A Work of Fiction

Martin and his girlfriend Steff have moved into the cottage of their dreams in deepest, rural Wiltshire.
Read her diary and live the life.

Rundown and Romantic

Tuesday, 10 May 2011

Seb's back.

That was him on the phone, talking to Martin in the kitchen while I craned my neck to hear from behind a magazine in the sitting room. It's all a bit startling really. So much time has passed since he was last here, stomping across our grass, crunching the gravel with the wheels of his Land Rover, making my little boy laugh. While he's been away on that copywriting course I've been ill, Bertie the dog's died and all work on the pigsty's ground to a halt because Martin smashed his thumb with a hammer which understandably left us all in limbo for a little while. My poor diary has been neglected, but then, what could I have written in those sad few months that would have made entertaining reading?
Still, it's May now. Bertie's snowdrops have been replaced by the odd, forgotten daffodil, and the lower banks of the Mound have the remains of the primroses and dog violets that emblazoned it not so long ago. Now it's the turn of the lilacs to grace the kitchen table. The table that is set for four; Martin, Joe, Seb and me. He's coming for dinner. Joe's excited and Martin's whistling, despite his thumb.

And I don't know why my mouth keeps twitching at the corners. Anyone would think I was vaguely thrilled.

Big Apology ...

So I'm grovelling. I'm shamefaced, but also extremely chuffed now that I've visited my blog and discovered the wonderful comments left there by two very kind (and tasteful) followers. I am so glad you enjoy the blog-story, and so sorry that I haven't yet thanked you or been keeping it up to date.

I think, probably like many of you, that I had begun to feel like I was hammering the keys only to watch the words slide slowly into the great abyss. It seemed that the world really wouldn't notice if I never typed another word. Pitiful, of course, but then we writers are. I love this blog: I love the people, the place they inhabit and all the ins and outs of their lives, but sometimes the things we cherish are just drivel to everyone else. But I am so glad there are like-minded people out there who actually see some merit in my drivel!

So thank you, Tom, who upbraided me this afternoon for being too idle. If it wasn't for you I would perhaps never have clicked on this page again. And I daresay, if I don't kickstart the whole thing again very soon, quite a few of you won't be clicking on it either.

Here goes, then, round two. Hell, what do I write this time?!

By the way, in my defence, I have been busy working on a novel and sending it 'out there', in the hope that some lovely agent thinks like Melissa and Deirdra; or at least has a fleeting interest in sheep and the infernal agonies of the heart, which seem to wangle their way into most everything I do. It's called The Angelina Cause, and I may post some information about it on here before long.

Right, back to Chittham.