The last few days have involved a lot of earth moving, earth moving, gardening and general shovelling. The countryside offers a whole new range of ways to procrastinate when you should be working. There is always something to feed, prune or stab with a pitchfork when you should be squeezing out more words.
I say working because I'm busy, for some reason work is pouring in and so is the cash (the final part of my advance from the first book arrived today) so I can start looking at motorbikes, actually I can jolly well go to a dealership now and see if something suitable is about. Hurrah. Also a national newspaper have finally decided to cough up the money they owe me after six months and that lovely cheque is also waiting for me in London when I go and pick up my stuff.
I think it's down to the shovel, a chap who is handy with a stout blade on the end of a stick isn't the sort of chap you should owe money, that's what I say.
To increase the bike fund even further I'm off tall ship racing on Monday so that will be another payment for the ol' two-wheeled fund.
Right, time to get back to shovelling I suppose. Those huge clumps of earth won't move themselves. Oh and for any mentalists out there who are thinking of murdering someone and then putting them in a grave that they dig themselves, allow a lot of time and take a pick. It's amazing how long it takes to dig a hole, even if you are fuelled with a murderous rage.
2 comments:
It's the hair, dearie. Or lack thereof.
BigBouquet - Perhaps you are right!
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