Just when a place starts to feel like home the end of the week comes looming up. I don’t even bang my head when I’m going into the kitchen any more (although I’ve developed a permanent stoop which may require intensive physiotherapy at a later date) and I’ve finally got used to the hot and cold taps in the kitchen being the wrong way round. I’ve skilfully managed my food supplies so that there’s hardly any left to take home, and now the fridge is almost empty – another sign that the end (of the week) is nigh. Admittedly, I did re-stock up with Munchies, but they’re all gone now too.
The professional noise makers arrived on cue, bathing me in the yellow flashing light from one of their professional noise making machines as I sat on my bed working on this laptop
I had a bit more go in me this morning when I started my writing, but I still got bogged down with research, trying to keep track of how far the Great Fire spread each day and how it would affect the lives of my characters and what routes they would/could have taken as they moved around London. Most people ‘know’ that it started at a baker’s on Pudding Lane – but poor old Thomas Farrinor, who was the king’s baker, swore to his last breath that he had put the fires in his ovens out before retiring. Who knows?
Anyway, I managed 1,500 words, which makes about 8,700 for the week. Not as much as I’d hoped, but not bad and it keeps me on course for an early December deadline. I also managed to finish and e-mail my report for the writer’s advisory service so that I could have a relaxing afternoon with time to start packing, tidying up etc.
I went for my usual walk up the hill. Most times I void taking the most direct route straight up Fore Street, the main road in and out of the village. I prefer exploring the narrow lanes and passageways that criss-cross the hillside. For a small place it’s quite a maze, but I’ve come to know the routes quite well over the last few years. So today I climbed Garret Steps, wandered along Tinker’s Green, and got to grips with Betty Woons for the last time (for new readers to the blog I should perhaps point out that Betty Woons is a narrow passageway leading to the quay).
Afterwards, it seemed only fitting to mark the end of the working week with a pint of St Austell’s Tribute in the Martin’s Arms.