Tag Archives: # 16

I, Writer … # 16

I, Writer … # 16

Much of a Dayness (Part 1) … a.m.

I have been living in Full-Timeness for a little over a year now.
It’s hard to describe a typical day but with images taken here I will try.

At some point in the early morning I rise. This generally consists of a somewhat unwilling transition from horizontal to vertical. I open the blind and look out through the window just to make sure I’ve not been spirited away to the Village during the night.

I blink my eyes a few times. Everything looks normal. That’s definitely the garden out there. Good. I knew it wouldn’t let me down. Now I won’t have to answer any stupid questions about why I resigned. Not that I did. The security services are a bit neurotic about things like that. No. I went easy like a good man should.

Breakfast consists of a mug of tea, some sort of fruit and a Weetabix. Look, I am not going to show you a picture of a sodding Weetabix. Use your bloody imagination.

Also, at this time of day, there are people I am contractually obliged to communicate with. I therefore give my beautiful wife a good morning kiss. That is very easy as she is the love of my life.

There are plenty of important things I must do during the day. Rephrase. There are plenty of things I could be doing. Ought to be doing even. And if I could work out exactly what they were, together with the order I should be doing them in, then I probably wouldn’t be doing them in any case. It’s a pointless exercise. If the roof caves in then I will look at the sky. And if the sky caves in then I’ll just go back to bed.

But I must write. That is paramount. I work on a table in a cosy room next to the kitchen. I have a butterfly mind and find it very difficult to concentrate. But once I get going the time goes like a dream. At the moment I’m working on several things: some articles about our somewhat lengthy sojourn on the wonderful island of Corfu, a detective book and a poem about Scottish Independence. Maybe I should write a novel about a Scottish detective who goes for a holiday on Corfu … (???)

It is 1 pm. Where has the morning gone ?

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