It is the calm before the storm.
We are expecting the storm on Monday, which is an exciting thought, I am quite looking forward to some spectacular weather.
In the meantime the Lake District is unexcitingly damp and grey. Most of the floods have drained away, but nevertheless it is not the sort of place where you might choose to come for your holidays unless Tenerife was on fire.
I don’t wish Tenerife any harm, but it would be good if people did come here, because we need to earn some money. Our taxi insurance is due next week and despite going down the backs of the seats in the taxis, we have not raised enough to pay for it yet. Next year we will put money away for it every week. Really we will.
Mark went to the farm to try and resolve our current problem of being evicted from his shed in a few days. I don’t think we are going to manage to be out in the timescale given, not least because the field, to which we are moving everything, has become so waterlogged that we could easily consider it as another lake. Once we have had the hurricane which is forecast for next week it is likely to be so much worse that we will not need a trailer for storage, but a raft.
Once he was gone I potted contentedly around the kitchen, slicing peppers and carrots and melon for our picnic, and when I had done I baked a lemon cake. This was a success apart from accidentally grating some of my thumb along with the lemon peel, which was tiresome, and leaked on my clean apron.
By two o’ clock I had satisfactorily completed all the domestic chores that I could be bothered to do, and was able to resume my so far less than successful attempts to become JK Rowling.
I organised a large pot of tea and a cherry-and-coconut biscuit to help the process along, and then retreated blissfully upstairs to spend two hours pondering at my desk.
I have decided that the beginning of my story is not nearly exciting enough to make an agent anxious to read the rest of it, and so I am rewriting it. I have already rewritten it once, but it was still rubbish, and so I am having a third go.
I have already been thinking about this for days and so it all flowed quite nicely. I do not know if it is still rubbish, but I have managed to get the murder in before the end of the third page, with any luck an agent will be able to concentrate for long enough to get that far.
I felt pleased with myself when I had done this, and started reading the rest of it to see if I could squeeze any more murders in anywhere, just to make sure an agent would stay excited and not get fed up with just ordinary sort of events. There are quite a lot of those in between the murders, I hope this doesn’t matter.
I don’t know why everybody seems to think that this sort of stuff is necessary, after all, somebody published the book about the kidnapped astronaut. After the dust jacket bit it just got worse and worse, and nobody got murdered at all, no wonder I was bored with it. Perhaps I should try and find out who his agent was, they must have a low boredom threshold.
By the time I had finished my pot of tea and murdered the little boy the lodger had arrived home from work, followed closely by Mark, so I stopped worrying about murdering people and we all ate lemon cake before retiring to bed for a sleep before work.
If I become JK Rowling I shall just sit about writing things all day and not bother about driving a taxi.
It is a nuisance that this is not likely to happen before Monday’s hurricane.
