I have now been buried in soft peat for six months and can start to relax about our housing benefit forms. The council have been given everything their little hearts could desire, in fact they’ve been stuffed with enough paper to bury them up to their necks, so that should keep them busy for a while.
In other news, the novel has expanded to 45,000 words, which is quite good, though it needs to expand to about twice that length. That’s quite daunting. … and all the while I’ve got this nagging feeling that I’ve got something looming. The date 16th March is engraved on my memory and I don’t know why. So please tell me: what am I doing Sunday baby?