them and write back to me.
In the meantime I shall have to get on with taking people back to their hotels. This is easier early in the evening than it will be later when everybody is drunk and will have forgotten where they are staying. We had one customer last night who was so intoxicated and confused that I fully expected to find him under a bench in the Library Gardens this morning, but we didn’t. I don’t know what happened to him.
Onwards and upwards.
