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Mark’s gone back to Chorley for a few days but I’m staying here at Dad’s as I’m off  for a bit of  Tennant-Shakespeare squee next week and I’m taking advantage of the modicum of quiet (my dad and sister are still here, of course) to press hard with Teh Novel, still at the planning and structuring stage but coming along well.

And now I’m being plagued by an ancient plot bunny (must be at least 10 years old this one) that’s returned to haunt me and seems to me to have the germ of something good. I’m making notes – not about to start writing a third novel at this stage though. I’m not quite as stupid as I look.

It’s drizzling damply and there’s a fog so thick you can’t see the other side of the street and some brave soul’s got the fireworks going. The cloud’s so low, I couldn’t see the crows circling overhead this afternoon. You won’t be able to see a rocket-burst. Mental.

But Little Dorrit’s on and my mushroom pizza’s cooling…

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