Maaaan, what a weekend!
I’d love to tell you that I finished Working Title between signing off Friday and waking up Monday morning (I didn’t). I’d even settle for regaling you all with tales of excess after being reunited with friends of old (there aren’t any). An epic trip into the Welsh wildernesses would be cool, but all I managed this weekend was to stay in and not write (that much).
That’s not the confession of some incapable wannabe (it probably is). Oh no. Saturday, mid afternoon, I was puller away from the keyboard by a knock on the door. There stands Lady Orchid’s delightful neighbour with a half smile and grim eyes. Turns out my old dad’s van has died on a particularly nasty road in the middle of nowhere. To make matters worse, they’ve got no mobile reception and can’t call for help. They, were their lives a nasty movie involving engine troubles and horribly mutated cannibal-killers, were staring what James Scott Bell would call ‘Trouble Brewing’.
Luckily for the parents, the worst thing that happened (after the breakdown, of course), was a couple hour wait for a tow truck and the nasty flask of coffee I took up to them to tide them over (they’re not so keen on strong coffee).
Since it’s not Thursday and I saved this post to drafts on Monday, I reckon the mental mickey pace of my week is quite clear. Work has picked up again (posh customers never make life dull, just infuriating) and apparently there’s some tiny little winter fest around the corner that needs attending to. Anyway, I’ve not had a lot of time to work on Working Title. It is creeping along, just not at the 20k-in-one-day rate I’d envisioned. Still, I’ll hopefully finish this one up (before the aforementioned winter bash) and that’ll free me up for something else.
Okay, I admit that was a bit of a nothing post, but I didn’t want you lovely people to think I’d dropped off the earth without letting you know how things go.
Right, I have to extract this cat from me chest. I’ll see you in a couple of days.