They keep talking about ‘the big day’. Do they mean there are, like, 28 hours this Thursday? I wish there were. The sheep are on holiday twenty minutes walk away up the glen (sort of an 18-30 deal, only with our mate John’s enormous ram) and the ducks are determined to find a new way under the fence each day. I just want to get on with looking at an awesome new poetry manuscript that has come in out of the blue. I’m a real sceptic about love at first sight, so I put it into a pending folder for ten days to see if it kept its charms. Which it did. It feels like tapping on bottles in a dark cellar – and hey! this one’s full.
Sharon has me typesetting next autumn’s novels already – which you know, you just know, means that she is looking lovingly at a new manuscript that, well, couldn’t we just squeeze into 2009? No! Definitely for sure maybe not. Who needs New Year resolutions.
Have a good, big day. If you’re lucky I’ll post a picture of the tup tomorrow, enjoying his seasonal breakfast of beat pulp and wheat. “That’s ‘Mr Tup’ to you, lad” he says. Take a look and you’ll see what I mean.
David
