A Writing Day

This was to be a writing day.  I have competing projects all waiting - pencils are tapping themselves, paper is fluttering and the laptop lid opens and shuts by itself like a big, gabby mouth.  So this is how the day goes.  Didn't get up too early, having had some friends around on Saturday night.  After breakfast, because it was one of those rare, dry days, when the birds are singing Can You Believe It I didn't Drown In The Night songs, we decided to go for a walk.  Stuffed a pencil and notebook in my pocket.  (It helps to ease your conscience.)

We went to check out the new cycle path being constructed.  It links up footpaths on one side of Bath to the other via two defunct railway tunnels.  By chance, we realised we had found, for us, a new circular walk within fifteen minutes of our house.  Brilliant!  Then I took some compost to the allotment and, since I still had on a pair of dirty, old shoes that give me a homeless look, I thought I might as well do a serious pruning of the front garden.  By the time I'd chatted to a few neighbours passing by and done most of the work, it was getting dark.

Still hadn't touched a keyboard or a pencil, apart from marking a few Literary Festival events I'd like to go and see - such as Polly Toynbee and Hilary Mantel.  As well as writing, because it's the 6th of January (and I can never quite work out if twelfth night is the 5th or the 6th) I thought I'd better get the Christmas decorations down.  Here is a tip for getting your dried out Christmas tree out of the house without leaving a trail of pine needles you'll be hoovering up for years to come.  Of course, it depends on your situation.  As we live in a Georgian house, the sitting room, where the tree is, is upstairs.  I carefully unscrew it from its base and throw it out of the open window onto a groundsheet laid out on our footpath.  Works a treat!

Now it'll soon be supper time.  No point getting down to one of the projects now.  Might as well spend a few minutes writing this post.  Make a fresh start tomorrow... after I've taken all the garden cuttings to the tip.