Under the wire
Half past eleven at night and I may just get this post up before the new day rolls in. If the internet lets me.
No, it's not the old problem with blogger. For once it's behaving more or less as it should do. This time it's my connection, which keeps dropping for no apparent reason. Since BT were meant to have fixed that over a week ago, it's a bit annoying to see the problem back again. At least the engineer we usually get here lives locally and knows all about the problems with the Pontrhydygroes Exchange.
Today has been a day of two halves, to coin a clichéd football metaphor. This morning I flew through 1500 words of Benfro book three (on chapter four now, steaming ahead), but this afternoon I was bogged down in various admin tasks that needed doing. Boring, so I spent forty-five fruitful minutes picking more bugs off my gooseberry bushes. Fortunately the Horse Doctor had to go into town for a meeting, so I now have a spray gun full of BUG DEATH!!! Ha ha ha ha! Organic gardening is fine, right up until the point your gooseberry bushes disappear in front of your eyes, with a background sound of comedy munching.
I made the foolish mistake of going for a run later - I must either give this up altogether, or go more than once a week. My legs feel like somebody else is using them at the moment. Tomorrow I suspect they will hurt. I won't spoil your day with tales of nipple rash.
The plan was to get another 1500 words of Benfro done this evening after supper (Gan Panang again. Mmmm), but I was distracted by emails. I have written those fifteen hundred, and more. It's just not been about dragons. Still, honour is saved and the daily word target can be scored off.
And now I sit here waiting for Hollywood to call.
No, seriously. I'll tell you the story when it's developed a bit further - for the good or the bad. But it's weirder than even I could imagine.
Now Dragons. Clun Defaid will never get to be made Duke of Abervenn at this rate.
No, it's not the old problem with blogger. For once it's behaving more or less as it should do. This time it's my connection, which keeps dropping for no apparent reason. Since BT were meant to have fixed that over a week ago, it's a bit annoying to see the problem back again. At least the engineer we usually get here lives locally and knows all about the problems with the Pontrhydygroes Exchange.
Today has been a day of two halves, to coin a clichéd football metaphor. This morning I flew through 1500 words of Benfro book three (on chapter four now, steaming ahead), but this afternoon I was bogged down in various admin tasks that needed doing. Boring, so I spent forty-five fruitful minutes picking more bugs off my gooseberry bushes. Fortunately the Horse Doctor had to go into town for a meeting, so I now have a spray gun full of BUG DEATH!!! Ha ha ha ha! Organic gardening is fine, right up until the point your gooseberry bushes disappear in front of your eyes, with a background sound of comedy munching.
I made the foolish mistake of going for a run later - I must either give this up altogether, or go more than once a week. My legs feel like somebody else is using them at the moment. Tomorrow I suspect they will hurt. I won't spoil your day with tales of nipple rash.
The plan was to get another 1500 words of Benfro done this evening after supper (Gan Panang again. Mmmm), but I was distracted by emails. I have written those fifteen hundred, and more. It's just not been about dragons. Still, honour is saved and the daily word target can be scored off.
And now I sit here waiting for Hollywood to call.
No, seriously. I'll tell you the story when it's developed a bit further - for the good or the bad. But it's weirder than even I could imagine.
Now Dragons. Clun Defaid will never get to be made Duke of Abervenn at this rate.
Comments
I'll get to work on the Sandra Ruttan t-shirts.