Lurgy and J K's new novel

New term:New germ. This one is taking its time to work through the household and had ticked off the offspring and their mother, only one more to go!

Our variant takes the form of sore throats, colds, coughs, temperatures; others have a sickness form and some a common form of flu - don't think they're really trying hard enough to enter into the spirit of things! I am beginning to wonder whether our family could be sponsored by Kleenex, who must be riding high after a summer of Olympic emotions. As blogs can advertise or have sponsors, perhaps I should approach them as I don't suppose their marketing department follows Sulus in Somerset terribly closely.

My convalescence has been spurred on by the conviviality of company when yesterday I attended a Writers' Studio session. I selflessly spread my germs, thus enabling others to get on and have this bug before it turns into some mutating virus, and in return my colleagues were gracious enough not to flinch each time I reached for the Kleenex (they really should paying me for all this endorsement).

Today, armed with appropriate medicines, hot drinks and the ubiquitous woollen rug, I'm attempting to return to work on a short story, homework and notes for an idea; the novel hasn't gone away, ideas are swirling around along with the lurgy and will hopefully emerge in a wonderfully crystal clear format shortly. In the meantime, has anyone tried J K's new novel?

A Literary Hostess

On a recent 'once every few years' break without the offspring, the other half and I returned to the big smoke, once our home in the dim and distant past. The freedom of boarding a river boat when we felt like it and without having to check that my handbag was stuffed with snacks or that the youngest two weren't about to topple over railings into the murky Thames (they may look as though they're past that stage, but...), was liberating and certainly made a change from the hustle and bustle of country life and wondering whch of the regular four walkers might stroll past the house today.

On our final morning we stopped off at the National Portrait Gallery, which is currently hosting an exhibition of Olympic/Paralympian photographs. I managed to nudge the other half upstairs to wander through galleried landings of the great and the good of days gone by only to have my reverie interrupted by his spoken observation, "Look, there's hope for you yet,"

Cyclical clearing

A writing lesson yesterday stirred my recent thoughts regarding the weighty tome that I am supposed to be completing sometime this side of the next millenium. In response to the gentle nudge of others I have taken to the study today. To tidy. Or more precisely to wade through piles of detritus and then to tidy.

I began with good intentions, cleaning devices and clothes were pulled into the room, boxes emptied in anticipation of all the 'don't need to be here' books that can be put/sold/given away, the necessary radio and cup of tea installed and then...don't you find that if an item has to be taken to another room, then you find yourself picking at things on that shelf and wondering whether such and such a thing really belongs here after all?  

Four Steps to Happiness

Flitting through an extended part of the weekend papers over a bowl of bananas and shedded wheat this morning, (health options on Monday mornings in some part assuage the guilt of a calorific Saturday and Sunday), I stopped mid-mouthful in front of a particular article. The picture showed a woman's backside and legs sticking out of a wardrobe which could only be described as full. Next to this a picture of a very neat looking woman who is the author of a book, the ethos of which boils down to 'Four Steps to Happiness'.

I was impressed by the picture. Whoever this cupboard belonged to had actually managed to place things inside it; not only that,